“There speaks the experience of seventeen,” said Annabelle, laughing.

“I know already who will be there. A retired general who will pinch my cheek and call me a clever puss. An old admiral who will talk of nothing but the sea and try to tell me all about the Battle of Flamingo—”

“I believe you mean the Battle of St Domingo.”

“And a whole bunch of mamas who will look daggers at me because I am prettier than their daughters.”

“But once they learn you are to marry, they will breathe a sigh of relief. They will thank heaven for Able because they will know that, for all your pretty face, you are no competition for their daughters. A girl in love has no interest in anyone else. She does not like to dance with the most eligible bachelors, she prefers to sit at the side of the room.”

Caroline looked at her suspiciously, but Annabelle preserved a countenance of angelic innocence, and they carried on their way.

They stopped shortly after midday, choosing an idyllic spot in a country lane. The tiger climbed over the stile and into the neighbouring field, where he spread out a rug and began to unpack the picnic hamper. Annabelle and Caroline strolled along the lane to stretch their legs before settling themselves on the rug, beneath the spreading arms of a chestnut tree.

“How much farther is it to Whitegates?” asked Caroline.

“We have a few hours more to travel,” said Annabelle.

“Can I drive for part of the way?”

“Very well. I will give you your first lesson after lunch.”

They started to eat their picnic. It was a delicate affair of chicken and ham, with crusty bread and newly churned butter, and they finished their repast with peaches and grapes.

Their meal over, Caroline looked at Annabelle hopefully, and, with a laugh, Annabelle said, “Very well. I was going to suggest another stroll first, but I see that you are eager to begin. The road here is straight and flat. You may set us on our way.”

Their things were soon packed and the two ladies climbed into the curricle, followed by the tiger.

With the reins in her hands, Caroline’s childishness dropped away, as Annabelle had hoped it would, and she applied herself seriously to the task in hand.

“Very good,” said Annabelle approvingly, as the curricle rolled smoothly along a straight, flat stretch of road. “You have light hands.”

Caroline glowed under the praise.

She was reluctant to give the reins back to Annabelle when the road became more difficult, but after a moment’s hesitation she did so with a good grace.

They had not gone very much further when the wind turned colder and the sky darkened. Soon it began to rain. It was nothing more than a light drizzle to begin with, but as the curricle had no hood, they were exposed to the elements.

“Urgh!” said Caroline, as the rain began to fall more heavily. “Is there nowhere we can shelter? We will soon be wet through.”

A quick glance at the countryside showed that there were no barns or stables in sight.

Annabelle said, “We must just go on and hope the rain lets up. It is only a shower, no doubt, and the sun will soon be out again.”

The English weather answered this optimism with its usual reply, and no sooner had Annabelle finished speaking than the sky clouded over threateningly and transformed itself from blue to grey. The horses became skittish, and when a flash of lightning sent them rearing, it took all of Annabelle’s skill to hold them.

“It is no good, we cannot go on,” said Annabelle, shouting to make herself heard above the thunder.

“Look ahead! There!” said Caroline, who had been looking about them. She pointed through the pouring rain, which had rendered the summer afternoon as dark as night. “I can see a light!”

Annabelle saw an orange glow shining through the blackness and, hunching her shoulders against the rain, drove the horses cautiously onwards. They did not like the weather any more than she did. They tried to turn their heads against the wind but she held them true to their course.

To make matters worse, the road was slick with mud, and the curricle slid from side to side. She saw Caroline gripping her seat tightly with her hands.

“Don’t worry, I won’t overset you,” she said.

The glow became clearer as they moved forwards. To her relief, Annabelle saw that it was attached to an inn. The hostelry looked well cared for, with white walls showing up brightly against dark oak beams. It had a pretty thatched roof. A freshly painted sign proclaiming it to be the White Hart swung in the wind.

Annabelle guided the horses carefully into the yard. She gave a sigh of relief as she brought the curricle to a halt, for if they had been forced to go any further she was sure they would have had an accident.

The thunder rumbled overhead, making the horses dance, and a minute later the ostlers appeared and hurriedly took the horses out of the traces. Assuring Annabelle they would be well cared for, the ostlers led the horses off to the stables.

