When Rosalie came downstairs the next day, the place seemed altogether quiet. Most of the soldiers were at their various places of work and Captain Stewart was also out on business, she was told.

      For a while she read stories to Katy and Mary’s granddaughters, then helped with their lunch. But when it became clear that Alec would be absent all day, she grew restless.

      ‘Please let me do something to help you,’ Rosalie asked Mary, who as usual was busy in the kitchen with her baking and her laundry. ‘Are there any more shirts to mend?’

      ‘Lord bless you, I’ve got my two women, Janey and Bess, to help with that. But the sun’s shining, it’s a lovely afternoon. Why don’t you take the little ones into the garden to play?’

      So Rosalie did. And looking round, while the girls busied themselves setting out their toys for a tea party, she could see how beautiful this place must once have been. Ajax had joined them, sprawling hopefully in the sun while Katy and her friends feasted on milk and fresh-baked scones. Rosalie smiled at the big golden dog. ‘Ajax. You are a good, good boy. Aren’t you?’ She slipped him a buttered scone and the dog snuggled closer to her side.

      The children were absorbed in their make-believe party and the usual soldiers were around to watch them, so Rosalie, with Ajax at her heels, began to explore the overgrown thickets of shrubs that lay beyond the paved terrace. Under the ivy and sprawling wild clematis she found old stone urns, intricate paths and trellised arbours. Everywhere were vivid pockets of flowers and unpruned shrubs—blackthorns, primroses, buttercups and half-wild blue hyacinths that filled the air with their sweet scent. Flowers her mother had loved so.

      As she returned to the terrace she became aware of Garrett leaning against the back door, watching her. ‘I was wonderin’ where that dog had got to,’ he said. ‘So you’ve been explorin’ our garden, ma’am, have you?’

      She seized her chance. ‘Yes, and it’s beautiful! I don’t suppose, Mr Garrett—are there any tools I could borrow to clear it? A trowel, perhaps, and a pair of shears?’

      He blinked. ‘You want to clear this ‘ere garden?’

      ‘Well, yes, just a little. Nobody would mind, would they?’

      Eyepatch wasn’t Alec Stewart’s lieutenant for nothing. Within ten minutes he’d unearthed a store of ancient gardening implements from an old outhouse and recruited four ex-soldiers who couldn’t wait to take on their new role as gardeners.

      Under Rosalie’s supervision, her team—three of them elderly, one a young lad, Mikey—began to turn the derelict old wilderness into something rather magical. Rosalie worked as well as keeping an eye on the children, who were making daisy chains to rope round the docile Ajax’s neck.

      But every time she heard a man’s voice in the distance, she wondered if Alec was back yet.

      In the evening she bathed Katy and put her to bed as usual. And as she headed down the stairs, she saw Alec standing in the hallway talking to Garrett.

      Emotion jolted her. He must have come back a while ago and changed, because he was dressed formally, in the black tailcoat and cream breeches he’d worn at his father’s house yesterday. He had shaved. And brushed back his thick hair. He looked relaxed, and devastating.

      Dressed for supper, at Two Crows Castle? She thought not. ‘I’ve got your horse ready, Captain,’ Garrett was saying.

      Then Alec spotted Rosalie. ‘Mrs Rowland. I trust you’ve had a pleasant day?’

      Rosalie came on down the stairs, forcing herself to sound calm. ‘Very pleasant, thank you, Captain. You’re going out this evening?’

      ‘To a party,’ he answered, absently fingering his starched neckcloth. ‘A long-standing invitation, I’m afraid.’

      A cold fist was squeezing the air from her lungs. He was going to a place that was part of his world, and of course she wasn’t in it … For heaven’s sake, you little fool, once he was betrothed to the granddaughter of a duke!

      ‘You sound regretful,’ she said mildly. ‘But I hope you enjoy yourself—and I like your Gordian Knot.’

      His hand flew to his cravat. ‘You’re knowledgeable.’

      ‘Oh, I once wrote an article about men’s neckwear for The Scribbler—’ She broke off. Idiot. He hates your writing.

      But his handsome face relaxed into a smile that made her insides turn over. ‘Then I’m flattered that you approve of my choice.’

      Mentally she was flaying herself. Yesterday at his father’s house she’d dared to wonder if he’d put on those clothes to impress her. How stupid could she be?

      He was smoothing his coat sleeves, glancing down to check his gleaming topboots. ‘How is Katy?’

      ‘Oh, she’s sleeping now, but she was happy, very happy, with the toys you allowed Mary to buy for her yesterday, thank you. That little horse nearly went in the bath with her!’

      Another flicker of a smile. ‘I’m sorry I have to go out. We must find time to speak in the morning, Mrs Rowland.’ He looked, for a moment, as if he was about to say something else. Then he quickly bowed his head and left.

      She went to sit down in the little parlour off the hall. She’d wanted to talk to him, oh, about the garden, and about Linette, and—just talk to him. She felt hollow inside with his departure. She caught a sharp breath, surprised at how she could physically hurt so.

      And then, through the open door, she heard Garrett saying in a low voice to McGrath, ‘So she’s back in town. That’s why he’s goin’ to this fancy ball, our Captain. Dear God, she’s beautiful, but she’s wrecked his life, and you’d think he’d have more sense than to get within a hundred miles of her …’ They wandered on towards the kitchen where the soldiers gathered in the evening.

      And Rosalie had no doubt at all that they were speaking of his lost heiress. She could almost hear Alec’s voice—’She was in love with a make-believe hero and must count herself lucky to have broken it off.’ He was too proud, far too proud, to admit to anyone, let alone Rosalie, that he still had longings for what could never be.

      ‘I hope we can at least be friends,’ Alec had said to her earlier.

      She felt like writing his words on her tormented heart. Friends, Mrs Rowland, you idiot. And with that, you will be content. Do you understand?

      A small string orchestra played discreetly in a corner of the grand salon of Lord Fanton’s house in exclusive Sackville Street and the chink of glasses punctuated the murmur of polite conversation. It had been a long time since Alec had been anywhere like this.

      Lord Lucas Conistone, laconic and immaculate, was at his side—in fact, they’d arrived together—and Lucas was murmuring, ‘Brace yourself, dear fellow. Can’t be worse than when you and I dressed up as Spanish peasants to sneak inside French-held Badajoz!’

      ‘How we got away with it,’ breathed Alec, ‘God knows. Both of us are too damned tall.’

      ‘And your Spanish was execrable,’ accused Lucas with a grin.

      ‘At least I didn’t let myself be waylaid by every Spanish señorita who gave me a pretty smile!’

      ‘They weren’t just after me!’ retorted Lucas merrily. ‘Good Lord, those females were