The boy was breathing,
thank God.

Richard turned Jamie over. To his surprise, he found, instead of broken and bleeding skin, thin bandages covering most of the boy’s back.

Richard crossed to his desk for scissors, then cut through the bandages from waist to shoulder. He was relieved to find that a few fine red lines were the only sign of the beating Jamie had received.

Gently he turned him on his back to make him more comfortable. The bandages fell away. To Richard’s astonishment, he found that his hands were cradling, not the body of a thirteen-year-old boy, but the breasts of a fully formed girl.

Richard’s head spun. He remembered everything that had happened since Jamie had come into his life. All the strange attraction he had felt toward the boy. His hands continued to cup her breasts.

At that moment Jamie’s eyes opened and she looked up into his.

A Penniless Prospect
Joanna Maitland

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JOANNA MAITLAND

was born and educated in Scotland, though she has spent most of her adult life in England or abroad. She has been a systems analyst, an accountant, a civil servant and director of a charity. She started to write for her children when they were very small, and progressed from there into historical fiction, which she used to write while commuting daily to London. Joanna now works as a part-time consultant so that she can devote more time to her writing, her husband and two children, and their acre of untamed garden in Hampshire.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter One

‘It’s Cinderella, all over again. Who says fairy tales don’t come true? The only difference is, I’m a mite short of fairy godmothers.’ With a heartfelt sigh, Jessamyne sank into a hard, straight-backed chair, the only one in her spartan bedroom.

‘Oh, miss, you mustn’t take on so. If my lady should hear you—’

‘The wicked stepmother? Come now, Biddy dear, she knows precisely what I think of her, as you are well aware. But she also knows there is nothing I can do about it, since she has my father’s ear as well as control of the purse-strings. Papa will not help me. And without money, I cannot help myself. Now, if you were but a fairy godmother, Biddy…’

‘Oh, give over, Miss Jamie, do. Them things only happen in fairy stories. There ain’t no Prince Charmings in the real world. P’raps if you was to make more of an effort to please her ladyship—’

‘I’ve tried that, Biddy. You know I have. It doesn’t work. She simply walks all over me. But if I stand up to her, she has to acknowledge I exist, however little good it may do me.’ She glanced at the empty grate and the layer of crazed ice on the inside of the window pane. Drawing her threadbare shawl more closely round her shoulders, she smiled bravely at her old nurse. ‘At least she doesn’t make me scrub floors and sweep cinders.’

‘No,’ agreed Biddy, ‘but it would make little difference if she did. Your hands are little better than a scullery maid’s, with all that gardening you do. In the depths of winter, too! If only you would—’

She was interrupted by a scratching at the door— a maid with a message summoning Miss Jessamyne to her stepmother’s dressing-room.

Jamie swallowed hard. Such a summons always boded ill. Sometimes she would simply be berated, belittled for her looks or her behaviour. Sometimes she would hear of punishments to come, for real or imagined transgressions. And sometimes both. Never, in all Lady Calderwood’s time in the house, had she spoken a single kind or loving word to her stepdaughter. There was no reason to suppose that this summons would be any different.

Although Jamie entered those stern precincts with head held high, she could not wholly conceal the uncertainty she felt. Lady Calderwood was seated at her dressing table while her abigail put the finishing touches to her hair. Jamie was left standing by the door, unacknowledged, for several minutes. Her uncertainty was soon replaced by indignation. How dared that woman treat her so?

At length, her ladyship was satisfied, and her woman was dismissed. She turned slowly to look at her stepdaughter, scrutinising her from head to toe with ill-concealed dislike. Her lip curled slightly. ‘Well, Jessamyne, you may guess why I have sent for you.’

‘No, ma’am,’ replied Jamie evenly, ‘I have not the least idea.’ She noted, without surprise, that she was not invited to sit. She was deliberately being left to stand like a disobedient child awaiting punishment. Well, she would not help her stepmother to play her little games. Jamie lifted her chin a fraction. She would not say anything more.

After a moment, Lady Calderwood continued grimly, ‘Very well, I shall tell you, since you do not wish to venture an opinion.’ She gave a very nasty smile at which Jamie shivered a little, in spite of all her efforts at self-control. She felt so helpless when she was in the power of this woman.

Her ladyship’s smile broadened. ‘You are past twenty already, Jessamyne. It is high time you were married and ceased to be such a charge on your poor papa.’

Jamie bit her lip in frustration. She was precious little charge on ‘poor papa’, considering how little was spent on her. She could not remember when she had last had a new gown or anything becoming to wear, even at second hand. But marriage—did that mean a season in London, at last? And perhaps even a few new gowns? For if they did not garb her becomingly, who would be found to offer for her?

‘Of course, there can be no question of a season for you,’ announced her ladyship sharply, watching her stepdaughter’s face fall. ‘Your papa could not countenance the expense. And it would be a waste of money, for who would choose to offer for a girl like you? No looks and no portion? No. Even I could not fire you off successfully.’

Jamie could feel the colour draining from her face. She clamped her lips tightly together in an effort to control their trembling. No doubt her ladyship was pleased with the effect.

‘I see you have grasped my meaning. There is only one solution for a girl like you. And you should be grateful to your papa for all the trouble he has taken to find you a husband who is prepared to have you, in spite of all your shortcomings. What have you to say to that, my girl?’

She smiles like a snake, thought Jamie, a snake who is about to swallow me up. Oh, God! What am I to do? She is waiting for me to ask who has been found to take me off their hands.

She compressed her lips even more tightly and stared brazenly at her stepmother, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a response. She was pleased to see her stepmother’s frown. Jamie’s defiance had turned self-satisfaction to anger. Good—even if it did turn on her.

‘You think to defy me, girl? But not for long, I assure you, not for long.’ Lady Calderwood paused to rearrange the generous folds of her amber silk gown. ‘You will be married within the month. And I shall warn your husband about the need to curb your rebellious nature, be sure of that. He will see that you abide by your vows of obedience.’

Jamie remained motionless, but her brain was churning. Who was this man who had agreed to marry her, a plain girl with no dowry? And why? She shivered again, but then she forced herself to straighten her back and stiffen her wobbly knees. Clearly her stepmother was determined not to give her a name until she asked for it. So be it. There would be a battle of wills.

For long moments, the two women stared at each other—one young, shabbily dressed but proud, the other somewhat past her prime and indulged in every way. The older woman broke first. ‘Insolent chit!’ she hissed. ‘Go to your room. I shall deal with you later.’

Head held high, Jamie left the room and returned to her own freezing chamber, where she threw herself on to the bed and thumped her clenched fists into the pillow. ‘The old witch,’ she muttered. ‘May she rot in hell!’

Much as she tried, Jamie was not able to prevent a few tears from squeezing their way out on to her cheeks. She despised her own weakness. But the thought of marriage to some unknown man—chosen by her stepmother, so bound to be utterly hateful— was horrifying. She would be completely in his power, forced to submit to his will in everything— until the day she died.

Not for the first time, Jamie was left alone in her room for hours with neither food nor company. She had known it would be so. However frightened she might be of the fate which awaited her, she refused to yield to her stepmother’s petty tortures. Dumb insolence was her only weapon and she was quite prepared to use it, at whatever personal cost. In this case, she knew she would win eventually, for she would have to be given the name of the lucky bridegroom sooner or later, even if only on the day of her wedding.

She huddled herself into a ball on the bed, wrapping every scrap of blanket around her in an effort to stop herself from freezing. Eventually, in spite of cold and hunger, she fell into a troubled sleep.

It must have been the sound of the door which woke her. Biddy was standing in the centre of the room with a gown draped over her plump arm. She looked uncomfortable. ‘Her ladyship sent me to warn you that your betrothed is arriving later today. You are to be ready to receive him.’

Jamie sat up immediately, her eyes wide with shock. She was still freezing cold, in spite of the blankets, but at least she was not shivering. She refused to appear as a quivering wreck in front of her old nurse.

But she was not too proud to ask Biddy for the man’s name.

‘I’m sorry, miss, but I’m afraid I don’t know. Nobody does—except her ladyship, and your papa.’ Biddy moved towards the bed. ‘Her ladyship sent this gown for you to wear to dinner this evening.’ Biddy sounded more confident now, moving on to practical matters.

It was a plain white muslin gown such as might be worn by a debutante from a family of modest means. ‘White,’ breathed Jamie bitterly, ‘as becomes the virgin sacrifice. How very appropriate. With my colouring, I shall certainly look the part.’

Her irony was lost on old Biddy. ‘White is the proper colour for a young girl such as you, miss. I’ll admit you do look better in colours, being as you’re so pale-complexioned, but you have no choice tonight. You have no other decent gown to your name. It’ll have to be this white muslin.’

Jamie got up, pulling the blankets from the bed and wrapping them round her shoulders. ‘When is he due to arrive, Biddy?’

‘Nobody is sure. He may be delayed by the weather, o’ course. It’s difficult travelling at this time of year.’ Biddy seemed to be trying to avoid the subject of Jamie’s future.

Jamie was not really surprised. Old Biddy had served the family for over twenty years as, first, Jamie’s nurse, then as her half-brother’s, and now Jamie’s three half-sisters’. Biddy would not dare to risk her place with the Calderwood family by taking Jamie’s part against the formidable mistress of the house.

Jamie forced a smile. She still had her pride. ‘Thank you, Biddy. I shan’t need you this evening. Go back to your little ones. They’ll be fretting for you.’ Biddy hurried away to the nursery where it was warm and cosy.

As Jamie began to change into the thin muslin gown, she heard the sound of wheels crunching across the drive. He was here! The ice on the window blurred her view, but she could just make out a gentleman’s travelling carriage and four horses. Her betrothed travelled in style to acquire his reluctant bride, it seemed. He must be wealthy—which might explain how he could afford to marry a girl with no dowry. What else might it mean?

She felt an overpowering desire to see what this man was like. Would she recognise him? Would he be one of her father’s gambling cronies? Hastily throwing her shawl around her bare shoulders, she crept down the stairs to find a safe vantage point on the landing. Kneeling behind the balusters, she peered through to get a glimpse of her fate when he was admitted through the great doors of Calderwood Hall.

