Some cousins of Lady Balderston’s had arrived in town from Derbyshire, and Joseph had been invited to dine with the family and accompany them to the opera later. He still had not made an appointment to speak with Balderston, but he would. Perhaps tonight. His procrastination was becoming something of an embarrassment to him. And perhaps this evening he would try again to woo Portia Hunt. There must be a softer side to her than she had shown on the way to Vauxhall, and he must find it. He knew that ladies on the whole found him both charming and attractive even though he rarely used that fact to flirt or dally. Rarely being the key word. He was uncomfortable about his dealings with Miss Martin. And yet they had not felt like either flirtation or dalliance. He hated to think what they had felt like. And so he was in something of a grim mood all morning while sparring at Gentleman Jackson’s boxing saloon. By the time he arrived at Whitleaf’s house on Grosvenor Square in the afternoon, he was determined to be all business. He was taking Miss Martin to see Lizzie, to make her a proposition for the summer, to allow her to decide for herself. His own involvement need be only ve ry minimal. She was dressed simply as usual in the dress she had worn to the picnic, though it had been ironed since then. She wore the same straw hat too. She was holding the dog in her arms as she came downstairs at the butler’s summons. She looked like someone he must have known all his life. She looked like a little piece of home—whatever the devil his mind meant by presenting him with that odd idea. “We are both ready,” she said briskly. “Are you sure you wish to take the dog driving, Claudia?” Whitleaf asked her. “You are quite welcome to leave him here with us.” “He can do with the airing,” she said. “But thank you, Peter. You are remarkably kind considering the fact that you had little choice but to take him in or boot me out.” She laughed. “Go and enjoy yourself, then,” Susanna told her, though it was at him she looked, Joseph saw, a speculative look in her eyes. For the first time it struck him that, not knowing the true nature of Miss Martin’s drives with him, she and Whitleaf must wonder what the devil he was up to—especially as they probably knew that he was to all intents and purposes a betrothed man. He had put Miss Martin in an awkward position, he realized. They proceeded on their way in his curricle though the weather was not quite as warm as it had been recently. There were a few clouds to take the edge off the heat when they covered the sun. “Where did you tell Susanna you were going this afternoon?” he asked. “For a drive in the park,” she said. “And the other times?” “For a drive in the park.” She concentrated her attention on the dog. “And what has she had to say about all these drives?” he asked. He turned his head in time to see her flush before lowering her head. “Oh, nothing,” she said. “Why should she say anything?” They must think he was dallying with her while courting Miss Hunt. And the devil of it was that they were not far off the mark. He grimaced inwardly. This must all be very distressing for her. They lapsed into silence. But silence today must be avoided at all costs, he decided after a few moments, and it seemed that she agreed. All the rest of the way to Lizzie’s they talked cheerfully about books they had both read. But it was not stilted, awkward talk, as he might have expected. It was lively and intelligent. He could have wished that the journey were longer. Lizzie was in the upstairs parlor waiting for him. She hugged him with both arms wound about his neck, as she usually did, and then cocked her head to one side. “You have someone with you, Papa,” she said. “Is it Miss Martin?” “It is,” he said, and watched her face brighten. “And not just me,” Miss Martin said. “I have brought someone else to meet you, Lizzie. At least, he is almost a someone. I have brought Horace.” Horace? Joseph shot her an amused glance, but her attention was all focused upon his daughter. “You brought your dog!” Lizzie cried just as the collie decided to bark. “He wants to be friends,” Miss Martin explained as Lizzie recoiled. “He absolutely will not hurt you. I have a firm hold on him anyway. Here, let me take your hand.” She did so and brought it to the dog’s head and smoothed it down over his back. The dog turned his head and licked her wrist. Lizzie snatched back her hand but then shrieked with laughter. “He licked me!” she cried. “Let me feel him again.” “He is a border collie,” Miss Martin explained as she took Lizzie’s hand again and guided it to the dog’s head. “One of the most intelligent of dogs. Collies are often used to guard sheep, to stop them from wandering, to round them up when they do, to lead them back to the fold when they have been out in the fields or in the hills grazing. Of course Horace is not much more than a puppy and has not been fully trained yet.” Joseph went to open the parlor window and stood there, watching his daughter fall in love. Soon she was seated on the sofa with the dog beside her, panting with delight as she explored him with sensitive, gentle hands and laughing as he licked first one of her hands and then her face. “Oh, Papa,” she cried, “look at me. And look at Horace.” “I am looking, sweetheart,” he said. He watched Miss Martin too as she sat beside his child, on the other side of the dog, petting him with her and telling Lizzie the story of how she had acquired him, embellishing it considerably so that it seemed much more comical than it had been in reality. It seemed to Joseph that she was entirely engrossed in her conversation with his daughter, that she had forgotten his presence. It was very easy to see how she had become a successful teacher and why he had sensed a happy atmosphere at her