She looked up at the town house before her. It was large, two stories above the street, one below, and attics with dormer windows high above. The stonework was in excellent repair, the woodwork neatly painted, with a bright brass knocker on the forest-green front door. A short set of steps led up to the front porch.

Barnaby had driven ahead that morning; the front door opened and he looked out. He waved and came quickly down, smiling. “There’s a reception committee waiting.”

She heard the sotto voce warning, intended for Gerrard; he didn’t look at all surprised. Indeed, he looked resignedly amused. Barnaby helped Millicent out. With a brief, bolstering smile, Gerrard set Jacqueline’s hand on his sleeve and turned her to the door.

It swung wide as they climbed the steps.

“Good afternoon, sir.” An ancient and imposing butler stood at attention, ready to bow them in.

Gerrard grinned. “Good afternoon, Masters. I gather the ladies are lying in wait?”

“Indeed, sir. As are Mrs. Patience and Mr. Vane.”

“Ah. I see.” His smile deepening, Gerrard turned to her. “This is Miss Tregonning. She’ll be staying here with my aunt and her aunt”-he included Millicent as she joined them-“also Miss Tregonning. This is Masters-he’s Minnie’s butler, and will organize anything and everything as if by magic.”

Straightening from his very correct bow, Masters accepted the tribute without a blink. “Miss, ma’am-both myself and Mrs. Welborne will be honored to assist you in any way.”

“I take it tea will be served in the drawing room?” Gerrard asked.

“Indeed, sir.” Masters directed a footman to close the front door. “Our orders were for as soon as you arrived, to refresh you after the long journey.” He turned to Millicent and Jacqueline. “Mrs. Welborne has your rooms prepared. I’ll have your boxes taken up straightaway.”

They murmured their thanks.

“I’ll take the ladies in.” Gerrard glanced at Barnaby. “Are you staying?”

Barnaby grinned. “In the interests of experience, I rather think I will.”

Gerrard raised his brows, but made no reply. He led the way to a pair of double doors, opened them, then stepped back and ushered Jacqueline and Millicent in.

Beside Millicent, Jacqueline stepped into an elegantly proportioned room, its walls hung with dusky pink paper warmed by the late afternoon sunshine pouring in through long windows left open to a flagged terrace; beyond, the green of lawns and shrubs was patterned with splashes of summer blooms.

The furniture was lovely-wooden, none of it spindly, yet equally none of it overly ornate. Much of it was rosewood, and glowed with a luster that screamed of care. It took an instant for her eyes to travel to the long chaise further down the room, set at an angle to the hearth. A smaller chaise and three armchairs completed the grouping. Two older ladies sat on the larger chaise, avidly watching them. Another lady, younger and beautifully gowned, sat in one armchair; a gentleman, handsome and severely elegant, uncrossed his long legs and rose from its mate.

Even as, a polite smile on her lips, she went forward with Millicent to meet Gerrard’s family, something-some observation-nagged at Jacqueline’s mind. Just before she reached those waiting, it came clear; there was a clock on the mantelpiece and two statues made into lamps flanking the terrace windows, but beyond that, other than an ancient tatting bag resting beside the feet of one of the older ladies, there were no ornaments, and no signs of habitation-no journal or playbill lying on a table, no softening touches. The room seemed strangely sterile.

Gerrard didn’t live there, so it lacked any evidence of him. Despite its elegance, the lovely furniture and the attractive paper, curtains and upholstery, the room felt rather cold, not neglected physically but lacking a certain energy. Lacking life.

Reaching the long chaise, Gerrard introduced Millicent, then Jacqueline, to his aunt, Lady Bellamy.

“Good afternoon, my dear-I’m so very glad to meet you.” Lady Bellamy, with curly, white hair, many chins and bright if faded blue eyes, reached for Jacqueline’s hand, clasping it between hers. “I hope you and your aunt will excuse me if I don’t rise-my old bones aren’t what they were.”

Her smile growing warmer, Jacqueline bobbed a curtsy. “I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, ma’am.”

Lady Bellamy beamed, but wagged a pudgy, beringed finger. “Everyone calls me Minnie, my dear, and I hope you and Millicent will do the same. No need to stand on ceremony.”

Jacqueline smiled her acquiescence; Gerrard had told her about his aunt. She was of an age where guessing her years was impossible; she was over sixty, but how far over was anyone’s guess.

“And,” Minnie said, patting her hand before releasing it, “this is Timms. No one calls her anything else, either.”

