“I?” asked Rebecca in surprise. “But I am not in any danger.”

He did not reply, and she said, a little less certainly, “Am I?”

Joshua's face was unreadable. “Let's just say, I'd rather not take any chances.”

Rebecca was thoughtful. She did not believe that she was in danger, but she believed that Joshua might be. She decided to share her fears with him.

“I don't think I am the one the attack was aimed at,” she said cautiously. “After all, I am not the one who has been the victim of a number of suspicious accidents. You were almost run down by a horseman in London, and you were almost struck a forceful blow by a stone coming through the window at Hetty and Charles's house. And now you have been locked in a room that was on fire.” She hesitated. “I think the fire may have been started in order to try and kill you.” She tried to keep her voice even, but her hands shook and the music came out with an unexpected tremolo.

He looked at her thoughtfully, as if wondering whether agreeing with her would make her worry more. Then, as if deciding that she was too intelligent to be fobbed off with easy reassurances he said, “It's possible.”

“But why?” she asked. “There must be some reason for it. And as you don't have any enemies,” she said, remembering his answer to Charles's question when he had almost been struck by the stone in London, “it must be someone who has something to gain.”

Realization dawned on her. “Your share. Your share of the mill.” She turned towards him. “Who inherits it, Joshua? Who does it go to in the event of... ”

She could not bring herself to finish the sentence, and say, in the event of your death.

“No. That is not the answer,” said Joshua, shaking his head.

“I think you are wrong,” said Rebecca resolutely. “Whoever it is would stand to gain a great deal by your death.”

“I don't think I have anything to fear in that direction,” he said with a wry smile.

The smile took her by surprise. She could see nothing amusing about the situation, and she was determined to make him take the matter seriously.

“Who is it, Josh? Who inherits your share of the mill? Only tell me that and I will tell you the name of the person who is trying to kill you.”

“I don't think so,” said Joshua. “You see, Rebecca, it is you.”

“Me?” Her eyes flew wide in astonishment.

“Yes.”

“You have left me your half of the mill?”

“I didn't need to. Your grandfather had already taken care of the matter. If I die without an heir, my share reverts to you. It is true, you could make yourself a wealthy woman by murdering me,” he said musingly, but with a humorous glint in his eye. “And you were on the scene very quickly when the office caught fire.”

He spoke thoughtfully, as though seriously considering the idea, but there was an unmistakable quirk of humour at the corner of his mouth.

“And I could have invented the story of the dropped reticule,” Rebecca teased him back, joining in with the spirit of his banter.

“But somehow, I don't believe it.” He took her hands, as she had finished playing her country air, and pulled her to her feet so that she stood facing him.

Rebecca's heart missed a beat. She so longed for him to kiss her, but she could tell by his face that he did not mean to do so. And how could he, even if he wanted to, when Louisa and Edward were so close at hand?

And why should she even want him to?

It had felt wonderful when he had kissed her at the mill, that much was true, but she could not allow him to do so again. It was clear he had no feelings for her beyond a certain physical attraction, and under those circumstances she should not want him to touch her again. But to her consternation she realized that she did.

She had wondered, after he had kissed her at the mill and then been interrupted by Hill, the manager, whether he would offer her his hand again. But although he had undoubtedly compromised her, he had not done so. A part of her was relieved, and yet a part of her felt hollow. Because she realized that never, under any circumstances, would he ask her to marry him again.

With difficulty she drew her thoughts back to their conversation.

“Then if I am the person who inherits your share if you die, that is not the answer to the problem,” she said.

They crossed the room and sat down by an elegant console table, on which a book of engravings lay open.

“But who else is there?” she went on. “Mr Hill, the manager, seems the most likely candidate, and yet he seems like such a nice young man. Still, if he has been falsifying the books... ”

“Yes,” nodded Joshua. “If he has been falsifying the books, he would certainly have a motive. He would want to remove me before the discrepancies are discovered.”

“And he was there, at the mill,” said Rebecca.

“He was,” Joshua agreed. “He is also one of the few people who have a key to the office.”

“A key?”