But the gentleman who stood in the entrance hall to be relieved of his travelling coat was like no man she had ever met. Although he was dressed in deep mourning, to Jamie’s untutored eye he was tall, dark and unbelievably handsome.

She drew in a sharp breath and held it, waiting for him to speak.

‘My name is Hardinge,’ he said, in a deep, well-modulated voice that sent a shiver all the way down to her toes. She was transfixed by the sound. It set her mind spinning so much that, for several moments, she could not make out a word that was being said.

She came to her senses as the gentleman stopped speaking. The butler was glancing surreptitiously at the card in his hand. ‘Certainly, my lord. If you would kindly step into the saloon.’

Jamie watched as the noble visitor was bowed into the crimson saloon. The door closed on him, but his image remained before her. How could it be that such a man—a man whose mere presence could make her skin tingle and her heart race—should arrive at Calderwood now? He could not be her betrothed.

Could he?

Chapter Two

‘My name is Hardinge.’ Richard, Earl Hardinge, proffered his card to the butler. ‘Be so good as to take my card up to your master and beg him for the favour of a few minutes of his time, with my apologies for having arrived unannounced. It is a matter of some importance.’

Richard was content to wait in the saloon while his message was delivered. He looked carefully at his surroundings. So much for the rumour that the family was deep in debt. This elegant room was fairly recently refurbished, as far as he could judge from the sumptuous hangings. A pity the family’s extravagance did not extend to more than a tiny fire—the room was absolutely freezing. He was not altogether surprised, for he had heard nothing but ill about this family of wastrels. He would be glad when his business was concluded—provided, of course, that he was successful. He could not afford to fail.

Richard stood with his back to the fireplace, trying to get some warmth into his limbs after the long journey. He hoped his servants were receiving better hospitality in the kitchen than he was, for they must by now be frozen to the marrow.

Barely five minutes after the door had closed behind the butler, Lady Calderwood entered the saloon and extended her hand politely to her visitor. ‘Lord Hardinge,’ she said, with a hint of enquiry in her voice, ‘you have come on a matter of some urgency?’

‘Lady Calderwood.’ Damn the woman! The last thing he wanted was to discuss his business with Calderwood’s wife. Surely the man was not too cowardly to meet him? Richard managed to conceal his annoyance as he bowed over her immaculate white hand. ‘How kind of you to receive me, ma’am. I hope Sir John is not indisposed? I shall not take up much of his time, I assure you.’

Lady Calderwood took her seat in a wing chair near the fire and motioned her guest to sit opposite. ‘I am afraid my husband is suffering from a severe chill,’ she said silkily. ‘His doctor has forbidden him to leave his room—or to receive visitors. It seems you have had a wasted journey.’ She smiled. ‘But you must be cold after your hours on the road. Perhaps I can offer you some refreshment before you leave?’

Richard shook his head, returning her false smile. He had not the least intention of leaving empty-handed. If Calderwood did not dare to face him, then he would have no choice but to get to the man via his wife. She was just one more calculating society woman—he would put the fear of God into her, if he had to. By the looks of her—he could tell at a glance exactly how much had been spent on her lavish attire—she was deeply involved in her husband’s spendthrift habits. He was going to enjoy putting her in her place.

He relaxed slightly into his chair and lifted his chin. The smile still played around his firm mouth. ‘You must be wondering about my errand, ma’am,’ he began. ‘It is a matter of business, you understand.’ He paused. ‘Normally, I would not dream of discussing business matters with a lady…so few men confide in their wives. And yet…yet I feel somehow certain that Sir John is one of those rare men who knows how to value a shrewd and intelligent helpmeet. I cannot doubt that you are in your husband’s confidence.’ Lady Calderwood was smiling broadly now. Excellent. Just a little flattery and she had given herself away. Her husband would have been more on his guard, Richard was sure. Perhaps it was as well that the man was indisposed, after all. ‘It is a matter of some delicacy, I fear, ma’am, but I am sure I may rely on your discretion.’

Lady Calderwood inclined her head graciously.

Good. Now he had her. ‘I should explain, ma’am, knowing that I may speak in complete confidence to you, that I am in the process of settling my father’s affairs following his recent death.’

Lady Calderwood murmured condolences.

‘Thank you, ma’am.’ Richard looked innocently at Lady Calderwood, keeping his expression unreadable. ‘You will be aware that my late father lent a very large sum of money to your husband,’ he said bluntly. ‘I have come to collect that debt.’ Lady Calderwood had become suddenly paler. He bent forward so that his face was near hers. In a low voice, but with every syllable absolutely clear, he said, ‘The debt is repayable on demand.’

Lady Calderwood flushed. ‘How can you possibly know that? Your father had no—’ She stopped and bit her lip.

He held her gaze for several seconds without speaking. ‘No papers?’ he said gently.

He gave her time to speak, but she did not. He found he was not really surprised. ‘The debt is, none the less, due. And I intend to collect. Every last penny. You may tell your husband that he has fourteen days, otherwise…’ He let the threat hang in the air. Without written evidence of the debt, Richard had very few legal avenues open to him, but the Calderwoods might not be aware of that. And there were other ways.

Lady Calderwood had been outmanoeuvred and she probably knew it—but if she felt any chagrin, she did not allow it to show. ‘My dear sir, I shall naturally convey your message to my husband, though I am not sure… I cannot say what his reaction will be. He has never mentioned to me any financial transactions with the Hardinge family. Indeed,’ she added with a titter, ‘as far as I am aware, the only dealings we have had were in the matter of references for my present abigail. She was previously employed by your lady mother, I collect.’

‘Ah, yes,’ said Richard vaguely. He was not surprised by her ladyship’s attempt to turn the conversation. ‘A tall woman, I recall, though I do not remember her name.’

‘Smithers,’ said Lady Calderwood.

‘Ah, yes,’ said Richard again. ‘I believe she was with my mother for some years. A first-class dresser, I think my mother said, but really only suitable for a lady who is prepared to spend a fortune on her back every season.’ He looked her up and down appraisingly. It was a studied insult. ‘No doubt Sir John makes you a very handsome allowance, ma’am.’ He was being incredibly rude, but he was determined to shock this woman into some kind of action which might prove useful to him. Otherwise he might indeed leave empty-handed.

Lady Calderwood’s eyes flashed dangerously as she rose abruptly and started for the door. ‘I do not think my financial arrangements can be of any interest to a stranger, sir,’ she said icily. ‘If you will excuse me, I shall go and tell my husband of your visit—and give him your message.’ With the faintest bow, she passed through the door he was holding for her.

Richard smiled faintly as he closed it on her. He had struck a spark, right enough, but would the tinder catch?

The butler soon returned with a decanter of madeira and some biscuits. Richard was glad to see that he added some wood to the pitifully small fire in the grate, but it was still far from generous. Her ladyship obviously practised strict economy in her household—especially on unwelcome visitors. Richard was still pondering the inconsistency between the mean fire and her ladyship’s extravagant attire, when the door opened once more. It was the abigail, Smithers. Now, why on earth…?

Richard took a few moments to scrutinise the young woman. He had barely noticed her when she had been part of his mother’s household. She was about thirty, tall and slightly angular, with rather wiry, dark red hair and a host of freckles across her nose and cheeks, but she was dressed with the quiet elegance of a top-class lady’s maid.

Smithers returned his gaze for a moment before making a quick curtsy. Richard fancied she looked uncomfortable. ‘Her ladyship’s compliments, my lord. She…she has asked me to tell you that, since Sir John is likely to be convalescing from his illness for some time, it would not be…advisable for you to make another visit. She will write to you when Sir John is recovered enough to receive visitors.’

So neither of the Calderwoods would dare to face him now. Damn them! Richard fixed the abigail with a hard stare. She coloured slightly. Obviously she was embarrassed at having to tell such downright lies, especially to the son of a previous employer. He should feel sorry for her. It was not her fault, after all. ‘My mother will be glad to know that I have seen you, Smithers,’ he said, adopting an affable tone. ‘I hope you are well?’

The abigail visibly relaxed. ‘Yes, my lord—and thank you for your enquiry. Her ladyship was kind enough to write that she hopes I am well settled here. I admit I did not expect to receive such a mark of attention.’

Richard refrained from asking whether the woman was happy in her new position. It was none of his concern. On the other hand, she might be a useful source of information about this appalling household. She might even know some detail of her master’s financial dealings. With an engaging smile, Richard deliberately set about exercising his charm on the abigail.

He did not succeed. It seemed that Smithers was too clever to let fall anything really helpful. Eventually, he gave up.

‘I am keeping you from your duties, Smithers. My apologies to your mistress—and my thanks for her hospitality.’

Smithers curtsied herself out, looking somewhat relieved to escape.

Richard sat quietly sipping his madeira while he reviewed his meagre store of information. Precious little so far. In fact, almost a wasted journey. Almost.

Chapter Three

Watching the comings and goings had been more than a little confusing for Jamie. Her stepmother’s speedy arrival, and smug smile, had led Jamie to believe for a few minutes that this was indeed the man who had been chosen for her. Perhaps he was not as stern as he looked. Perhaps he might eventually come to value her, especially if she made every effort to be a good wife. Perhaps…

Doubts were sown by Lady Calderwood’s sudden departure. It was obvious from the set of her shoulders that she was in a boiling rage. And Jamie’s father did not appear at all. Jamie knew then. Whoever the visitor was, he was not for her. What a simpleton she was, to imagine for a moment that her betrothed would be young, or handsome. It was time to go back to her attic.

Just as Jamie made to rise, her stepmother’s abigail appeared in the hall and went into the crimson saloon. No doubt she must be delivering some message from Lady Calderwood. But as the minutes passed and Smithers did not reappear, Jamie began to wonder what on earth the visitor and a mere servant could be talking about for so long. It was very strange. Jamie resolved to stay where she was.

The sound of Lady Calderwood’s door opening made Jamie shrink down behind the polished balusters. But her precautions were unnecessary. Her ladyship strode downstairs without a sideways glance, reaching the hall just as her abigail came out of the saloon.

