They led the horses to a clump of trees close to the banks of the stream. Sir Bernard dismounted and turned to lift down Rosalind.

"You look remarkably fetching today," he said, easing her down so that her body slid the length of his. "Very Italian."

"Hm," she said, turning away to tether her horse to a tree.

He grinned. "Come and sit over here," he said, moving across to a patch of grass that faced the stream and was shaded from the rays of the sun. Rosalind, having been complimented herself, noticed how handsome he looked, his tall, athletic figure accentuated by the black coat, cream breeches, and black top boots that he wore. He tossed his top hat onto the ground and stretched out a hand to help Rosalind to a seating position. He sat down beside her.

"You may not be able to dance in public," he said, "but you are one of the best riders I have ever seen, Rosalind, and that includes both sexes."

"Thank you," she said. "My father forced me to ride again after my accident, although I can remember being terrified. I believe he realized that I would need at least one method of moving around in which I might be uninhibited."

"Then he was a wise man," he said, circling her wrist with two fingers and then clasping her hand in his.

"This is a lovely estate, is it not?" she said lamely, feeling suddenly uneasy in his presence.

"Yes," he said, laughing, "and so are you. You do not realize that you are beautiful, do you, Rosalind?"

She blushed and laughed in embarrassment. "You do not need to say that, Bernard," she said. "I should prefer that you did not flatter me."

He reached across and took her chin in his hand. "I shall convince you in time," he said softly, and brought his lips down to hers.

Rosalind continued to sit clasping her knees. It was pleasant. She was determined to believe that he really did wish to marry her. She was going to enjoy his company this week and allow herself to fall all the way in love with him.

"Mmm," he said, his mouth moving to her ear, "perhaps this time we will not be interrupted by his damned lordship." He put one arm around her shoulders and drew her against him. The other hand began to undo the buttons of her velvet jacket to reveal the pink silk blouse beneath. Rosalind was so surprised that she did nothing. She continued to clasp her knees with her arms.

"Rosalind," he said, "are you untouched?"

"Untouched?" she asked, the blood beginning to throb at her temples.

"Are you a virgin?" he asked.

Her eyes widened and she could feel her cheeks flush uncomfortably. "Of course," she whispered.

He laughed in amusement. "There is no 'of course' about it. Do you realize how many of the sweet young things who grace the ballrooms with their maidenly pastel shades have lovers, and how many of the very proper matrons at the sidelines also deceive their husbands?"

Rosalind hugged her knees closer. "I think we should be starting back, Bernard," she said. "This is a highly improper conversation."

He chuckled and brought his free hand up under her chin again. "I am sorry, dear," he said. "I merely wished to know how free I could be with you in the coming days. When we return to London, of course, your freedom will be curtailed again, and when I take you to visit my family during the summer, the proprieties must be observed. But here we can begin to get to know each other better."

Rosalind swallowed painfully against his hand. "We should not be alone, Bernard," she said.

For answer he smiled and lowered his head to hers again. Rosalind was forced to put an arm around his neck when she felt herself losing balance. A moment later she felt the grass against her back and head and Bernard's mouth was more urgent on hers, his tongue trying to force her teeth apart. She gasped and squirmed when she felt his hands slide across the silk covering her breasts.

"You are lovely," he murmured, lifting his head and gazing down into her face. He regarded her for a moment and a smile crinkled his eyes. "You are also very frightened, are you not?"

She tried to smile and did not quite succeed. "I just do not think that we should be doing this," she said.

"There is no need to feel guilty," he assured her. "You are going to be my wife very soon."

She smiled with more success this time. It was true, she did feel guilty, though she did not know why. They were betrothed, after all. "Maybe so," she said, "but I am not your wife yet, Bernard, and I should feel a great deal safer right now on the back of that horse over there."

He grinned. "You may be an innocent, love," he said, getting nimbly to his feet and brushing the grass off the sleeves of his coat, "but you have certainly perfected the art of the tease. Just wait until our wedding night, my girl. I shall have my revenge." He reached down to pull her to her feet and kissed her lightly on the lips.