“Yes. The door to my office was locked from the outside. That means whoever did it must either have taken the key out of the desk in the main office, or used their own key. And the only person with a key of their own is Hill.”

“Hut anyone could have taken it from the main office?” asked Rebecca.

“Anyone who knew it was there, yes.”

“And how many people know that?”

“Anyone who has worked in the office, and perhaps, anyone who has visited it, but beyond that, no one.”

“Still, it leaves quite a wide field.” Rebecca was thoughtful and then said, “How did the fire start?”

“I'm not sure.” Joshua shook his head. “I smelled smoke and went to investigate. When I did so, someone shut and locked the door behind me.”

Rebecca shivered as she thought about what would have happened if she had not, by chance, returned to the mill. “I don't like it, Josh. I think you need to hire some Runners yourself.”

She turned over a page of engravings, although she was not paying them any attention.

“I intend to,” he said. “The scrawlings on the mill wall will give me the perfect excuse to hire some watchmen at the mill.”

“And when you are elsewhere?”

“I will hire a few new "footmen", and a "coachman" who is handy with his fists ... it will not be difficult to take some precautions, with no one else being any the wiser.”

Rebecca nodded. She was still worried, but knew that little more could be done.

Feeling that Louisa and Edward would soon begin to notice if she and Joshua did not join them at their side of the room, she closed the book of engravings.

“Edward and I have just been discussing the arrangement of the card tables,” said Louisa, whose mind was full of the proposed card party, and who had therefore not noticed that Rebecca and Joshua had been deep in conversation.

Rebecca sat down beside her on the sofa and gave her, her attention.

“We will have them in here, I think,” said Louisa. “These houses are not so spacious that we have much choice.”

“Yes, I think they would go well in here,” said Rebecca, gauging the size of the room. “We could easily fit eight tables in if we arranged the other furniture a little differently.”

“Just what I was thinking. Eight tables,” agreed Louisa. “That should be plenty.”

“Emily can let you have the card tables, I'm sure,” said Edward. “She keeps hers in the attics and only brings them down when they are needed.”

“That would make things a lot easier,” said Louisa, thanking him.

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly in conversation, and it was a comfort to Rebecca to know that, however concerned she herself may be about Joshua, Louisa, at least, had been spared any worry.

*  *  *

“What will you wear to the ball?” Louisa asked Rebecca the following morning.

“I haven't decided yet,” said Rebecca, as the two ladies sat at their embroidery.

“I am thinking of having a new ball gown made,” said Louisa diffidently.

Rebecca put down her embroidery. “What a splendid idea.”

“Do you think so?” Louisa asked, going slightly pink.

“I do. I can't remember the last time you had a new ball gown.”

“Do you know, my dear, neither can I.”

A new thought entered Rebecca's head at the sight of Louisa's pink cheeks. Could it be that Louisa, having renewed her friendship with Edward, was hoping their friendship would develop into something more? Rebecca smiled. She hoped so. She would like nothing better than to see Louisa married to a kindly and intelligent gentleman, and Edward seemed perfect in every way.

“I think you might perhaps let me arrange your hair in a new style,” Rebecca said innocently. “I saw many attractive new ways of dressing hair in London, and any one of them would add a touch of distinction to your new outfit.”

“Well, I don't know, dear,” said Louisa, sounding worried. “Do you think I should? I have worn my hair like this for so long that I don't know if I would be comfortable having a change.”

“Nothing too drastic,” said Rebecca reassuringly. “But if your chignon was a little higher at the back of your head, and if you would let me tease out a few curls around your face, I believe the result would be most becoming.”

“Well, my dear, if you think so,” said Louisa, going pink again. “Perhaps it is time I had a change.”

Rebecca went over to her cousin and gently unpinned her hair, then scooped the thick tresses up into a soft chignon, set higher than Louisa was accustomed to wear it. The new height drew attention away from Louisa's rather slack jaw line and focused it on her cheekbones, which were remarkably fine. Deftly, Rebecca pinned the new chignon and then teased out a few curls. The overall effect was softer, more feminine, and undeniably attractive.