And Couch was starting to give him wooden-faced, sour looks. So were Mrs. Siddon and even Mrs. Oliver when he went down to the kitchen one day to steal an apple. Even Cocking, for the love of God.

Mutiny at Cedarhurst!

And if anyone thought that that was a contradiction in terms-wooden-faced and sour, that was-then that person had not seen his upper servants when their eyes alit upon him.

Knowles was merely wooden-faced.

But the day of the expected arrivals came at last, and Jasper remembered the and one other thing that Katherine had mentioned when they were coming here from London. He had promised to convince her family and his that theirs was a happy, love-filled marriage.

Well, then!

He dressed with special care after an early luncheon. Cocking tied his starched neckcloth in a perfectly symmetrical knot. And he discovered when he went downstairs to the hall that Katherine too was looking her very best in a pale green cotton dress that fell in soft folds from its high waist, which was tied with a cream-colored silk ribbon. The hem and short, puffed sleeves were trimmed with narrower bands of the same ribbon. Her hair was arranged in soft, shining curls on her head with a few wavy strands arranged enticingly along her neck.

And she was smiling.

So was he.

That was the thing, though. They had smiled all week. How the devil his servants could have the gall to look sourly upon him, he did not know.

“I suppose,” she said, “that if we stand here all afternoon, no one will come. But the minute we go about our business elsewhere, there will be a half dozen or more carriages bowling up the driveway.”

“Perhaps,” he said, “we ought to go and stroll in the parterre garden and pretend that we are expecting no one. Perhaps in that way we can trick at least one carriage into showing its face.”

“A splendid idea,” she said, taking his arm. “We are not expecting anyone, are we?”

“Never heard of him,” he said. “Never expect to set eyes on him. And what a foolish name to have-Anyone. He could be anyone, after all, with a name like that, could he not?”

For the first time in a week he heard her laugh.

They stepped out of doors and descended the marble steps together to the upper terrace.

“I have heard,” she said, “that he is a very bland gentleman with an equally bland wife. The sort one might pass on the street and hardly notice at all. Which is very unfair really. Everyone is precious and really ought to be noticed.”

“Perhaps,” he said, “he ought to change his name to Someone.”

“I believe he ought,” she said. “And then everyone will notice him, and his wife, because he will be someone.”

Which silly nonsense set them both to snorting and laughing like a pair of idiots. It felt good to laugh again-with her.

“And just look,” he said, pointing beyond the parterres. “While we have been deep in intellectual discussion, a carriage has come into sight-no, two.”

“Oh,” she said, gripping his arm more tightly, “and the first carriage is Stephen’s. They are here, Jasper. And look, Stephen is riding beside it. Meg and Charlotte will be inside.”

He released her arm in order to clasp her hand and lace their fingers. Then he tucked her arm beneath his again. She was glowing with excitement, he saw, and he felt an unfamiliar fluttering of… something low in his stomach. Tenderness? Longing? Both? Neither?

Actually, though, it was not a totally unfamiliar feeling. He had felt something similar on the beach that day.

Merton reached the terrace first with Phineas Thane, who could be no more than seventeen, if that, and had the spots to prove it. Merton’s carriage was close behind them. Sir Michael Ogden rode beside the second carriage, which contained his betrothed, Miss Alice Dubois, as well as her younger sister and her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Dubois. Thane must have come with them.

Merton was off his horse in a moment. He threw a grin Jasper’s way and then caught Katherine up in a hug and swung her off her feet and in a complete circle. She wrapped her arms about his neck and laughed.

Jasper did not wait for the coachman to descend from his perch. He opened the door of the carriage and set down the steps. He offered his hand to Miss Huxtable and smiled at her.

“Welcome to Cedarhurst, Miss Huxtable,” he said.

“Oh,” she said as she descended the steps, “I think that had better be Margaret, Lord Montford. Or, better yet, Meg.”

“In which case, Meg,” he said, “I am Jasper.”

She turned to Katherine, and they held each other in a wordless hug while Jasper turned back to the carriage. But Thane had already offered his hand to Charlotte, who was smiling at him and blushing.

Well, Jasper thought, already supplanted by a spotty youth. He helped Miss Daniels alight.

