“Actually,” he said, laughing and looking his sunny-natured self again, “I have been thinking of marrying a rich girl. It’s a pity Julianne has her eye on Bedwyn—though she does not have a hope in a million of snaring him, I daresay. But the Warren sisters have a papa who is as rich as Croesus, or so I have heard, and they are both passably pretty girls. I do not suppose their papa would give me the time of day, though, would he?”

He spoke as if the whole idea were just a lighthearted joke, but Judith was not sure it was. He was obviously deep in debt—again. She did not know if their father could extricate him this time without completely ruining himself. And then what would happen to Mama and their sisters?

“Oh, come now, Jude,” Branwell said, getting to his feet and possessing himself of both her hands, “don’t look so grim. I’ll come about. You must not worry about me. Did you burn yourself very badly?”

“I will be better in a day or two,” she told him.

“Good.” He squeezed her hands. “If you do happen to come by a few pounds within the next week or two, perhaps when Papa sends you your allowance, could you see your way to lending me some of it? I am good for it, as you must know, and there cannot be much for you to spend money on here, can there?”

“I am not expecting any money,” she told him.

“I say.” He frowned. “You did come just for a visit, did you not, Jude? Papa did not send you here to live and depend upon Uncle George’s bounty, did he? That would be the outside of enough. What is happening to Papa lately?”

You have been happening to him, Bran, she thought— and to all of us. But though she was suddenly angry and would surely have ripped into him and told him a few home truths of which he seemed remarkably ignorant, she was prevented from doing so by the arrival of Tillie with more salve and a dose of laudanum.

“You are going to have to excuse me now, Bran,” Judith said. “I must rest for a while.”

“Of course.” He raised one of her hands to his lips and smiled one of his sweetest smiles. “Look after yourself, Jude. You cannot know how pleasant it is to have one of my sisters here. I miss you all, you know.”

If only he had someone to take him in hand, she thought, he might yet turn out well. However, she was not at leisure to brood on the matter. She was in pain. Whoever would have thought that a mere cup of tea could be so lethal?

On the third day Judith ventured downstairs after luncheon. She hoped to avoid intruding upon the houseguests and find her grandmother. But as fortune would have it, the first person she saw as she descended the stairs was Horace Effingham, and he came hurrying to meet her, all smiles.

“Judith!” he exclaimed. “You are recovered at last. I apologize most profusely for my clumsiness the other evening. Do come to the drawing room. We are trying to decide what to do this afternoon now that last night’s drizzle and the morning clouds have cleared off. Come and have your say.”

He was offering her his arm.

“I would really rather not,” she said. “I do not know anyone in there. Do you know where Grandmama is, Horace?”

“You do not know anyone?” he said. “You astonish me. Has no one thought to introduce you to all the guests?”

“It really does not matter.” She shook her head.

“Ah, but it does,” he said. “I cannot have you running away again after waiting patiently for three days for you to reappear. Come.”

She took his arm reluctantly and found herself immediately drawn indecorously close against his side as he led her toward the drawing room. But it was, she conceded over the next few minutes, just as well that someone had thought to introduce her to all the guests. She was not quite a servant, after all, and it would be awkward over the next week and a half to be constantly running into people to whom she had not been formally presented. She looked almost like a servant, of course. Branwell grinned at her and asked her how she did, Mrs. Hardinge commiserated with her on her unfortunate accident, and Julianne told her she was glad to see her up again so that she could save the rest of them from Grandmama’s tedious conversation and constant demands. Most of the guests, however, though polite in their acknowledgment of the introductions, made no attempt to engage her in conversation.

Judith would have made her escape as soon as all the introductions had been made, but she was forestalled, at least for a few moments, by the arrival of Lady Beamish and Lord Rannulf Bedwyn.

“Ah, two more introductions to make, Cousin,” Horace said, leading her toward them.

“I have already had that pleasure,” she told him, but she was too late to prevent a face-to-face encounter.

“Miss Law,” Lord Rannulf said, bowing to her, “I hope I see you well again?”

