The clock in the upstairs hall chimed off one a.m. on the morning of Monday, 30 July 1804. Sarah simply could not sleep.

She went up to the nursery to check on Cousin Jane's twins, little Georgie and Anne. Two wet nurses had been engaged to provide for the needs of the babies. Both women woke with a start from their narrow beds when Sarah had entered the nursery.

"I was just checking on my godchildren," she told the wet nurses in little more than a whisper. "Go back to sleep." The women didn't argue at all.

Sarah sat there in the nursery for the longest time, just watching the children sleep. They were so small, so helpless...so precious. Jane, their mother, would have been an unfashionably doting mother, even as she had been an unfashionably devoted wife.

Later today, the twins would be christened in the chapel here at the Blake ancestral home, Chisholm Hall. The entire Blake/Elham/Roberts family was here for that event. Sarah, George, Jane's sister Patricia, and Sarah's brother Edwin would all stand as godparents to the babies.

Sarah took her candle, walked down the stairs and through the darkened hallway to her room. The house was peacefully quiet. Even the servants were abed. Having everyone she loved here should have made Sarah profoundly at ease. But she was not at ease enough to sleep.

She thought that she might as well pick out a book from the library. Maybe if she read something appropriately mind numbing--like a volume of sermons--for a while, she would be able to sleep. Although, she doubted that anything would really help. The thunderstorm raging outside was a perfect match for her dark and stormy mood.

She entered the library and closed the door snugly behind her. The only light was from the dying fire in the hearth, the flashes of lightning as seen through the windows, and the flame of the single candle she held.

Thunder rattled the windows as Sarah began to light the six candles of a silver candelabra.

"Don't light those, Sarah, I beg you," her cousin-in-law George, Duke of Chisholm, said quietly from a chair in a dark corner of the large room.

Sarah hadn't even known anyone else was in the room. "Chisholm, I am sorry to intrude. Forgive me?"

"There is nothing to forgive. Just don't light the candles. I would rather be here in the dark, with my dark thoughts," George added.

George was the son of Sarah's own godmama, a distant cousin to Sarah, the recent widower of Sarah's cousin Jane, and the father of young George and Anne. He was several years older than she was, but they had always been friends. That he would marry Jane was never a question. The families had settled that matter shortly after Jane's birth. Yet the marriage had been exactly according to the desires of both of them. She knew his heart had to be broken into tiny pieces just now.

"Would you rather be solitary?" she asked him. "If so, I will leave you."

"Can you not sleep, either, Sarah?" he asked quietly.

"I haven't really slept in a fortnight."

"It has been a difficult time, first with Jane's dying and then with the loss of Elizabeth and Percy. I am sorry that you share my insomnia. But no, to answer your question, I would not rather be solitary. Stay, Sarah. Talk to me for a few moments. I grow quite weary of people being quite so accommodating of my solitude."

She heard desperation in his voice. She hated hearing that tone there. She understood it. But she still hated it.

"You would rather be discommoded?" she teased him, hoping to bring him out of his dark mood for at least a moment.

"I am not made of spun glass. I will not shatter if people behave normally around me. Come, sit and talk with me. There is no one in the entire cast of my cousins who has ever been less careful to promote my dignity than you, Sarah."

"If you wish it, certainly, I shall sit with you for a few moments. However, I am not certain that I particularly care for that description of me. You seem to be describing an ill-bred boor."

"No, Sarah. That is not what I meant at all. Many labels could be applied to you. Yet, ill-bred would never be one of those. You have always been honest with me. You have never fawned over me, unlike some others of my cousins. The ducal title has never stopped you from raking me over the coals when I have earned a dressing down. I do not believe that I have ever seen you be afraid of anyone, myself included."

She picked up the candle and went over to where George was sitting. She placed the candle on the table between the two leather covered chairs and sat down in the second chair. The almost empty carafe of brandy and a partially filled glass besides it sat in mute testimony that George had been drinking, as he had been drinking for the two weeks since Jane had died.

He appeared to be wearing only his dressing gown. Sarah knew her reputation would be irreparably damaged should anyone ever discover them together in this state of undress. This could not be excused by the fact that they were cousins.

"Chisholm, is it your wish to join Jane in the grave by drinking yourself there as others of our family have done in their bereavement?" she asked in concern. "If so, you are well on your way."

"At least that would end the pain," George said on a sigh.

The pain in his voice was nearly more than she could bear and he was making her angry. There was enough pain in this family, already. It didn't need to be added to and visited upon the babies. "Do you really wish to follow in the footsteps of Uncle Frederick and leave your children completely without a parent? Do you?" When he didn't answer her, she continued, "The children need their father. I know it is not easy. You aren't actually helping the situation with your hiding in the bottle, Chisholm. You know this."