Rosalind limped without further delay to her horse and mounted into the saddle before Sir Bernard could come to offer his assistance.


***

It was on the night of the same day that Sylvia went to bed in tears. She had entered the dining room that evening on the arm of Lord Standen in a much more cheerful frame of mind than on the previous day. She had enjoyed her outing with Nigel, had spent a comfortable hour with her betrothed in the afternoon inspecting the orchards and flower gardens, and had taken tea with his mother in the latter's private apartments. Her future mother-in-law had treated her with flatteringly kind condescension. Sylvia was prepared to enjoy dinner and the company of her friends. She looked dazzlingly lovely in a primrose-yellow satin gown, gold embroidery sparkling at its neckline and hem. A golden ribbon was threaded through her silver-blond hair.

During the first two courses Sylvia chatted easily and unselfconsciously with Lady Standen on her left and Sir Rowland Axby opposite. Only gradually did she become aware that conversation at the table was becoming more general. Nigel was telling a group of people around him about his dream of setting up a school in London.

"There is certainly a need," he was saying. "You have all seen how the streets of London are crowded with beggars, many of them young children. They have nothing to do except beg and steal, and if they are allowed to go uneducated, they will grow up to produce more children in the same plight. And so the problem will perpetuate itself."

"Papa says that no one need remain idle if he wishes to work," Lady Theresa Parsons commented. "Idleness results from laziness, he says. And if these people are too lazy to work, Mr. Broome, I fail to see that they will take kindly to learning lessons."

"With all due respect to your father," Nigel replied, "I cannot agree. These people need help, and who better to offer assistance than those of us who are privileged?"

The conversation, which was becoming rather loud and forceful, had attracted Lord Standen's attention. "You would go about solving the problem in quite the wrong way, Nigel," he said. "Your plan would help so few children that it would be worthless. The whole social order needs changing. Only then can the plight of the poor be changed."

"I agree with you," his brother said heatedly, "and that should be your contribution, George. You are a member of the House of Lords and can speak out on social issues. I cannot. And while I wait for the whole system to change, a whole generation of boys is growing up ignorant and possibly vicious."

"You must admit that your brother is right, though, Nigel," his mother added from her end of the table. "The good you could do would be the merest drop in the ocean."

"But-" he began.

"The ocean is made up of little drops, though, is it not?" Sylvia said, and seeing all eyes turn her way in surprise, she was startled to find that the words had come from her mouth. "I mean," she stammered, "without all the little drops there would be no ocean. In the same way, every little child is part of the whole problem. If Nigel can help only a few, he has somehow helped tackle the whole problem." She was flushed and breathless by the time she had reached the end of this long speech.

"I say," Nigel said, his attention full on her, "what a splendid metaphor. I must remember it."

"I think, my dear," Standen said kindly, "that you would be better not worrying yourself over matters that do not concern you."

"But they do concern me," Sylvia cried. She could feel the color high in her cheeks, but seemed powerless to stop herself. "When we are married, my lord, I shall have to be aware of the poor on this estate, and whenever I travel to town, I shall have to pass through those dreadful streets with their wretched crowds. How can I not applaud someone who is prepared to devote his time and his fortune to doing something about the situation?"

"You show yourself to be a lady of great sensibility," her fiance said, but there was a note of finality in his voice. "I believe we bore our company with such serious conversation." He smiled and turned with practiced grace to Miss Heron, whom he engaged in conversation.

Everyone else appeared to relax and forget the incident. But Sylvia suffered an agony of mortification. The rest of her food tasted like straw. She could never remember being so forward. To have spoken to a whole tableful of people was brazen enough. To have spoken on a topic that was so clearly a male preserve was unforgivable. She had felt Standen's displeasure and believed that it was justified. She could not, though, for dear life see how anyone would not think Nigel's scheme quite irreproachable.