Another flash of lightning sent Annabelle and Caroline hurrying towards the door, whilst the rain jumped in the puddles all around them, splashing up against their ankles and soaking their stockings. They gained the door and went in, to find themselves in a cheerful corridor with wild flowers in jars on the deep window ledges. In front of them were two bedraggled ladies, one with a sodden hat whose plume sagged over her eyes, and the other with water streaming down her face from her high-crowned bonnet. It took Annabelle a moment to realize that the two ladies were herself and Caroline, and that she was looking in a mirror. Caroline realized it at the same time and they both laughed to see themselves in such a state.

The landlord hurried forwards to greet them. “A terrible day,” he said sympathetically. “We haven’t seen a storm like this in years. What can I do for you, ladies?”

“I think we had better have a room, landlord, if you please,” said Annabelle. “We cannot go on today.”

“Shocking this weather is,” he agreed. “I said to my wife this morning, as soon as I saw the sky, ‘Depend upon it, we will have rain.’ ‘Aye,’ she said, ‘and a storm, by the look of things.’ But don’t you worry, we have a fine room here, I’m sure you’ll be very comfortable,” he continued, as he led them upstairs.

Along the corridor they went, with its oak beams and its white walls, and then through an oak door and into a very pleasant chamber. The windows were latticed, but large enough to let in what little light the storm allowed, and the room was clean and spacious. A large bed was set in the centre, with a smaller one pushed to the side, and both were covered with clean counterpanes. Rustic pictures hung on the walls, and a brightly coloured rug lay on the floor. The grate was empty, but the landlord told them that there was a fire in the parlour.

“It’s a private room, just right for you ladies,” he said.

“Thank you, that will be most welcome,” said Annabelle, looking down at her sodden clothing.

He offered to light a fire in the room as well, but Annabelle declined the offer. It was not cold and she did not want to put him to any trouble.

“I am sure the fire in the parlour will suffice,” she said.

He bowed his way out of the room.

“Thank goodness I brought some extra clothes!” said Caroline, who had snatched her portmanteau and hatbox from the curricle before it was taken away. “I am longing to get out of these wet things. I would lend you one of my dresses, but I am afraid they will be too small,” she added in dismay, looking at Annabelle.

“Never mind, I will go down to the parlour and dry myself by the fire,” said Annabelle. She removed her gloves, bonnet and pelisse, and set them down on the window ledge, then tidied her hair as best she could.

“I will join you as soon as I have changed,” said Caroline, stripping off her wet clothes.

“Would you like me to help you?”

“No, thank you, I believe I can manage, and if not, I will ring for the landlord’s wife. Do not let me delay you, Aunt Annabelle, I will never forgive myself if you catch cold.”

Satisfied that Caroline could not get up to any mischief in such a short space of time, in a respectable inn, Annabelle went down to the parlour.

She opened the door … and then hesitated, because the parlour was already occupied. A gentleman was seated by the fire. Steam was rising from his clothes, showing that he too had been caught in the downpour.

She was just about to apologise for intruding when he stood up and turned towards her, and the words died on her lips.

“Annabelle!” he said in surprise, adding more formally, “That is, Miss Langley.”

“Daniel!” she said.

And indeed it was he, as handsome as ever, with his dark hair arranged à la Brutus, his brown eyes, his aquiline nose and his full mouth. His figure was hardened by exercise and his height topped her by six inches: no mean feat, as she herself was five feet eight inches tall.

Memories came rushing back: a house party the previous summer, where she had danced with him, finding him the most amusing partner she had ever had.

She remembered her delight when she had found herself alone with him in a rowing boat the following day, and how they had both laughed when a frog leaped into the boat.

And she remembered the way in which he had taught her to drive, taking her out in the country lanes, where he had shown her how to control his horses and how to guide his carriage. When he had put his arms around her in order to show her how to hold the reins, she had started to tingle. It had been the most delicious sensation, and she had turned her face up to his in surprise and delight. He had seized the moment and kissed her, and it had been quite magical.