From her vantage point above, Jamie could hear every venomous word. ‘And just what, pray, have you been discussing with his lordship all this time?’

The abigail blushed. ‘Why, nothing, my lady. His lordship was merely asking how I did and…and telling me about the Countess.’

Lady Calderwood’s eyebrows rose. ‘Was he, indeed? How very…how very kind of him, to be sure.’ She turned away and put her hand on the doorknob. ‘Wait for me in my dressing-room.’

Jamie recognised that voice. Lady Calderwood always used it when she planned to inflict some kind of punishment on her underlings. And, judging by the way the abigail hurried off, she knew it too. Poor woman.

Barely five minutes later, her stepmother reemerged and marched up the stairs towards her dressing-room. She looked even angrier than before. And the deep frown and tight lips suggested that she might have been bested in her discussion with her visitor. Heaven help them all if that were so.

Jamie was freezing now—and so stiff that she could hardly move. She needed to return to her room before someone noticed her. But in spite of the risk, she found she could not resist waiting for one last look at what might have been—even if only in her imaginings. It would give her something to dream about, something to cling on to, when she was faced with the reality of the man her parents had chosen.

The butler had returned as soon as Lady Calderwood was out of sight, but it was nearly fifteen minutes before the visitor was back in the hall, preparing to don his travelling coat. His lordship stood frowning into the middle distance, apparently oblivious of the service being rendered by the butler. But then he turned to smile his thanks, and Jamie saw that his face was transformed. The butler was flattered by the attention. Jamie was thunderstruck.

Then the door closed on the visitor with an ominous thud, bringing Jamie back to earth and to the reality of her situation. The dream was over. Her true betrothed might arrive at any moment. Faced with the prospect of her parents’ choice, she now found she wanted to postpone any sight of him for as long as possible. She rose, shivering, to return to her room.

‘Why, Miss Jessamyne, you have dirt on the hem of your gown.’

‘What? Oh, Smithers, I did not see you. What did you…? Oh, dear. Mama will be furious.’ Although such fury would be nothing new, Jamie felt a moment of hopelessness. Who would help her now?

‘Let me help you, miss,’ said Smithers briskly, taking Jamie’s arm and guiding her up the stairs and into her room. Smithers surveyed the extent of the damage, then whisked the dress over Jamie’s head. ‘You had best put something round you, miss, while I sponge this, or you’ll be half-frozen before I’ve done.’

Huddled in her shawl, Jamie sat silently on the edge of her bed, watching Smithers’ expert hands at work on the soiled dress. In next to no time, the marks had disappeared.

As she helped Jamie into the gown once more, Smithers commented, ‘Have you a coloured sash, or shawl, or perhaps some flowers to wear with this, miss? Unrelieved white is very difficult to bring off, especially for someone so fair-skinned.’

Jamie grimaced. ‘I have nothing of that kind, I’m afraid. Mama might be able to lend me something, since she has so many. But I don’t think she would be likely to agree if I were to ask her myself. I don’t suppose… Could you perhaps ask her?’

Smithers’ face became suddenly hard, her expression set. ‘I am sorry, I am unable to help you there, miss,’ she began tightly. ‘Lady Calderwood has turned me off.’ Jamie gasped. ‘I leave in the morning.’

‘Oh, Smithers, how dreadful for you. Why has she done it? Will she give you a character?’ Jamie’s concern was real. She knew her own position was desperate, but, whatever happened, she would not starve. A lady’s maid dismissed without a reference might never find employment again.

Smiling weakly, Smithers explained that the situation, though difficult, was not quite as catastrophic as that. Lady Calderwood would give her a character, of sorts, since she had no direct evidence of wrong-doing. Her ladyship had, however, made it clear that, should any potential employer apply to her for additional information, she would feel obliged to hint at something unsavoury in the abigail’s past.

‘And is there?’ burst out Jamie, without stopping to think.

Smithers looked at her severely, and Jamie could feel the beginnings of a flush of embarrassment. Why could she never think before she spoke?

Smithers forestalled Jamie’s apology by saying, ‘You know you should not have asked such a thing, miss. But it’s understandable, perhaps, with her ladyship’s fine manners as an example to follow.’ By now, Jamie was almost scarlet. ‘Don’t worry, I haven’t taken offence. And, no, there is no murky past. Nor have I betrayed the confidences of this house to my previous employer. Her ladyship has been misinformed.’

‘By that gentleman who just left?’

‘Possibly.’

‘How wicked of him! Why should he do such a thing? It is monstrous!’ Jamie was quite ready to do battle on the abigail’s behalf. For the moment, her own troubles were forgotten in her concern to right this manifest injustice.

Smithers shrugged. ‘It is water under the bridge now, miss. You must get ready to meet your betrothed. And I must go and pack my things. Her ladyship has ordered the gig at first light to take me to the inn for the stage to Bath.’ If she felt bitter, she was managing to conceal it well.

‘What will you do there?’

‘Bath has a number of reputable agencies for the placing of domestic servants, like abigails and governesses. If I am not successful there, I shall try again in London. Now, if you will excuse me, miss, I’ll say goodbye. And good luck.’

Jamie did not hear those final generous words. She was too much struck by what had just been said about agencies for governesses and the possible escape route which they might provide. No such post, she firmly believed, could be worse than her present situation with Lady Calderwood and the prospect of a forced marriage. If she could become a governess, or a companion (under an assumed name, naturally) she could at least choose her own tormentors. But first she would have to get away from Calderwood Hall.

Jamie sat down on the bed, gazing abstractedly into the middle distance. The shawl fell unnoticed from her shoulders. She was no longer conscious of the cold as she concentrated on planning her escape, exploring and then dismissing various options—the prospect of freedom had given her back all her normal courage and resolve.

Then she was summoned to her father’s study.

‘Ah, come in, child, come in.’ His voice was tired, prematurely aged like the rest of him. Though he was not beyond middle age, his hair was thin and white, and his hands shook slightly. In spite of his neglect of her, Jamie found she pitied him, even though she had long ago lost all trace of love for him. He was just a poor old man, broken by a strong-willed second wife and by his own addiction to the gaming tables.

‘Mama has told you about the marriage which has been arranged for you, I understand? Good, good,’ he finished, without giving Jamie time to reply. ‘I hope you realise how lucky you are, my child. It is not every man who would take you, you know, but luckily, Cousin Ralph is rich enough not to object to your lack of dowry.’

Jamie’s blood seemed to stop in her veins. Ralph Graves—a distant relation of Lady Calderwood—was old enough to be her grandfather. She went cold all over at the very thought of him, with his twisted and wizened body, and his tiny black eyes. She remembered how those leering eyes had followed her round the room, how he had sought every opportunity to touch her, how clammy was the feel of his hand. Everything about him had made her flesh crawl.

‘No!’ Her protest burst out before she could think what she was saying.

Her father slowly raised his eyes to meet hers. Under his increasingly stern gaze, she flushed but held her ground. ‘What did you say?’ he asked ominously.

Jamie took a deep breath. ‘I said I will not marry Ralph Graves, Papa.’

Her father ignored her protests. She should have known he would. ‘Your betrothed is due to arrive at any moment. You will receive him graciously and accept his formal proposal when he makes it tomorrow. And then you will be wed as soon as the banns have been read.’

‘No, Papa,’ said Jamie again, in the most reasonable tones she could muster, ‘I will not marry Ralph Graves.’

He looked sharply at her then. ‘You are my daughter and you will obey me. Graves and I have settled on this arrangement, and I will not permit you to undermine my position with him. I say you will marry him.’ She could see that her obstinacy was fuelling his rising anger. His face and neck were turning an alarming shade of purple. ‘No other man would take you, plain and penniless as you are. Take him, or by God, I’ll disown you and cast you out!’ His hands were shaking even more now.

Play for time, said Jamie’s inner voice. Let him calm down a little or he will throw you out this very day.

Jamie forced a tiny smile. ‘Papa, please, do not be angry with me! I do not mean to vex you. I know you mean to do what is best for me and I am grateful, truly I am.’ Behind her back, she crossed her fingers. ‘But Cousin Ralph is so much older than me, besides having buried two wives already. I just…I need a little time to accustom myself to the idea of marriage to him. All I ask is a little time. Please, Papa!’

She could see not the slightest sign of softening in his face. Nothing she could say would ever sway him. He expected her to submit without a murmur—to become Ralph Graves’ property, his dumb, downtrodden chattel. She refused to contemplate being so completely in the power of such a man.

‘You have until this evening,’ her father said flatly, without looking at her. ‘Cousin Ralph is expected for dinner. And you will comport yourself as you have been taught. Or else.’

She was dismissed. There was nothing more to be said. Slowly she climbed the stairs to her freezing refuge. Inside, she leaned thankfully against the door, closing her eyes in an effort to shut out the image of Ralph Graves. It all felt like a wicked joke. Ralph Graves might be rich, but generous he most certainly was not. From what little Jamie knew of him, he was rich because he was a miser, a miser who grudged every penny he spent. If she married him, Jamie would be exchanging one freezing garret for another—and, in addition…

No! She had never allowed herself to dwell on her sufferings. Now was definitely not the time to start.

She found herself wondering why Graves would agree to wed her without a dowry. It hardly seemed in character for such a miserly old man. She could not understand how her father could have persuaded Graves to offer for her without some kind of financial incentive. Yet she was penniless.

Jamie shook her head impatiently. She had picked a strange moment to worry over impossible riddles. She had been prepared to escape before, when she did not know who had been chosen for her.

Now, she had far more reason to flee.

Chapter Four

When Jamie entered the drawing-room, the shrivelled figure of Ralph Graves uncoiled itself from the chair by the blazing fire and came to greet her. Taking both her icy hands in his, he leaned forward to place a kiss on her cheek. Jamie was enveloped in the musty smell of his clothes. Then, at the touch of his wet mouth on her skin, she could no longer stop the nausea from rising in her throat. She closed her eyes and willed herself to conquer it.

‘I knew you should not mind a betrothal kiss, my dear,’ he said in a rather high-pitched voice which cracked occasionally in the most disconcerting way. He turned her to face him so that he could view her properly.