She curtsied and tried not to remember the last time she had seen him—outside the door of her bedchamber with Grandmama, giving her advice on how to treat her burn and looking at her with genuine concern in his eyes before striding off to hasten the arrival of a servant with the salve she had asked for.

After what had happened earlier in the day, she had wanted only to despise him and forget him.

“Rannulf told me about the unfortunate accident,” Lady Beamish said. “I trust you have taken no permanent harm from it, Miss Law?”

“No, indeed, thank you, ma’am,” Judith assured her. “I am quite well again.”

Julianne was clapping her hands for everyone’s attention. She was glowing and pretty in a dress of daffodil yellow muslin, her blond curls bouncing about her heart-shaped face as she moved.

“It has been decided,” she announced, “that we are to stroll in the wilderness walk for an hour and then have a picnic tea on the lawn. Now that Lord Rannulf Bedwyn has arrived, we need delay no longer.”

She smiled radiantly at him, and Judith, glancing at him despite herself, saw him bow his acquiescence as he looked her cousin over with appreciative eyes.

It hurt. Stupidly, stupidly, it hurt.

“We must fetch our hats and bonnets and be on our way,” Julianne said.

Her plans appeared to meet with general approval. There was bright chatter as most of the room’s occupants hurried away to get ready for the outing.

“I must go and find Grandmama,” Judith murmured, sliding her hand free of Horace’s arm at last.

But her grandmother had appeared at the drawing room door with Aunt Effingham, and Grandmama had heard her.

“You must not bother yourself with me, my love,” she said, beaming fondly at Judith. “I will have Sarah for company. Now that you are up again, you must run along and enjoy yourself with the other young people.”

“The fresh air will do you good after a few days of confinement indoors, Miss Law,” Lady Beamish said kindly.

Aunt Effingham had other ideas, of course. “I can certainly make use of your help, Judith,” she said briskly. “It has been most unfortunate that your own carelessness resulted in such a lengthy spell of idleness.”

“But Stepmama,” Horace protested, smiling ingratiatingly at Aunt Effingham, “I have dire need of Judith’s help too—help in saving me from the fate of being a wallflower. Perhaps you had not noticed that the gentlemen outnumber the ladies at this house party.”

“It is because you did not inform me that you were definitely coming, Horace,” she said, looking somewhat chagrined. “Or that you were going to bring Branwell with you.”

“Judith.” Horace bowed to her. “Run along and fetch your bonnet.”

Life at Harewood was proving to be even more trying than she had expected. Although Mama had always kept her girls busy at home and Papa had strict expectations of their behavior, nevertheless she had never felt totally powerless there. Or without any freedom whatsoever. At least her preferences and opinions had often been solicited there. Here they were not. Everyone might have been surprised to learn that she would have far preferred to be put to work by her aunt than allowed the dubious pleasure of strolling along the wilderness walk feeling like an intruder and paired with Horace—and in full view most of the time of Julianne and Lord Rannulf Bedwyn, who walked arm in arm while she chattered brightly and he bent his head closer to hear her. A few times they laughed together and Judith was unwillingly reminded of the times when he had laughed with her , most notably outside the village shop when he had unwrapped his snuff box.

The wilderness walk wound its way through the trees to the west of the house and had been planned with some care for maximum beauty. Wildflowers grew within sight of the path, and there were occasional seats and small grottoes, most of them placed at the top of rises in the path and affording pleasing prospects of the house and the rest of the park. It was a path designed to shelter the walker from the heat of the summer sun and the chill of an autumn wind.

Judith was unable to appreciate its loveliness, though she thought that perhaps it would become another quiet retreat for her down the years, whenever she had an hour to spare.

She was not enjoying this hour. Horace was ignoring everyone else and concentrating all his attention on her. But far from being flattering, his attentions were distressing. He tried to take her arm through his, but she clasped both arms firmly behind her back. He tried to slow their steps so that they would fall behind the rest of the group, but she determinedly increased the pace every time a noticeable gap developed.

His eyes were on her rather than the scenery most of the time, mostly on her bosom, which even her loose dress could not entirely hide. He commented upon how the wet tea had molded her dress to her and revealed a figure that should be dressed far more becomingly than it was.