George looked at her, anger in his expression. "And you, of course, are speaking from your vast life experience?"

"I am seven and ten. That's quite old enough to marry, to establish a home and nursery of my own," she replied, a measure of bitterness in her voice. "As my father keeps reminding me."

George picked up his brandy and took another sip. "And how do you feel about that, Sarah?"

She sighed, and decided that she would make him laugh, no matter how outrageous she had to be. "Making a suitable connection was the point of my having endured this Season in town, of being presented at Court. I cannot like this social whirl. The entirety of the Social Season smacks of the examinations before a horse auction, Chisholm. Look at the pedigree, examine the animal for any obvious faults, et cetera. All the time I was in London, I half expected some dowager to pull open my mouth to inspect my teeth and to lift my skirts to inspect the straightness of my limbs. The one advantage of a horse auction over the social season is that a buyer can usually inspect a mare's or stallion's get. In the beau monde, both parties contract with no knowledge that there will be offspring, and with precious little indication of the quality thereof."

He gave a great bark of laughter, as she had hoped. "Only you would make that comparison, Sarah."

"I've spent, I've been told, entirely too much time in the stables," she dismissed.

"There is nothing wrong with knowing horses, Sarah."

"As a considerable portion of my personal fortune is tied up in racing and breeding stock, I should certainly hope not," she replied with a small smile.

"You are not, I take it, devastated at the fact that your first Season was cut short?" George asked her carefully.

She shrugged slightly. "Hardly. In the face of the real tragedy we have endured, how can I count the loss of the rest of the Season as anything other than a mild annoyance? I'll return to Town for at least part of next Season unless I wed in the interval."

"So, would you wed the first man of position who sought your hand in order to avoid facing Silence Jersey once more within the hallowed halls of Almack's?"

"Oh, certainly," she agreed in jest. "Squint-eyed, wastrel, cruel, or stupid, as long as there is money and title, bring them on. I regret only that I have a limit on the number I can marry."

George laughed. "Sarah."

Sarah sighed. "A lady has little choice in life. Marriage is the only honorable choice open to a gentlewoman. Making a selection of a husband is the only time that a lady really has any choice in her life."

"So, would you marry me?"

Sarah felt her face grow warm. "Of course not!"

"Why not? Most females would quite fancy being a duchess."

"I am not 'most' females. You need to find someone who can love you the way that you deserve to be loved, the way that Jane loved you. I can't think of anything that would be more ghastly for you and the children than for you to marry a woman who merely fancies being a duchess. The children need someone to love them in a motherly way. Jane wanted nothing less than happiness for the people whom she loved so well. She had asked me to look out for you and for the babies if anything were to happen to her, to make certain that you were both happy and well."

George picked up his glass and drained it.

"How do you see me?" he asked, his voice serious.

"You are my friend. You always have been."

"Do you love my children?"

"Young George and Anne are extremely precious to me," Sarah replied, her voice low and earnest. "You should be aware of that. I will do the best that I can for them as their godmama."

"There are worse things that could happen than for us to marry, are there not?"

"You are intoxicated. We both will regret this conversation in the light of day. Or rather, I will. You, quite likely, will not remember it in the least. Goodnight," she said as she rose from the chair.

He took her hand and pulled her towards him. "I am not all that firmly in my cups, Sweet Sarah," he said as he pulled her into his lap. Without giving her a chance to protest, he kissed her. He held her firmly with one arm. The other hand had a firm, but gentle, hold on her head.

George kissed her deeply, as though he had every right to her mouth. The kisses were hot and demanding. He tilted her head slightly to gain even fuller access to her mouth. His kisses were lightning, while she was like a dead tree. Desire swept through her as easily as fire would catch in a dead tree after a lightning strike. Just as that tree would burn from the heart outward, so was she burning with the desire that flamed, licking and swirling, through her. She had been kissed once before, but that had been nothing like this.

As the kiss deepened even further, she simply wrapped her arms around his neck and hung on as the world spun away. George filled her senses, leaving room only for the elemental reality of man and woman. The honesty of the need in his kiss totally undid her. Nothing else mattered at the moment to her, nothing except the passion she felt building up within her at his touch and kiss. Sarah gloried in the feeling, wanting nothing other than to be exactly where she was--in his arms.

The hot, demanding pressure of his mouth made her dizzy. The stroking of his tongue against hers filled her with almost unbearable pleasure.

A moment, or a century, later he sank to his knees, placing her on the floor before him. Then he lay atop her, kissing her hungrily once more.

His wide chest flattened her breasts. Sarah stirred restlessly beneath him. She needed something, what she didn't know precisely, only that she needed him. His arousal was obvious pressing against her thighs. Then he kneed her thighs apart, jerked the fabric of her chemise up to her hips, and entered her with one swift powerful thrust.