He needs to examine the goods, Jamie concluded, conscious of his bright little eyes and his damp hand on hers. And he thinks he owns me already. She bore his scrutiny with dignity for a moment, then said, ‘Ah, but you are a little previous, Cousin Ralph, I believe.’ She forced herself to smile flirtatiously at him, subduing the temptation to pull her hand away and rub it clean on the muslin dress. ‘Papa told me that we should meet this evening and I might then expect your formal proposal tomorrow. Do you tell me you do not intend to make one?’ she teased, trying to hide her disgust behind a mask of archness.

It worked. Cousin Ralph laughed, an odd croaking sound. ‘By Gad, she has grown up, as you said, Sir John. I think I may yet have the best of our bargain.’ He turned back to Jamie. ‘Very well. Tomorrow it shall be.’

With as genuine a smile as she could manage, Jamie enquired about their guest’s journey. She was rewarded with a detailed recital of the horrors between Bathinghurst and Calderwood, where the roads alternated between slush and sticky mud.

Cousin Ralph had, he affirmed, put up with the cold and discomfort quite willingly. The warm welcome which awaited him at Calderwood—and here he paused to look meaningfully at Jamie and to pat her trapped hand again—was compensation for any hardships.

Jamie suddenly knew she had conquered all her fears—for she wanted to laugh. If Cousin Ralph had been plagued by cold and draughts, he ought to spend more of his hidden wealth on improving the comfort of his carriage. He probably even begrudged the cost of a hot brick for his feet! No real gentleman would travel in such a way. The gentleman who had called earlier, for example…

Jamie was nodding absently, apparently in agreement with what Graves was saying, and he beamed at her. But her thoughts were dangerously far away, with an elegant gentleman dressed in black. If only—

Jamie was saved by the announcement of dinner.

Graves naturally offered his arm to escort Lady Calderwood to the dining-room, where he took his seat in the place of honour on her immediate right. Jamie breathed a sigh of relief to find that she had been placed on her father’s right, at the opposite end of the long mahogany dining table.

The dinner which her ladyship had ordered, though not lavish by the standards of the ton, was much more extravagant than the normal fare at Calderwood Hall. As the dishes of the first course were being served, Lady Calderwood turned brightly to her guest. ‘Do have a little of this buttered crab, cousin. It is difficult to come by crab at this season, of course, but I recalled that it was a favourite with you.’

Graves helped himself liberally. There would be little or none left for the host or his daughter, but Jamie had been denied food for so long that she did not care. Indeed, if she partook of too many unaccustomed dishes, her stomach might rebel at the un-wonted richness. She must guard against that at all costs. So, she ate a little soup and some plainly cooked fish and vegetables, refusing the beef. If Cousin Ralph noted how abstemious she was, he would be congratulating himself. His wife-to-be would not cost much to feed.

During the first course, Sir John addressed barely a word to his daughter. He preferred to address himself to his wine, consuming copious amounts with every dish. The second course included several delicacies, together with a Rhenish cream, another of Cousin Ralph’s favourites. But Jamie’s eyes were fixed on a dish of gleaming oranges, piled high on a nest of green leaves. It was many years since she had been permitted to taste one, and her mouth watered at the thought of their delicious juices.

As the butler moved to offer the dish to Jamie, Lady Calderwood intervened. ‘Leave them here, if you please,’ she said sharply, adding, as the butler replaced the dish in front of her, ‘Sir John never touches oranges at dinner, cousin. He maintains that they spoil the wine.’

Graves cast a shrewd glance at his host who was now well into his third bottle. ‘There may be something in that, cousin, indeed. I do not grow oranges myself. A very ordinary fruit, in my opinion, given the shocking cost of maintaining an orangery. Do you not find it so?’

Lady Calderwood tittered. ‘Oh, these were not grown here, cousin, certainly not. The expense, as you say, is not to be thought of. No, these were procured from town for your visit. I should not have done it else, I do assure you.’

Graves smiled smugly and helped himself to the finest specimen on the plate.

The knot of tension in Jamie’s stomach grew tighter once more as she looked down the table at the odious cousins. She tried to concentrate on her apple but could not. Eyes fixed on her plate, she heard her father signal to the butler to refill his glass yet again. Sir John was, as usual, becoming very much the worse for his wine. By the time Lady Calderwood rose to signal the ladies’ departure, her husband’s occasional words had become noticeably slurred.

As soon as the gentlemen rejoined them, Lady Calderwood moved rapidly to the bell-pull by the fireplace to order the tea tray. A great wave of relief flowed over Jamie as the butler received his instructions. Not long now, surely? She bent almost eagerly to her stitchery, trying to shut out the sound of Cousin Ralph’s voice.

‘Jessamyne.’ Jamie raised her head at the sharp voice. ‘What are you about? Come and help me to serve tea to our guest.’

Jamie rose obediently from her place. She took the teacup to Graves, who was sitting in the best chair by the fire. ‘Cream and sugar, cousin?’ she asked politely, trying to avoid his sharp little eyes.

He took the cup awkwardly from her, trying to touch her fingers as he did so, but only succeeding in spilling the tea into the saucer.

Jamie’s sharp intake of breath was drowned by a gasp of outrage from her stepmother. ‘Jessamyne! How can you be so clumsy? Fetch a clean cup for Cousin Ralph. At once!’ she commanded sharply.

Holding grimly to the thought that this ordeal must soon be over, Jamie did as she was bid without uttering a single word and then retreated to her dark corner once more.

Some fifteen minutes later, Lady Calderwood rose, glancing anxiously at her husband, who seemed to be half-asleep in his chair. ‘If you will forgive us, cousin, I think we shall retire now. I am sure you agree that it is wise to keep early hours, especially in winter. The cost of candles is quite outrageous these days.’

Cousin Ralph rose to take his hostess’s hand. ‘You are only too right, dear lady. A very wise proceeding, which I also adhere to in my own establishments, particularly in the servants’ hall. They are quite profligate with candles if one does not supervise them most strictly. As I am sure you do, cousin,’ he added, relinquishing her hand and turning to Jamie.

He took Jamie’s hand in both of his, pressing it with his clammy fingers. ‘Good night, my dear Jessamyne. Sleep well. I shall see you tomorrow, as we agreed. After breakfast, do you not think?’ He raised her hand to his lips.

She managed to overcome the urge to pull away from him, but she could not suppress a shiver of loathing as his lips touched her skin once more. He looked up sharply into her face.

Jamie’s mind was racing. She must find a way of reassuring him. Oh, why did her body insist on betraying her so? She forced a rather wobbly smile. Maidenly modesty, she prayed, would be blamed for a little quiver of excitement at the thought of his proposal on the morrow.

‘Until tomorrow, then, my dear,’ he said again, letting go of her hand at last.

Jamie succeeded in waiting until she was back in her own chamber before rubbing the offended hand vigorously on the white muslin gown. She did not stop to wash. She had far more important things to do.

Jamie’s preparations were swift and methodical. First, she collected together her pitifully small store of money and a bare minimum of clothes and other necessities, which she stowed under her bed. Next, she removed the awful muslin dress and her petticoats, replacing them with her nightgown over her underthings. Finally, she lay down on her bed, extinguished her candle and drew the bedclothes up to her chin.

Then, in the darkness, she waited.

She had known that waiting would be the worst part. It seemed the threat was all around her, hovering in the gloom like an evil spirit. She closed her eyes, forcing herself to focus on practical, positive things. In her mind’s eye, she began to design a wondrous garden…

It seemed to take hours before the house was finally quiet. Lying on her bed, Jamie watched the moon flood the landscape with ethereal light. She breathed a silent prayer of thanks to some ancient virgin goddess for the help it would provide. Surely this was a sign that her plan would succeed?

Cautiously she slipped out of bed and across to the door. She listened carefully—there was no sound of life in the house. A quick peep into the corridor confirmed that everyone must be in bed, for no lights were to be seen.

Without lighting her candle, Jamie crept downstairs to her half-brother’s room.

Less than ten minutes later she was back with her booty, completing her preparations. The bundle was retrieved from under the bed and tied up for travelling. Her nightgown was cast aside and replaced by outdoor clothes. Wrapping Edmund’s worn cloak over the whole, she made her way down the back stairs and out, by the garden door, to the stables.

Her mare greeted her with a soft whinny and allowed herself to be led quietly out of the yard with only a rope halter.

‘Bless you, Cara,’ whispered Jamie, stroking the velvet muzzle as they reached the shadow of the outside wall. ‘I hope we can both remember the way of this. It’s been a very long time.’ Without further ado, Jamie jumped up on to a convenient outcrop and mounted, tying her bundle into the small of her back with the strings which bound it. Edmund’s old cloak covered her almost to her feet, hiding both the bundle and the fact that she rode bareback.

Holding lightly to Cara’s black mane, Jamie walked her quietly away from Calderwood Hall.

Jamie was in no hurry, since she had all the hours of night to complete less than five miles. Besides, she would not for all the world have risked her beloved old mare by travelling too fast at night.

They made good speed until they came to the edge of the wood and the end of Calderwood land. Now Jamie was grateful for the moonlight, since she had to follow less familiar paths and bridleways, some of them perilously ill-kept. ‘Only another mile down the lane, my Cara,’ she whispered. ‘Not long now.’ The mare’s ears twitched at the sound of her mistress’s voice, but she did not pause in her gentle walk.

When Jamie reached her destination, she slid down from the bay’s back and led her through the hedge and into the shelter of a belt of trees. ‘Oh, I shall miss you so much, Cara,’ she whispered, wrapping her arms round the mare’s neck. Cara whickered softly in response, nuzzling Jamie’s shoulder, then stood calmly watching her mistress as she made her final preparations.

Jamie extracted a small spade from her bundle and dug a hole under a leafless beech tree. Then she used a pair of shears to hack off much of her curly titian hair, cursing softly when she realised she had forgotten to bring anything to serve as a mirror. The hanks of hair went into the hole, followed by the shears and the spade.