“Indeed.” Her gray hair pulled back from her plain-featured face, Timms took Jacqueline’s hand in a surprisingly strong grip. Her gaze was warm, friendly and disconcertingly direct. “Very glad you needed to come to town, else no doubt we’d have developed a reason for jauntering down to Cornwall. Not that I have anything against Cornwall in summer, but such a journey at our age…well, better not.”

Jacqueline felt her smile deepen, felt all reserve slide from her. “Indeed, it’s a very long way. I’m glad we needed to visit.”

Timms grinned and released her. Taking her arm, Gerrard steered her to the other lady, who had risen and was speaking with Millicent.

Millicent glanced around as they neared, smiled and stepped back, allowing Gerrard to introduce her.

“Miss Jacqueline Tregonning-my sister, Patience Cynster, and her husband, Vane.”

Jacqueline went to curtsy, but Patience caught both her hands.

“No, no-as Minnie declared, we need no ceremony.” Patience’s hazel eyes met Jacqueline’s gaze with greater warmth than she’d expected; when, after an instant studying her, Patience again spoke, there was no doubt of the sincerity behind her words. “I’m so very pleased to meet you, my dear.”

Echoing the sentiment, frankly amazed at how truly welcome she did indeed feel, Jacqueline turned to the gentleman, who, lips curving, smoothly lifted her hand from his wife’s grasp and elegantly bowed over it.

“Vane Cynster, my dear.” His voice was deep, sonorous. “I trust the journey down wasn’t overly fatiguing?”

The question encouraged an answer; in less than a minute, Jacqueline found herself seated on the end of the smaller chaise, engaged in a surprisingly easy exchange with Patience and Vane. Gerrard hovered beside her. Millicent, next to her, was chatting animatedly with Minnie.

Jacqueline had never felt so unreservedly welcomed, so warmly accepted; reassured, she relaxed.

Gerrard watched her, pleased to see that her inner reserve hadn’t materialized, not at all. As far as she knew, none of his family were aware of the circumstances of her mother’s death; she clearly found no difficulty in engaging openly with them.

That was something of a relief; the same would no doubt hold true when she met the rest of the clan, and the members of wider society who, once it became known she was here, staying in his house under Minnie’s aegis, would make it their business to meet her.

Which meant he could relax, and concentrate on painting. She would take his London acquaintance by storm; he was looking forward to observing the action from a safe, if watchful, distance.

The tea trolley arrived. Patience did the honors. Barnaby and Gerrard ferried the cups, then Barnaby joined Millicent, Minnie and Timms in discussing which of London’s many sights were most impressive and thus not to be missed.

Gerrard drew up a chair beside Vane. While Patience talked with Jacqueline, comparing country life in Cornwall and Derbyshire, where his and Patience’s childhood home lay, he picked Vane’s brains over what had occurred in their mutual business circles over the weeks he’d been away.

Sipping his tea, he made a firm if silent vow not to, under any circumstances, divulge the name of the modiste to whom he intended to take Jacqueline the next morning.


He tried, but failed. At eleven the next morning, Millicent, Patience, Minnie and Timms accompanied him and Jacqueline to Helen Purfett’s salon.

The salon was in unfashionable Paddington, in a narrow house on a street leading north from the park. Minnie, Timms and Patience exchanged glances as Patience’s carriage rocked to a halt on the cobblestones outside. Gerrard had led the way, driving his curricle and grays, Jacqueline on the seat beside him, transparently excited, her eyes enormous as she glanced about.

Her reaction soothed his already abraded temper. He reined it in as he handed Patience and the three older ladies to the pavement. He wasn’t surprised when, after looking about her, Minnie asked, “Are you sure this dressmaker is suitable, dear?”

“Helen isn’t a modiste in the sense of making ball gowns. She specializes in making gowns for artist’s models.”

Four pairs of lips formed an “Oh.”

With a wave, he herded them all up the steps to the door. Helen would be expecting him and Jacqueline; he hoped she’d cope with the unexpected crowd.

He’d painted all night in his studio in the attic; only when it was too late-the small hours of the morning-and he realized Jacqueline hadn’t arrived, did he recall he’d forgotten to tell her how to access the attics from the lower part of the house. The conversion had made the attics into separate quarters, reached by stairs from the alley alongside. There was a connecting door and stairs from the house proper, but they were concealed.

He sincerely hoped she hadn’t gone wandering about in the night, trying to find her way up. Minnie was a frighteningly light sleeper.