school. “I remember your telling me,” Miss Martin said, “that all the stories you make up have a dog in them. Would you like to tell me one of those stories and have me write it down for you?” “Now?” Lizzie asked, laughing as she drew back her head from another enthusiastic licking. “Why not?” Miss Martin said. “Perhaps your papa will find paper and pen and ink for me.” She looked at him with raised eyebrows, and he left the room without further ado. When he came back, they were both sitting on the floor, the dog between them on his back, having his stomach rubbed. Both Lizzie and Miss Martin were chuckling, their heads close together. Something stirred deep inside Joseph. And then Miss Martin sat at a small table writing while Lizzie told a lurid tale of witches and wizards practicing their evil arts deep in a forest where an unfortunate little girl got lost one day. As trees closed about her to imprison her and tree roots thrust upward to trip her and grew tentacles to wrap about her ankles to bring her down, and as thunder crashed overhead and other dire catastrophes loomed, her only hope of escape was her own intrepid heart and a stray dog that appeared suddenly and attacked everything except the thunder and finally, bleeding and exhausted, led the girl to the edge of the wood, from where she could hear her mother singing in her garden full of sweet-smelling flowers. It seemed the thunderstorm had not spread beyond the forest. “There,” Miss Martin said, setting her pen down. “I have it all. Shall I read it back to you?” She proceeded to do so. Lizzie clapped her hands and laughed when she had finished. “That is my story exactly,” she said. “Did you hear it, Papa?” “I did,” he said. “You will be able to read it to me,” she said. “And so I will,” he agreed. “But not at bedtime, Lizzie. Perhaps you could sleep afterward, but I am sure I would not. I am still shaking in my boots. I thought they would both perish.” “Oh, Papa!” she said. “The main characters in stories always live happily ever after. You know that.” His eyes met Miss Martin’s. Yes, in stories, perhaps. Real life was often different. “Perhaps, Lizzie,” he said, “we could take Miss Martin out to the garden and you can name all the flowers for her. The dog can come too.” She jumped to her feet and reached out an arm to him. “Come with me to fetch my bonnet,” she said. He took one step toward her and then stopped. “Be my clever girl and go and fetch it without me,” he said. “Can you do it?” “Of course I can.” Her face lit up. “Count to fifty, Papa, and I will be back. Not too fast, though, silly,” she added, laughing with glee as he began rattling off numbers. “One…two…three,” he began again more slowly as she left the room. After a moment the dog scrambled to his feet and went after her. “She really is capable of a great deal, is she not?” he said. “I have been remiss. I ought to have arranged something for her much sooner than this. It is just that she has been a very young child, and love and protection seemed enough.” “Don’t blame yourself,” Miss Martin said. “Love is worth more than any one other gift you could give her. And it is not too late. Eleven is a good age for her to discover that she has wings.” “With which to fly away from me?” he said with a rueful smile. “Yes,” she agreed, “and with which to fly back to you again.” “Freedom,” he said. “Is it possible for her?” “Only she can decide that,” she said. But he could hear Lizzie’s returning footsteps on the stairs. “…forty…forty-one…forty-two…” he said loudly. “Here I am!” she shrieked from outside the door, and then she appeared in the doorway, flushed and excited, eyelids fluttering while the dog rushed past her. “And here is my bonnet.” She waved it from one hand. “Oh, bravo, Lizzie,” Miss Martin said. Love tightened in Joseph’s chest almost like pain. They spent an hour in the garden before Mrs. Smart brought out the tea tray. Lizzie engaged in one of her favorite games, bending over flowers and feeling them and smelling them before identifying them. Sometimes she clasped her hands behind her and played the game from the sense of smell alone. Miss Martin tried it too, her eyes closed, but she made as many errors as correct identifications and Lizzie laughed with glee. She also listened attentively as Miss Martin gave her a lesson in botany, pointing out parts and qualities of each plant while Lizzie felt to see what she was talking about. Joseph sat watching. He almost never had the leisure simply to observe his daughter. Usually when he visited he was the whole focus of her world. Today she had Miss Martin and the dog, and while she frequently called to him to be sure that he had noticed something, she was clearly reveling in their company. Is this what family life might have been like, he wondered, if he had been free to marry as a younger man—when he met and fell in love with Barbara? Would he have delighted in his wife and children as he was delighting in Miss Martin and Lizzie? Would there have been this contentment, this happiness? Their heads were touching as they bent over a pansy. Miss Martin set one arm loosely about Lizzie’s waist, and Lizzie set her arm about Miss Martin’s shoulders. The dog woofed around them before racing off to chase a butterfly. Goo d Lord, Joseph thought suddenly. Dash it all, this line of thought just would not do. This was exactly what he had resolved not to do this afternoon. He would have his family life. The wife and mother would not be either Barbara or Miss Martin, and none of the children would be Lizzie. But he would have it. He would begin wooing Portia Hunt in full earnest this evening. He would call upon Balderston tomorrow and then make her a formal offer. Surely she would relax more once they were officially betrothed. Surely she must want some