As she was tying back her shoulder-length hair with a piece of black ribbon from her pack, she was surprised into a giggle by the look of interest on her mare’s face. ‘Well, Cara, what do you think of your new master?’ Cara blinked slowly. ‘Not very complimentary, are you? I admit I’ve probably made a poor fist of the haircut, but I can tidy it up later, if I can find a mirror and some scissors.’ She patted her hair self-consciously. ‘But, at least, Edmund’s clothes are a reasonable fit. Don’t you think I make a fine boy?’ She twirled. Cara edged uneasily as the cloak billowed.

‘Now we must wait.’

Dawn came slowly, a half-hearted winter light.

Still they waited.

After what seemed a very long time, the sound of hooves was heard in the nearby lane. Jamie crept forward to crouch behind the hedge. Yes, it was the Calderwood gig, driven by the old groom, with Smithers sitting very upright in her place, staring straight in front of her.

Jamie returned to her mare. ‘Now, the only risk is that old Timothy will decide to stop to wet his whistle at the inn instead of going straight back to Calderwood, as he ought.’ She continued to wait, listening intently. Some fifteen minutes later, she was rewarded by the sound of the returning gig. If Timothy had slaked his thirst, he had not stayed long to do it. Jamie watched with satisfaction as the gig passed out of sight.

‘And now it really is goodbye, Cara,’ whispered Jamie, releasing the mare, removing the rope halter and throwing it into the hole which she then filled in with her bare hands, allowing the dirt to get under her fingernails and into her skin.

She turned to stroke the mare once more. ‘Go home, Cara. Back to your warm stable.’ Then she picked up her bundle and made her way down to the lane. Behind her, the horse pulled idly at a few tufts of thin grass. There was almost nothing to eat at this time of year. Soon she would be hungry enough to find her way back to Calderwood.

Jamie did not look back. Adopting the easy stride of a boy, she walked on to the village, whistling.

At the inn, all was bustle. No one took any notice of a slightly grubby boy, anxiously looking around as if in search of something. Jamie ventured into the inn, keeping her hat pulled low over her face. In the taproom, she found Smithers alone, seated primly on a bench by the wall. Jamie sat down beside her.

‘What, may I ask, do you want, young man?’ asked Smithers crisply, though her voice was not hostile.

‘I need your help, Smithers,’ pleaded Jamie softly, looking up at her. ‘Please don’t give me away.’

‘Good God! Miss Jessamyne! What on earth are you about?’ Luckily, Smithers did not have a carrying voice.

‘Please, Smithers! Help me! I need to escape. I cannot marry that terrible man. All I need is a few weeks. Then I shall be safe.’

‘What do you mean about “a few weeks”, miss?’ the abigail asked, in a low voice.

‘Don’t call me that. Someone will hear. Just call me “Jamie”.’ Jamie searched the maid’s face for a sign that she might relent, but there was none. Jamie swallowed hard. ‘In a few weeks, I shall be twenty-one. Then, no one can force me into marriage with him. All I have to do is stay in hiding until I come of age. Please help me, Smithers!’

Jamie felt the woman’s slow scrutiny. Surely the proposed bridegroom made even Smithers’ flesh creep?

The abigail lifted one of Jamie’s grubby hands and brushed it across Jamie’s cheek so that it left a dirty streak. ‘You’d better start calling me “Annie”, don’t you think?’ she smiled.

‘Oh, bless you!’ cried Jamie, hugging the older woman impetuously.

‘Hey! That’s enough of that,’ cried Smithers, pushing her away. ‘I haven’t said I’ll help you yet.’ She paused. ‘It will depend on precisely what you want from me. Well?’

Jamie launched into her prepared speech. ‘You said you were going to Bath on the stage…er…Annie. I only want you to help me to get a seat too. I have the money to pay, don’t worry. And, once we reach Bath, I can look after myself.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes. I plan to… But perhaps it would be better for both of us if I kept my plans to myself. Then, if anyone should ask, you can truthfully say you don’t know, can’t you?’ She beamed innocently at the abigail. ‘It sounds pretty rum to me, I must say. And, if I help you to get on the stage, I will be involved, whatever you choose to do about telling me your plans. How am I to explain that away?’

‘No one will be looking for a boy, Annie, I promise you. These clothes belong to Edmund. He won’t be back from Harrow for weeks and weeks, so nobody will notice they are missing. And all the clothes in my pack are my own, so when they discover I am gone, they will be searching for a girl.’

‘Hmph. And what if they discover that the lady’s maid from Calderwood Hall was suddenly to be found in the company of a young lad?’

‘They won’t. I don’t want us to be together. I just want you to tell me how I go about obtaining a seat on the Bath stage. Then I’ll do it myself.’

Annie Smithers seemed to be wavering. ‘It won’t do, Miss Jamie, I’m afraid. A young lad travelling by himself and buying his own seat at the last minute would be bound to attract attention. They’d wonder if you were running away from school.’ Jamie’s suddenly despondent expression must have shocked her. ‘Don’t take on so, miss. Look, I can help a little. I’ll go and see if I can buy an extra seat on the stage for you. Give me the money. Right. Now, you stay here. I don’t want them to know it’s for you.’ Pocketing Jamie’s coins, Smithers left the taproom.

In five minutes, she was back. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Jamie. It can’t be done. Mine was the last place on the stage. There’s no way he’ll take you, I’m afraid.’

Jamie sat down heavily on the wooden bench. She had tried to plan for every eventuality, but she had not foreseen this. She dared not hang around the inn waiting for the next stage in hopes of getting a seat. Too many people from Calderwood and the nearby villages used the Boar’s Head. She would very likely be recognised by someone.

Jamie groaned in anguish, clenching her fists. Then she slumped dejectedly against the wall. It had all been for nothing.

A cool voice from the doorway interrupted them. ‘Why, it’s Smithers, is it not? And in some difficulty, if I am not mistaken. How tiresome!’

Chapter Five

At the sound of that deep authoritative voice, Jamie felt a shudder run through her body. She knew exactly who had uttered those deceptively simple words. But, now that she was finally to meet the man whose image had been haunting her, she did not dare to turn round to look at him. What if he saw through her disguise? What if…? She shrank further into her boy’s clothes, trying to make herself as inconspicuous as possible. Why did his arrival affect her so? He could not recognise her, for he had never set eyes on her, but somehow there was something incredibly threatening about his very presence. She sat staring at the floor, her hands clasped tightly together, as if in supplication.

Smithers, by contrast, was facing up to this unexpected arrival who seemed to find their presence so tiresome. She dropped a quick curtsy and then, without any kind of warning, cuffed Jamie lightly round the ear. ‘Stand up at once, Jamie, and make your bow to Lord Hardinge.’

Jamie rapidly obeyed, trying her best to bow as Edmund did and to conceal her dismay as she did so. What on earth was Smithers going to say? And do?

‘I beg your pardon for my brother’s want of manners, my lord,’ continued Smithers quickly. ‘He’s worried, you see, because there’s no room for him on the stage. They must have made a mistake up at the Hall and booked only one seat instead of two.’ She shrugged. ‘We’ll just have to wait, I suppose.’

Lord Hardinge looked inquiringly at the abigail. ‘A sudden departure, I collect?’

Smithers swallowed. ‘Urgent family business, my lord. I have to get Jamie to Bath quickly. He’s been… er…with me more or less since Mother died, you see, and now there’s a chance of a situation for him in Bath. But I need to be sure he’s settled. I promised my mother I would.’

‘Ah yes, very laudable, Smithers, very.’ He looked hard at Jamie. ‘And how old are you, my lad?’

Jamie found she could not speak. She looked appealingly at Smithers.

‘He don’t talk much, I’m afraid, my lord. He’s a little…well…backward. But he understands everything you say to him, I assure you, and he has the sweetest nature, too.’

Jamie gulped. Smithers was getting carried away. ‘I be thirteen,’ she croaked. ‘Gardener I be, sir.’

His lordship laughed, but not unkindly. ‘I could have guessed that from the state of your hands, Jamie, though not perhaps from your fine clothes. Are you a good gardener?’

Jamie nodded vigorously.

‘He has a wonderful way with growing things, to be sure,’ added Smithers, ‘though he’s not been a gardener, in the ordinary way.’

Lord Hardinge raised an eyebrow.

‘What I mean,’ continued Smithers hastily, improvising around the truth, ‘is that Jamie wasn’t exactly employed at Calderwood, just allowed to stay there. Charitable of her ladyship, really, to give him bed and board. The gardening was his attempt to pay his way. He’s not much good at household duties, I’m afraid.’

Jamie kept her head down, trying to hide her face from his lordship’s penetrating gaze. She knew she was blushing. That did not seem appropriate for a thirteen-year-old boy, even a backward one.

‘So, you have found him a proper situation as a gardener’s boy, have you, Smithers? That sounds hopeful.’

Jamie groaned inwardly. Smithers was beginning to struggle in the complications of her own story. If she claimed there was a position for Jamie, his lordship would probably enquire as to the employer’s name, and then what could Smithers say? Jamie held her breath.

‘No, not precisely, my lord.’ Smithers started to move towards the far end of the room. ‘Sit down there, Jamie,’ she called back. ‘Would you mind, my lord?’ she continued in a low voice. ‘I don’t like to discuss this in front of Jamie.’

Jamie swallowed a gasp. She wanted to stop them, but she could not step out of the part she was playing. No backward boy would understand what was being discussed, far less insist on being part of it. She must just put her trust in Annie Smithers. At least it would give her time to school her features into blankness— and a chance to strain her ears to hear what was being said.

‘I thank you kindly for your interest in my brother, my lord. In fact, there is no definite situation for him yet, but I am most hopeful. One of the Bath agencies believes he can be placed. There are many openings for bootboys and the like.’

‘But you said he has no bent for indoor work,’ he returned sharply.

Jamie saw that Smithers was flushing, caught by the twists of her own tale. ‘Not real indoor work, like a page boy,’ the abigail said hurriedly, ‘but even he can black boots.’

His lordship smiled coldly. ‘You would not say that to my valet, Smithers,’ he said caustically. ‘However, we are wandering from the point. Now, the stage is due in about ten minutes. Do you take your seat on it, and I will take the boy on the box of my carriage. You may find him at the coach office when you reach Bath.’

