Then other, less welcome memories returned: that he had been called away by the death of his brother and that, once the mourning period was over, he had not sought her out as she had expected him to do.

She had been forced to realize that, whilst she had been falling in love with him, he had been indulging in nothing more than a mild flirtation.

And now here he was again, standing before her.

“What a surprise. I did not expect to meet you here,” he said.

“Nor I you. I am just passing through. But I must not disturb you …” she said, feeling suddenly awkward.

“Not at all, it is I who should vacate the parlour and leave it to you.”

“There really is no need …” she said.

There was a silence, and then they both laughed.

“We are talking to each other like strangers!” he said. “There is no need for either of us to retreat. We can be comfortable here together, can we not? But you are wet,” he said. “Will you not sit by the fire?”

She took the seat he held out for her gladly, for her damp clothes were starting to make her feel cold, then he sat down opposite her.

“You are just passing through, you say?”

“Yes. We are on our way to stay with friends.”

“We?”

“My niece and I. She is upstairs at the moment, changing her dress. We were caught unawares by the rain, and as we were travelling in my curricle we were soon drenched.”

“Ah, yes, your curricle. I am glad you have continued with your driving, and put your inheritance to such good use. I should have congratulated you on your good fortune, but I have not spoken to you since the lucky day.”

“Thank you. It was totally unexpected. Great-aunt Matilda had always declared her intention of leaving everything to my brother, but when he married he displeased her and she changed her will and left everything to me. It was no loss to Alistair, as he already had a fortune, and it was a great piece of good luck for me. Although if I had not inherited it,” she added ruefully, “I would not have bought such a dashing carriage, and I would probably have been travelling in a sedate coach and be perfectly dry now!”

He laughed. “You cut quite a figure.”

She looked at him enquiringly.

“I saw you once, in town. You handled your cattle very well,” he said admiringly.

She warmed at his praise. “I was taught by an expert,” she replied.

“Those were good days,” he said. “And what does your niece think of her dashing aunt?”

“She likes me well enough at the moment, for I have promised to teach her to drive.”

“Indeed? You must think a great deal of her then.”

“I do. I like her very much. She is a good girl, for all her headstrong ways, and she will make a fine woman when she is fully grown. But that is not why I made her the offer.”

“No?”

“No. You see, it was the only way I could take her thoughts from an unsuitable attachment.”

“Ah. That would never do. Attachments must be suitable, must they not?”

There was something in the way he said it that made her feel it was more than a general comment.

Daniel came from an old and well-respected family, whilst her family engaged in trade.

So that is why he found it so easy to forget me, she thought.

She felt downcast, but her pride came to her aid and she said, lightly, “Of course.” Then, changing the painful subject, she said, “I was sorry to hear about your brother’s death. He was too young to die.”

“He was.”

The subject had been badly chosen and the atmosphere became sombre. They fell silent until they were interrupted by the landlord.

On seeing them together, he apologised profusely for having recommended the parlour to Annabelle when his wife, unbeknownst to him, had recommended it to the gentleman. He gratefully accepted their assurance that they were already acquainted, and that they did not object to sharing.

He asked them if they would be dining.

“Yes, indeed. Both my niece and I would like a hot meal,” said Annabelle.

“The ordinary is very good, but maybe you would like something else?” the innkeeper asked.

“What is the ordinary?” asked Annabelle.

“Steak pie with minted peas and tender potatoes, followed by plum tart and cream,” said the landlord.

“That sounds very good. I’m sure my niece will like it, too,” said Annabelle.

“Three ordinaries, then, landlord, if you please,” said Daniel.

The atmosphere had warmed again and despite herself Annabelle was looking forward to further conversation with Daniel. But no sooner had the landlord left the room than Caroline entered it. She was dressed in a startling gown of green silk, which was suitable for a woman twice her age

“Goodness!” said Annabelle, gazing at the vision which was Caroline, and thinking that her niece looked as though she had raided the dressing-up box and put on one of her mama’s old gowns. She did not say so, however, but gravely introduced her, saying, “May I present my niece?”