affection, some warmth, some family closeness, out of her marriage too. Of course she must. The tea tray arrived to interrupt his thoughts, and the ladies came to sit down. Miss Martin poured the tea. “Lizzie,” she said after handing about the cups and the pastries, “I would like to see you get more fresh air during the summer. You enjoyed the afternoon in Richmond Park, did you not? I would like to see you walk and run and skip again and find more flowers and plants than you yet know. I would like you to come into the country with me for a few weeks.” Lizzie, who was sitting beside Joseph, felt for him with the hand that was not holding her plate. He took it in a firm grasp. “I do not want to go to school, Papa,” she said. “This is not school,” Miss Martin explained. “One of my teachers, Miss Thompson, is going to take ten of the girls from the school to Lindsey Hall in Hampshire for a few weeks. It is a large mansion in the country with a huge park around it. They are going there for a holiday, and I am going too. Some of my girls, you see, do not have parents or homes and so must stay with us during holiday times. We try to give them a good time with lots of activities and lots of fun. I thought you might like to come with me.” “Are you going too, Papa?” Lizzie asked. “I will be going for a while to a house nearby,” he said. “I will be able to come and see you.” “And who will take me?” Lizzie asked. “I will,” Miss Martin said. He looked closely at Lizzie. All the faint color the hour outdoors had brought into her cheeks had faded. “I am afraid,” she whispered. He squeezed her hand more tightly. “You do not have to go,” he said. “You do not have to go anywhere. I will find someone else to come and live here and be your companion, someone you will like, someone who will be kind to you.” Perhaps Miss Martin would disagree with him. Perhaps she would think that he should insist that his daughter find her wings, that he should push her out of the nest, so to speak. But she said nothing. And actually she had said just the opposite, had she not? She had told him that Lizzie must decide for herself. “Those girls would hate me,” Lizzie said. “Why would they?” Miss Martin asked. “Because I have a home and a papa,” Lizzie said. “I do not believe they will hate you,” Miss Martin said. “I would not say anything about having a papa,” Lizzie said, brightening. “I would pretend to be just like them.” Which was exactly the way Miss Martin had described her to the Duchess of Bewcastle—as a charity girl brought to her attention by her man of business. And he was not going to speak up in protest? Was he really ashamed of her, then? Or was he just bowing to what society expected of any gentleman? “Would they do things with me?” the child asked, turning her face in Miss Martin’s direction. “Would they think me a nuisance?” Yet again Joseph admired Miss Martin’s honesty. She did not rush immediately into a denial. “We will have to find out,” she said. “They will certainly be polite. They learn good manners at my school. But it will be up to you to make friends.” “But I have never had friends,” Lizzie said. “Then this will be your chance to make some,” Miss Martin told her. “And I would come back here after a few weeks?” Lizzie asked. “If you chose,” Miss Martin said. Lizzie sat very still, no longer touching Joseph. Her hands fidgeting in her lap showed her agitation. So did the fact that she rocked back and forth as she sometimes did when she was deeply troubled. Her eyelids fluttered and her eyes wandered beneath them. Her lips moved silently. Joseph resisted the urge to gather her up in his arms. “But I am so afraid,” she whispered again. “Then you will remain here,” he said firmly. “I will start looking immediately for a new companion.” “I did not mean I would not go, Papa,” she said, “only that I am afraid.” She continued to rock and fidget while Miss Martin said nothing and Joseph felt resentful of her—quite unjustifiably, of course. “I have learned all about courage from some of the stories you have told me, Papa,” Lizzie said at last. “You can only show courage when you are afraid. If you are not afraid, there is no need of courage.” “And you have always wanted to do something courageous, Lizzie?” Miss Martin asked. “Like Amanda in your story, when she might have escaped from the forest earlier if she had not stopped to rescue the dog from the rabbit snare?” “But it is not just for fighting witches and evil, is it?” Lizzie said. “It is also for stepping into the unknown,” Claudia said, “when it would be easier to cling to what is familiar and safe.” “I think, then,” Lizzie said after another short silence, “I will be courageous. Will you be proud of me if I am, Papa?” “I am always proud of you, sweetheart,” he said. “But yes, I would be especially proud if you were to be brave enough to go. And I would be very happy if it turned out that you enjoyed yourself as I daresay you would.” “Then I will go,” she said decisively, and abruptly stopped rocking. “I will go, Miss Martin.” Then she turned sharply to paw at Joseph’s arm and scrambled onto his lap to hug him tightly and hide against him. His arms closed about her and he tipped back his head and closed his eyes. He swallowed, feeling absurdly close to tears. When he opened his eyes, he could see that Miss Martin was watching them steadily, looking like a disciplined teacher again—or like his very dear friend. Without thinking he stretched one arm across the table between them and, after looking at his hand for a moment, she set her own in it. Ah, sometimes life was bitterly ironic. He felt again as if he had found a family where there could be none—just when he was honor-bound to offer for a woman who wanted never to be kissed. His hand closed about Miss Martin’s and squeezed tightly. 14