Smithers’ reply came out in a rush. ‘How very kind you are, my lord. But, no, I’m afraid I cannot accept your offer. Jamie’s never been on his own, you see, especially in a big city. I couldn’t think of letting him travel all that way by himself or having him wait at the coach station for such a long time on his own.’ She lowered her voice a little. ‘People sometimes take advantage, make fun of him. They can be very cruel.’

Fixing the abigail with a hard glare, his lordship pronounced on her fate. ‘Your sisterly concern does you credit, Smithers. Very well. Since you will not leave him to me, you had better come along as well. Get the lad to load your bags into my carriage. I am leaving immediately. I hope you do not object to travelling forward?’ He walked out with an indifferent nod, not waiting for her reply.

Smithers hurried back to Jamie. ‘Did you hear what we said?’ At Jamie’s rapid nod, the abigail continued, ‘Remember you must act the part of a boy, Miss Jamie. You’re to travel on the box with the coachman, which means you won’t have his lordship’s eye on you. He’s altogether too sharp, that one, for my liking.’

‘For goodness’ sake,’ hissed Jamie, ‘you must stop saying “Miss Jamie”! Remember, I am “Jamie” and you are “Annie”. What if he heard you?’

‘Yes, yes, very well,’ agreed Smithers, shooing her to the door. ‘Now, go and load the luggage. Quickly. You don’t want to draw his lordship’s attention to you by being tardy.’

Jamie grabbed her pack and the abigail’s bulky travelling bags and hurried out to the carriage, trying not to think about the risks of what was happening. Keep out of his way, she told herself sternly, and act simple.

But her eyes were still drawn to him, like a moth to flame. Lord Hardinge was standing by the steps, giving crisp instructions to his coachman. The grooms were stationed by the horses, ready to whip the cloths off their backs as soon as he gave the word. He exuded authority. And he was watching her!

‘Jamie!’ he called sharply as he mounted into the carriage. ‘Tell that sister of yours to get a move on. Quickly now!’

Jamie nodded obediently and trotted off into the taproom where Smithers was waiting, looking rather more composed than before. ‘Come on, Annie! He’s becoming impatient! Now, do be careful what you say to him. Don’t spin any more stories, please. I shan’t be able to keep up with them.’

‘Yes, you will. Just stick to your character—backward, without many words. If you don’t know what to say, say nothing. And look simple.’ She turned to go.

‘Annie.’ The abigail turned back. ‘Thank you, dear Annie. Some day—’

‘Oh, stuff! Now, let’s be going. He’ll expect you to help me into the carriage.’

Up on the box beside the old coachman, Jamie was soon inwardly rejoicing at her escape. In just a few hours, they would reach Bath, and then she would be free. Her heart was singing. But no amount of joy could prevent her from gradually freezing. Edmund’s clothes were not thick enough for winter wear and his cloak, though long, was thin, affording little protection against the bitingly sharp wind. Jamie glanced enviously at the thick greatcoat, mufflers and gloves of the coachman. Her own hands were becoming blue with cold and so numb she could barely feel them. She was sure there was a drip on the end of her nose. With grim determination, she ignored it and concentrated on mastering the chattering of her teeth. She refused to give up now. Only a few hours more…

Once Smithers was settled, Richard studiously ignored her. He relaxed in the corner of his opulent carriage, a fur rug over his knees, and closed his eyes to indicate that he did not propose to converse during the journey. He waited until the abigail fell asleep, lulled by the rhythmic rocking of the carriage. As her breathing slowed, he opened his eyes once more. And he fixed his gaze on her, thoughtfully examining every aspect of her person.

He had been surprised to find that he felt sorry for a simple lad, in spite of his suspicions of the sister’s lame explanations. The boy had looked so uncomfortable in his fine clothes, obviously charity cast-offs from someone in the Calderwood family. And he would be vulnerable without his sister, if he were indeed taking a situation on his own. Richard sighed. His conscience would not allow him to draw back, when a simpleton needed his help. Besides, there might be profit in this encounter. Smithers knew more about the Calderwood household than any agent he had yet been able to employ.

Richard had noted the attempt at masculine panache as the boy slung his sister’s bags into the carriage. But it was not so much the awkwardness of Jamie’s movements which had attracted his attention, as the size of the abigail’s baggage. Strange, if she were indeed travelling to Bath for a few days only. If she were leaving for good, on the other hand…

He smiled to himself. Things were beginning to work out rather better than he had hoped, and might yet be turned even more to his advantage. He would consider further during the journey. There was no rush, now that he had the woman under his eye.

At length, the carriage turned into a posting inn for a change of horses. The grooms were quickly about their business, unhitching the team and assessing the quality of the replacements. Nobody was paying any attention to Jamie. She sat immobile, too cold to move a muscle.

Lord Hardinge lowered the glass on his side of the carriage and poked his head out. ‘Jamie! Down from there! Go and fetch me a tankard of ale. Look sharp, now!’

Jamie hurried to climb down. She made a pretty poor showing, for her fingers were so cold she could barely grip the handholds. Seeing a waiter coming towards the carriage with a tray of tankards, she rushed to grab one and immediately dropped it. The ale splashed all over the waiter’s boots.

‘Why, you young—’ began the waiter, incensed, raising his free hand to strike Jamie.

‘That will do!’ commanded Lord Hardinge, flinging open the door and jumping down. ‘If my servants are to be chastised, I shall do it.’

The waiter began to stammer an apology, but his lordship simply took a full tankard from the tray, threw down some coppers and turned away.

‘Come here, Jamie.’

Jamie’s first reaction was to run, but her frozen limbs would never have moved fast enough. Keeping her eyes lowered, she approached her intimidating benefactor. He sounded much less angry now than when he had shouted at the waiter, but still…

‘Show me your hands.’

Jamie did so. They were thin and blue. The filthy fingernails stood out starkly.

‘Have you no gloves?’

Jamie shook her head, still gazing at the ground.

His lordship put a hand on her frozen cheek. Suddenly it seemed as if all the blood in Jamie’s body had rushed to that spot. She felt sure that the outline of his fingers was impressed in brightest scarlet on her burning skin. And that same quivering of all her body had returned.

‘Why, you’re frozen to the marrow, lad. No wonder you dropped that tankard. I should have known. You’re much too thin—and as for these clothes… Well, you’d better come inside with your sister, before I have your death on my conscience.’

Jamie did not move. She was still trying to come to terms with the strange effects this man had on her.

‘Don’t just stand there, boy.’ It sounded as if the Earl was beginning to regret his generosity. ‘Come, jump in.’ He gave Jamie a hearty push towards the carriage.

As Jamie climbed in, she registered the shock on the abigail’s face. No wonder. Spending hours under the eagle eye of Lord Hardinge might well lead to discovery. Jamie dared not utter a sound. Annie busied herself with chafing Jamie’s hands and clucking over her like an anxious mother hen.

‘Enough, Smithers, enough!’ snapped Lord Hardinge. ‘I have no objection to your helping your brother to get warm but, for heaven’s sake, do it without all this gabblemongering!’

Looking chastened, Smithers lapsed into silence. Eventually, she drifted off to sleep again.

Jamie soon found herself the only one awake. Cautiously, she sat up in her corner, pushing her hat back from her eyes and flexing her fingers, which tingled painfully as the sensation returned. She felt in her pocket for a handkerchief to deal with the drip on her nose. She did not have one, which reminded her that boys like simple Jamie never used them, so she experimented with wiping her nose on her sleeve instead. Ugh!

But what did that matter? She had escaped! She might never again live the life of a gentlewoman, but her future was now her own to decide. She paused to savour the luxury of the carriage, its deeply cushioned seats and the pervasive smell of rich leather. Nothing at Calderwood was half so splendid. And if Lady Calderwood had owned such an equipage, she would never have allowed her hated stepdaughter to set foot in it. Jamie sank back in her seat, longing to shout with exultant laughter.

Opposite her, Lord Hardinge moved in his sleep. He had removed his hat, presumably so that he might doze more comfortably. Jamie found herself gazing at him. It was such a handsome face in repose—thick, arched black brows, a finely chiselled nose, perhaps a little long, a generous mouth made for smiling, and a strong chin, slightly cleft. His thick dark hair became him, even in disarray. Jamie found herself wondering about the colour of his eyes. Dark, she supposed, like the rest of him, unconsciously raising her eyes to look again at his face.

Cobalt blue eyes bored into hers! Lord Hardinge had been watching her, just when she thought she was safe. And his eyes seemed to be able to see into the depths of her being! She shuddered visibly.

Glancing at the still-sleeping abigail, the Earl frowned across at Jamie, his face very stern. ‘Satisfied, are you, lad?’ he asked in a menacing whisper.

Jamie shuddered again.

Lord Hardinge’s expression softened slightly. ‘Don’t worry, Jamie. I am not angry.’ His voice seemed less hostile now. ‘But you really must not stare at your betters in that insolent way. It could earn you a beating in some houses.’

Jamie began to stammer an incoherent apology.

‘Forget it,’ interrupted his lordship sharply, closing his eyes once more.

Jamie held her breath for a long time, trying to control her racing pulse and fearing another onslaught from the powerful man sitting opposite her.

The carriage remained silent. It seemed that Lord Hardinge had had enough of the boy Jamie, at least for the present.

Jamie looked enviously at the abigail, sleeping peacefully alongside her. If only she dared to close her eyes too. She was so tired—and the growing warmth inside the carriage was making her eyelids droop. But it was too great a risk. She dug her fingernails into the palm of her hand. She must not sleep where he might watch her. She must not.

At the next change, the Earl allowed them both a bite to eat and a mug of ale. It tasted foul, and much too strong, but Jamie could find no reason to refuse it. Ten minutes after they had moved off, she began to succumb to the effects of the alcohol and her sleepless night. Her eyes closed, but still she struggled to stay alert.

‘I am glad your brother is asleep, Smithers, for I want to talk to you about him.’

‘Yes, my lord?’

‘From what you have told me, he would make a pretty poor bootboy. Much better to place him as apprentice gardener on a large estate.’