“Charmed,” said Daniel, rising and bowing.

Caroline glowed, and dropped a small curtsey.

“Caroline, this is Lord Arundel,” said Annabelle. “We are old … acquaintances.”

“Really, Aunt Annabelle, you never told me you knew such fascinating people,” said Caroline.

Annabelle turned her laugh into a cough, for Caroline’s attempt at coquetry had all the sophistication of a newborn colt’s attempts to walk. However, she thought that Caroline could do worse than to try her newly discovered feminine charms on Daniel, for he was a gentleman and she would come to no harm with him.

Caroline was invited to sit by the fire.

“Thank you,” she said charmingly to Daniel, with a dimple.

She swept her gown beneath her, producing a wonderful rustling noise, but unfortunately she spoiled the effect by knocking over a stool in the process. However, Daniel picked it up without comment and Caroline seated herself by the fire. Then she began to fascinate him with her conversation.

“Tell me, Lord Arundel, have you ever met Lord Byron?” she asked.

“I have not had that honour,” he said.

“They say he is a terrible man, and yet I cannot believe it. If he were truly so terrible he would not have chosen to write a poem about an innocent little child.”

“Ah. You are talking of his renowned work Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage?” he asked.

“I am,” she said graciously.

Daniel’s eyes twinkled, but he kindly refrained from saying that Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage was definitely not about an innocent little child. He managed to retain a straight face, whilst Annabelle sighed in silent exasperation at her niece’s ignorance.

Caroline was saved from further blunders by the arrival of dinner.

The food was good and the hot meal was welcome. Whilst they ate the plum tart, Annabelle could not help thinking of the previous summer, of eating plums on a picnic and afterwards going to a ball and dancing with Daniel, of being in his arms …

And then she was forced to pay attention, for they were talking of the London galleries, and her opinion was being sought. The conversation moved on to the theatres, until at last Annabelle said, “I believe we must retire.”

Caroline had by this time talked herself to a standstill. She took a warm leave of Daniel before leaving the room, so that Annabelle and Daniel were alone for a minute.

“Miss Langley,” he said, bowing over her hand.

He held it a fraction too long, and there was something tender in his touch, or so it seemed to Annabelle. But then she warned herself against making the mistake she had made a year ago and bid him goodnight.

“It was good to see you again,” he said, as reluctantly he dropped her hand.

“And you.” She smiled and walked out of the room.

“What a delightful gentleman,” said Caroline, as they went upstairs.

“Yes, indeed,” said Annabelle.

And she could not help thinking that, in all her life, she had never met one more delightful.

Annabelle gave a sigh of relief as the landlord’s wife drew back the curtains the following morning, for the sun shone out of a clear blue sky.

She washed and dressed before Caroline was awake, glad of the landlord’s wife’s assistance, and then she helped Caroline to dress.

“What a coincidence, meeting Lord Arundel,” said Caroline, as they went down to the parlour for breakfast. “I wonder if we will see him again this morning?”

Annabelle privately wondered the same thing, and although she would not have asked about him, she was not sorry that Caroline did so.

“The gentleman?” enquired the landlord. “Left early this morning, he did, just after dawn. Said he had urgent business to attend to.”

“A pity. He was a most amusing companion,” said Caroline with dignity.

Oh, yes, he was, thought Annabelle with a pang. The most amusing companion she had ever met with.

“What will you ladies have for breakfast?” asked the landlord.

“Chocolate, I think, and hot rolls,” said Annabelle, rousing herself.

Caroline agreed, and they ate a hearty meal before setting out once more to Whitegates Manor.

Annabelle allowed Caroline to take the reins for a short while before reclaiming them, and was pleased to see that her niece showed promise. She told her so, and Caroline wriggled with happiness.

The rains of the previous day had taken their toll and in places the road was so deep in puddles that it was almost like a ford, so that the going was slow. They stopped for lunch at a tavern and did not reach Whitegates Manor until four o’clock in the afternoon.