But Charlotte turned to him as soon as her feet had hit the terrace, and she squealed and threw herself into his arms.

“Jasper!” she cried. “I have had such a wonderful time at Warren Hall. And really the journey here was not tedious at all, was it, Danny? There was Meg to talk to, and sometimes we let down the window and talked with Lord Merton, and then when we were changing horses at-oh, I cannot even remember where. It was three or four hours ago anyway. Along came the Dubois and Sir Michael and Mr. Thane, and we all came along together in one merry party. Oh, Kate! I have longed to see you again. And how lovely you look. But you always look lovely.”

Jasper turned to greet the other new arrivals and to welcome them to Cedarhurst. After a few moments Katherine joined him and slipped her hand into his.

The guests were shown to their rooms, and Katherine and Jasper awaited the arrival of the others. They all came before tea, one after the other.

The Countess of Hornsby was in the next carriage to arrive with her daughter, Lady Marianne Willis, and not far behind them were Sidney Shaw and Donald Gladstone, riding side by side, and Sir Nathan Fletcher and Bernard Smith-Vane, one on each side of the carriage that brought the former’s sister, Louisa Fletcher, and Araminta Clement. They had all traveled together.

Miss Hutchins came up from the village in the Reverend Bellow’s gig and was immediately claimed by Charlotte, who had come running downstairs to meet her and take her to her room.

They both squealed before they disappeared.

And then, last to arrive, came Uncle Stanley with Cousins Arnold, Winford, and Beatrice-aged seventeen, sixteen, and fourteen.

It all seemed a little like the infantry brigade, Jasper thought. All the gentlemen except Gladstone, and of course Dubois and his uncle, were years younger than himself. Miss Dubois and Miss Clement had already made their debut in society and therefore must surely be at least eighteen, but the other young ladies, with the exception of Margaret, were younger even than Charlotte. He felt like a veritable fossil.

He walked into the house with his uncle while Katherine took Beatrice’s arm and Arnold and Winford fell into step on either side of them.

“It is good to be here again where I grew up, Jasper,” his uncle said, “and to see you settled at last with a good woman. And despite all that foolish gossip in London, I do believe she is a good woman. Your father would be pleased.”

Jasper raised his eyebrows but made no comment. He wondered if his father would look somewhat like Uncle Stanley today had he lived-slightly portly but still a fine figure of a man with all his hair. There was a definite family resemblance-as there was with the cousins. He had felt bitter through most of his life about their neglect-abandoning him and Rachel because they could not stand his mother’s second husband. But it was foolish to remain bitter. It was time to mend fences.

And it struck him suddenly that if he had been born a girl, then Uncle Stanley himself would have inherited the title and property. Perhaps he had felt somewhat bitter too.

“It is good to have you here, Uncle Stanley,” he said. “I look forward to getting to know you better-and my cousins.”

“You will be shown to your rooms,” Katherine said, addressing them all when they were inside. “I am sure you will want to refresh yourselves. We will wait in the drawing room for everyone to come down for tea. Come when you are ready. There is no hurry today. Oh, we are so glad you could come. And, Mr. Finley, you look very much like Jasper. As do Arnold and Winford, particularly Winford.”

“You will call me Uncle Stanley, if you will, my dear,” he said.

“Uncle Stanley,” she said, stepping up to Jasper’s side and slipping her arm through his. “Family is so terribly important.”

And then they were alone together, the two of them, though soon everyone would be coming for tea, and the next two weeks were likely to be hectic enough. There would be chance enough to avoid each other’s company if they wished-though he had promised to give a good impression to their families.

“Well, Katherine,” he said.

“Well, Jasper.”

“Happy?” he asked.

“Happy,” she said.

But the question and its answer brought to mind the next question he had asked down at the lake. And he could see that she had the same thought.

He patted her hand.

“We had better go up to the drawing room,” he said.

“Yes.”


* * *

It was very easy to feel happy, Katherine discovered over the next week or so, when one was mistress of one’s own home, when that home was filled with guests and it was summertime and they could amuse themselves every moment of every day with walks and rides and picnics and a few excursions, with tours of the house and musical evenings and charades and a thousand and one other activities.