‘Yes, my lord. I intend to do so, if such a situation can be found. But—’

‘It can be. I need just such a boy on my own estate. I shall take him.’

‘I thank you for your offer, but we can’t accept it. You see…’ The abigail’s voice trailed off. She seemed to be fast running out of excuses.

‘Why don’t you tell me the truth, Smithers?’

His slightly raised voice penetrated Jamie’s half-slumber. At the sound of the word ‘truth’, her eyes snapped open.

‘I don’t understand…’ began Smithers.

‘Gammon. You know very well. No woman of your station carries all her worldly goods with her on a three-day trip to Bath. You have been dismissed from your post, I collect, and are hoping to find another in Bath. Well?’

‘It is true, my lord,’ agreed Smithers in a whisper. ‘Lady Calderwood would not keep me at the Hall after your visit. She decided…she believed…’ Her voice tailed off miserably.

‘Indeed? And so both of you are turned out into the world again? I must say it makes me wonder why you will not accept my offer for Jamie.’ There was an edge of irritation in his deep voice as he stared suspiciously at the abigail. The handsomeness of his face in repose had been replaced by a frown which drew his black brows together in a hard line.

Smithers began to stammer a little. ‘I…I was hoping to find a situation where we could be together, so that I could look after him. You know what I mean, I think.’

‘Yes, I do know. There is no need to elaborate. I assure you, he will come to no harm under my roof.’ He paused to look directly at Jamie, who shrank a little under his stern gaze. ‘Very well, Smithers. If I can persuade my mother to re-engage you as her abigail, will you then agree to my proposal for Jamie?’

‘I don’t know.’ She turned to consult Jamie, who nodded quickly, taking no notice of the silent warning in the older woman’s eyes. ‘Since Jamie seems willing—then, yes, if we can stay together, we accept.’

‘Good,’ said the Earl crisply, settling back in his seat. ‘I have no doubt Lady Hardinge will be delighted to have you back in her service. We should be at Harding in about an hour.’ He closed his eyes once more.

Jamie looked anxiously at the abigail, who shrugged impotently. It was now clear to Jamie that his lordship never had intended to take them to Bath, but straight to Harding, his own estate. Jamie felt a prickle of alarm. What did he have in mind for them now?

Chapter Six

‘What on earth possessed you to agree to his offer?’ snapped Annie in exasperation, sinking on to the bed. The attic chamber was small, but better furnished than the average for servants. There were still some privileges attached to the position of lady’s maid.

Before Jamie could reply, they were interrupted by the noise of heavy footsteps on the stairs. ‘That will be the truckle bed for you, I suppose. Open the door and help them with it, Jamie.’

Jamie did as she was bidden, biting back the retort which had risen automatically to her lips. Annie really was beginning to treat her like a younger brother, rather than as a lady. And if she wanted to be safe, she would just have to become accustomed to it.

‘Can’t understand why you wants a lad like him in here, Miss Smithers,’ grumbled the young footman, dragging the bed through the narrow doorway. ‘He could just as easy sleep out by the stables.’

‘No, thank you, Tom. Lady Hardinge has agreed that he should be with me until he’s settled.’ She was unbending a little more than she normally would to an inferior. ‘Will you keep an eye on him, when you can, Tom? You know better than I who might be unkind to him.’ The smile she gave him transformed her normally stern countenance.

Flattered by such a show of confidence from one of the highest servants in the household, Tom grudgingly agreed to look out for Jamie when he could. ‘But out in the gardens he’ll be on his own, for I’ll not be able to go out there much. He’ll be all right with old Mr Jennings. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. Caleb, now, is a different kettle o’ fish. Nasty piece o’ work. Got a vicious temper, he has. Jamie’ll need to keep out o’ his way.’

‘Who is Caleb?’ asked Annie.

‘Undergardener. Came after you left. Mr Jennings is getting too old for all the work, so his lordship wanted someone younger, ready to take over when the old man retires. Mind you,’ he added with a chuckle, ‘Mr Jennings ain’t the kind who’ll give up easily. Yon garden is his pride an’ joy an’ he’s like to rule it ’til he drops.’

‘Thank you for the warning, Tom. I’ll try to make sure Jamie keeps out of Caleb’s way as much as possible.’

As the door closed behind Tom, Annie set about unpacking Jamie’s belongings. Jamie watched helplessly as Annie inspected her few clothes with pursed lips.

‘We must sort out some more boy’s clothes for you. You can’t possibly work in the garden in those you have on. As for these’—she picked up a plain green gown and held it disdainfully at arm’s length between finger and thumb—‘I’ll put them among my things. Though how anyone could think I would de-mean myself to wear such a monstrosity, I cannot imagine.’ She dropped the offending garment on the chair.

It was that single gesture that brought home to Jamie just how impossible her situation had become. She had fully intended to revert to being a girl as soon as she reached Bath, but now she was buried on a private estate, miles from anywhere, and irrevocably cast as a gardener’s boy. Could she carry it off? What if she were discovered?

Looking down at her filthy hands and travel-stained clothes, Jamie concluded that, even if she were found to be a girl, no one would ever guess she was a lady. She had needed a hiding place for a few weeks, until she came of age. What could be better?

As Annie continued to scrutinise Jamie’s meagre wardrobe, muttering darkly, Jamie began to giggle. The giggle grew uncontrollably until she was laughing in great gusty whoops, gripping her aching sides. In the face of such infectious hilarity, Annie too began to laugh until they both collapsed in a helpless heap on the bed, wiping tears from their eyes.

‘Oh, Annie,’ gasped Jamie at last, ‘however did we get into this? And how shall we ever get out of it again?’

‘I don’t know, I’m sure. I doubt if I shall ever find another place after this, that I do know.’

‘Of course you will. If I were rich, I’d take you like a shot. Perhaps when I come of age—’

‘If you were rich, Jamie, we wouldn’t be in this fix. And what self-respecting abigail would have anything to do with a lady who looks like a—’

‘A dirty little scarecrow? Yes, well, perhaps with the right sort of dresser I could be improved.’ Jamie made a face. ‘What do you think?’

‘I think that it’s high time I found some more boy’s clothes for you, so that you can start your apprenticeship. Let’s see how happy you are with this silly play-acting after a week’s hard work.’ Annie’s sharpness failed to conceal her real concern.

‘Annie, dear, don’t worry. No matter what they give me to do, I won’t give myself away, I promise you.’

Annie grunted. ‘Well, see that you don’t.’ She made for the door, warning Jamie not to leave the room until she returned.

While Annie was gone, Jamie reassessed her own position with some care. She must not be discovered, for that would mean disaster for her—and the work-house, or worse, for Annie Smithers.

Jamie refused to dwell on the risks they ran. Instead, she thought hard about the handsome Earl, in an attempt to identify what it was about him that affected her so. She could not decide. He was an enigma. She found it impossible to reconcile his relative kindness to her with his behaviour to poor Annie. He must have given Lady Calderwood reason to believe that Annie was not fit for a position of trust, considering how rapidly she had been dismissed. It was monstrous! She said as much, yawning widely, when Annie came back into the room with a large pile of worn, but serviceable, working clothes.

‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ retorted Annie flatly. ‘I have no way of knowing what he might have said to Lady Calderwood and, since he has seen fit to re-engage me at Harding, I really have very little to complain about. It could have been much, much worse. As for you, young lady—’ Jamie yawned again ‘—you need to go to bed. Did you not sleep last night?’ Jamie shook her head. Annie made to turn down the covers on the bed.

‘I can’t sleep there, Annie. That’s your bed.’

‘It wouldn’t be right for a lady to sleep on that little truckle there,’ protested Annie, tight-lipped. ‘It will do very well for me.’

‘And how will you explain it to anyone who happens to come in and finds you there, while your little brother lies in luxury? Come, Annie, you know it won’t do. I shall be perfectly comfortable here.’ With that, she lay down on the truckle bed and closed her eyes. In less than a minute, she was asleep.

Countess Hardinge closed the book-room door quietly behind her.

Her son strode across the room to embrace her and place an affectionate kiss on her cheek. ‘That was remarkably swift, my dear,’ he said. ‘I take it they are settled? Thank you. I’m only sorry I could not explain properly when we arrived, but with both of them listening…’

He relaxed as she nodded, lingering for a moment in his embrace.

‘I understand now why you brought them, Richard—or Smithers, at least—but it seems such an unlikely route to recovering our losses. Can we really afford to spend our time on a mere abigail—situated as we are?’

He stood back slightly to look more carefully into her face, noting her worried frown and the anxiety in her eyes. ‘It is nothing like as bad as you fear, my dear,’ he said gently. ‘We are still comfortable enough. And we shall come about.’ Gently he drew her to the best chair by the fire. ‘Come, sit down,’ he murmured. ‘Let me fetch you a glass of madeira.’

Lady Hardinge let out a long sigh as she sank into the chair. Her son could feel her eyes on him as he filled a single glass from the crystal decanter.

‘I should pour one for yourself too, Richard,’ she advised, before he had even turned round.

That sounded ominous. He looked questioningly at her, but her eyes had closed. Something really serious was on her mind, but surely it couldn’t be money this time? They already knew exactly how much was missing. And now that he had given up his gambling and his opera dancers, they should be able to manage—just—on the income from the estate.

That left only one other possibility—another impassioned plea that he set about finding himself the wife that they had long ago agreed he must have.

As he placed her glass on the little table by her elbow, he attempted to deflect what might be coming. ‘I have been thinking about what we said before, Mama, and I have concluded that you are right. I do need to marry soon. So, I have decided to offer for Emma Fitzwilliam. After all, we have known each other for nearly twenty years, so there would be few surprises. She may not be witty or clever, but she is nothing like as fickle and flighty as most of her sex. I imagine we could rub along pretty well together.’

His mother sighed again. Her features registered some inner turmoil, but she did not respond to his sweeping slight on womankind.

Richard realised he was making a poor fist of his explanations, but he was in too deep now to withdraw. And besides, his mother was the very one who constantly urged him to marry. She…no, that was not quite fair. His mother wanted him to fall in love and then marry. On that count, Emma Fitzwilliam most definitely did not qualify.

He swallowed hard. ‘May I take it that you approve my choice, Mama? After all, the Fitzwilliam estates march with ours, and she will inherit them some day. Her dowry will be handsome. She has, besides, all the attributes a man must seek in a wife: beauty, breeding, a conformable nature—’

‘She may have all the required qualities, Richard,’ interrupted Lady Hardinge at last, ‘but you do not!’ She ignored her son’s gasp of protest. ‘Family tradition requires that you give the Hardinge betrothal ring to your bride as a token of your deep love for her—’

‘Oh, tosh, Mama! Forgive me—but people like us do not marry for love, especially nowadays. Marriage is a matter of business. It would be a union between two families—the Hardinge title and the Fitzwilliam wealth. You’re not still hoping for a love match, are you, my dear?’ He softened his words by smiling warmly at her.

‘The head of this family must marry for love,’ she replied firmly. ‘That rule has held true for all the Hardinges, for centuries. Your father believed in it— and so do I. You know that. And you know, too, that disaster struck on the only two occasions when the tradition was flouted.’

Richard did not reply.

‘Richard?’

‘Yes, Mama,’ he said softly, ‘I do know what happened to them, but I don’t believe in the curse for a moment. It was just coincidence that both of them died, without an heir, before they reached forty. It happens in other families too. And they don’t have a curse to blame it on.’ He sat down and tossed off his glass of madeira in a single swallow. ‘Clearly, there is only one solution—I must instantly fall head over ears in love with a lady of vast fortune. It is the obvious way to reconcile the needs of the estate with the family tradition.’ He laughed bitterly. ‘If only life were so simple.’

She turned slightly, looking him full in the face. ‘I am sorry, Richard.’

He shook his head. ‘It’s not your fault, Mama. Papa was taken in by that blackguard, Calderwood, when he was too ill to know what he was doing. You could not have prevented it—even if you had known.’

He sat for some moments, grimly contemplating the dregs of wine in his glass. ‘Well,’ he returned at length, ‘if I am to abide by your rules, I must have earned a temporary reprieve. I cannot guarantee to fall in love with an heiress, so marriage will have to wait—until the money has been recovered!’ He smiled impudently. ‘Every cloud has a silver lining.’

His mother could not conceal a slight twitch of her lips at his words. But there was no amusement in her voice. ‘If you take that attitude, you’ll make no match at all, far less a love match. I know that, after Celia, you feel—’

Richard allowed his stony expression to show her how little he appreciated any mention of that name from his past.

His mother rapidly changed tack. ‘Think, Richard. You are already one-and-thirty. You have no brothers. You really must marry soon.’

She was beginning to wring her hands. Gently, he enclosed them in his own, letting her gain strength from his warmth. ‘Does my marrying for love mean so much to you, my dear?’

‘Not just to me. To all of us. Especially to you.’

A taut silence fell. Richard could see the strain on his mother’s face, but he was not prepared to pursue this subject further, even with her. ‘Come, my love. Let me take you upstairs. You will wish to rest and change before dinner.’

Lady Hardinge gave her son a smile of silent understanding as he led her out of the study and up the staircase to her bedchamber.

When Richard returned to his desk, he remained some moments toying with his pen and staring into space. So much of his ordered world turned upside-down by those few words from his mother. Words he had long tried to avoid—the Hardinge family’s love matches. A fairy story, surely? And out of the question for a man like him. Yet he knew it would now be impossible for him to carry out his hastily devised plan of offering for Emma Fitzwilliam. Fate? He could not decide whether the luck was for good or ill.

Next morning Jamie rose with the lark, ravenous. She was astonished to discover that she had slept for fifteen hours.

‘I am ever so hungry, Annie,’ she said, as she gave herself a perfunctory wash and began to change her clothes. This was her first day of freedom, and she meant to enjoy every moment of it.

Annie eyed her balefully. ‘There will be plenty to eat downstairs. But first, we must see to your appearance.’ She forcibly removed the garments Jamie was holding. ‘No, not those. Breeches and gaiters, a smock and an undershirt. Here.’

Jamie wrinkled her nose at the thick, rough smock. It looked thoroughly uncomfortable. Just touching it made her itch.

‘It can’t be helped, Jamie. You chose to be the gardener’s boy. It’s a good thing you’re a bit thin. Boys of that age usually are. But we’ll need to bind your breasts, just the same.’

Jamie blushed scarlet, but it seemed to make no impression on Annie, who was busily rummaging in the clothes press. Jamie gasped a protest as her old calico petticoat was pulled out and efficiently ripped into bandages.

‘Not fit for a lady anyway,’ Annie pronounced. ‘If you ever become a lady again, I can provide you with better than this and with gowns more becoming than yours.’

Annie seemed to be in her element. She certainly knew how to manage a young lady, even a slightly unwilling one. In no time, she was wrapping the strips tightly round Jamie’s upper body.

‘Now, put on the rest of the clothes and let us see how you look.’

There was no point in protesting any more. Annie was right. Jamie had to be able to pass muster as a boy. They were both at risk if she failed.

She stood in the centre of the room while Annie inspected her minutely. ‘Not bad,’ the abigail conceded, ‘but why did you do that to your hair? Boys don’t wear it like that nowadays—it’s much too long.’

‘I was trying to leave myself enough so that I could be a girl again. It’s just about long enough to be put up.’

‘I’ll tidy it up a little, at least.’ Annie fetched her comb and scissors. As she freed Jamie’s hair from the restraining ribbon, the dark red curls fell forward, framing Jamie’s pale face. ‘Why, how different you look, miss, much prettier than that severe bun you always wore at Calderwood.’

Jamie smiled shyly up at her, surprised by the half-compliment. ‘Mama always insisted I wore it so, in order to tame my “appalling red mop”, as she called it. She never permitted me to cut it.’

‘She never permitted anything which would make the best of your looks, if truth were told.’

Jamie laughed. ‘But I have none. I’ve always known I’m plain.’

‘Oh? Look here.’ Annie forced Jamie to sit down in front of the brown-speckled mirror and then arranged her curls becomingly around her heart-shaped face. ‘Now, tell me you’re plain.’

Jamie was astonished. Annie really sounded as if she meant it. But then, when Jamie did look, she suddenly saw herself through new eyes. Against the frame of titian hair, her pale complexion glowed and her deep green eyes sparkled. The plain pasty-faced dowd had disappeared. In her place, there was a pretty, red-haired—boy!

‘Good grief!’ Jamie hastily began to drag her hair back from her face to tie it up again. ‘They’ll never believe I’m a boy if I look like that,’ she said, unconsciously immodest.

‘True,’ said Annie, with a short laugh. ‘Here, I’ll tidy it up for you. Then you’ll do, I think.’

Annie trimmed the ends of Jamie’s hair and combed it back severely from her face, tying it very tightly with a piece of twine. ‘Gardener’s boys don’t use ribbon,’ she observed sagely.

The winter sun was dipping low in the sky when Jamie finished her first day’s work. She sat on her heels, stretching her aching back and looking ruefully at her grime-encrusted hands. Her body might ache, but her heart was singing. She was safe from the Calderwoods now, and surely she could remain hidden at Harding for the few weeks she needed?

She finished tidying the bed, packing all the weeds into her buckets for the compost heap and the bonfire. Mr Jennings would have no cause to complain about her ability to sort out the perennial weeds from the rest.

It was only as she passed the gardener’s hut on her way to the compost heaps that she heard the raised voices. She herself was the subject of a heated discussion between Mr Jennings and another man. She allowed herself to dawdle a little.

‘But this bit o’ the garden’s always been left ter me,’ protested the unknown voice vehemently. ‘B’ain’t no call for nobody else, least of all a witless boy. No knowing what harm he might do.’

‘The boy knows what he’s about,’ commented Mr Jennings calmly. ‘He’ll do no harm. And we can be doing with another pair of hands here, what with spring planting coming.’

‘Don’t need no extra hands here,’ said the unknown. ‘I’ve allus done it all m’self, ever since I been here. Why change it now? For a half-wit?’

‘That’s for me to decide, Caleb, not you.’

Caleb! Jamie shivered. The man was obviously angry about her arrival, even though he had never set eyes on her. It made no sense at all—for what threat was a garden boy to him? Still, she had been warned about his vicious temper. He sounded like the kind of man who would enjoy bullying a simpleton. She must keep out of his way.

The heated voices were still audible as Jamie moved slowly away. ‘Let me have the minding of the boy, at least. I can’t be a-running of the garden if’n I dunno what he might do next.’

‘No.’ Mr Jennings’ voice was curt and decisive. ‘I’ll be responsible for the lad myself. If you want him to do work for you, you must come to me.’

‘But that’s—’

‘That’s the way it’ll be, Caleb, an’ no buts. That’s the way his lordship wants it. You should know better by now than to cross him.’

‘But—’

‘Let it be, Caleb. That’s the last word.’

Jamie hurried away. The men would come out of the hut in a few moments and must not find her hanging around.

From the comparative safety of the compost area, she watched the hut door. It was fully five minutes before it opened and Caleb emerged. She crouched down a little, busying herself with her work.

Caleb was a huge man, almost as tall as Lord Hardinge, but of much heavier build. He had immensely broad shoulders with massive arms and hands. He seemed to be carrying a lot of surplus weight—he had the belly of a drinker and a nose to match, its purplish colour easily distinguishable even in the fading light.

Jamie tried not to think about how she could handle a confrontation with this brute of a man. He—and his temper—must be avoided at all costs. She must make herself indispensable to Mr Jennings and perhaps allow him to see that she was afraid of Caleb. Given Lord Hardinge’s explicit orders, that might serve to keep her apart from the undergardener. She prayed that it would.

Chapter Seven

The next morning, while Jamie was weeding around the parsnips, she was dumbfounded to see Lord Hardinge come into the kitchen garden with a lady on his arm. Jamie felt herself flushing bright red at the thought that he would be scrutinising her yet again. He seemed to see so much. And the more often she came under his eye, the more likely he was to penetrate her disguise.

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