The suddenness of the pain amid the pleasure stunned her. She cried out. Her cry was drowned out by a clap of thunder that rattled the windows.

George looked down at her now tear streaked face. She had closed her eyes. "Oh, Sarah, don't cry, sweetheart," he murmured to her as he gently wiped the tears from her face.

"George, I beg you, do not hurt me further," she implored in a quiet voice "Do not hurt me."

"No more pain, sweetheart. There will never be pain again. Only pleasure from this moment. I promise you," George assured her his tone gentle. "You will never have pain again."

The pain passed. The pleasure began to build once more as George began to trace light kisses along the side of her face and throat as he slid a hand between them and began to caress her breasts. Slowly, he began to move again within her as he kissed her again and again.

Sarah became lost in the pleasure he was giving her and the tension built within her. As his strokes came faster and faster, she knew that it was possible to die from pleasure. She didn't care, as long as he was with her. Sarah cried out as the tension building in her lower body exploded, sending shimmering release through her. Another window rattling clap of thunder masked her cry.

She felt him within her throbbing as her body rewarded him with contraction after contraction. It was only a moment later that she felt the pulsing of his own orgasm.

George moaned a name--Jane's name--low from his throat.

The shock of being called Jane's name at a moment like this numbed her for a moment. A flash of lightning brightened the room enough for her to see his face. Then she balled up her fist and hit him in the ribs and then hit him again. She kept hitting him until he caught her fist in his hand.

"Stop this. Stop this right now, Sarah," George commanded. "There is no need for this."

"Let me rise. Get off me," she growled at him.

George rose to his feet. "Sarah?"

She scrambled to her feet and went to stand beside the window. She looked out onto the stormy darkness and listened to the rain hitting the windows. How in the world could he have called her by Jane's name? After everything that had passed between them, how could he?

"We shall be wed quietly, today, Sarah, my sweet. Uncle Robert will be happy to give us a special license, once I explain the situation to him, since he is here for the christening anyway. We'll wed in the chapel here right after the christening."

She turned from the window and walked over to him. "You would embarrass me like this before His Grace, the bishop? You would cause me such shame before my family, before society? How could you?"

"Sarah, sweeting, we have no choice. We must wed. You know what just passed between us. I owe you a large debt of honor."

"You do not wish to marry me," Sarah replied, her voice quiet.

"I will make this right between us, I promise you this."

"Listen to me, Chisholm, quite carefully, before you say anything."

"Very well."

"I will marry you. You have given me no choice in the matter, if honor--mine, as well as yours--is to be satisfied. We both know that I can never honorably marry anyone else now. You have left me with only a limited number of choices; marry you, remain unwed for the rest of my life, or begin a life as a fashionable impure. The neither of the last two particularly appeal," she answered quietly. "This marriage to you would not have been of my choosing otherwise. My heart has belonged to another for some time now."

George was quiet for a long moment. The ramifications of her words sank through his brain. This made him feel even worse. Not only had he wronged Sarah, but he had stolen from another man. "Was there an understanding between you and this gentleman?" he asked carefully.

Sarah sighed. "No. You were at least spared that. Father refused his request for my hand last Christmastide."

George thought back to the Winter Ball at Elham Park only a few short months ago. Sarah had danced all evening, only sharing two dances with one gentleman--the grandson and heir of the Earl of Barrow, one Marcus Lewis. Jane had remarked on how Sarah had clearly developed a tendre for the fellow.

"Yet you lived in hope that your father would change his mind about Mr. Lewis?"

"Father never changes his mind about anything. Mother says that he is like the love of God in that he changeth not," Sarah replied with a mixture of frustration and respect in her voice.

George smiled and lightly kissed her forehead. "That is as good of a definition of your father as any I have ever heard. He is a hard, but fair, man. I have a good deal of respect and admiration for him."

"As do I. Father never changes. There was a chance--albeit a remote one--I might be able to remain unattached until I reached my majority, and could act on my own in the negotiating of a marriage for myself."

"Remote?"

"Father was encouraging me, then, to look favorably upon the suit of the Marquis of Latham."

George had known about Latham's interest in Sarah. Jane had been appalled. However George had known the truth about that ruse. Sarah's father would have never completed the arrangements to wed her to Latham. Sarah's father had been using Latham's interest in Sarah as a means to an end.

Sarah sighed. "You work with Father and Uncle Richard in their efforts at the Foreign Office. You know all too well that Father was attempting to use me as bait for a trap for Latham before Latham died so suddenly this last February." Sarah sighed and shook her head. "What have I ever done to lead anyone to form the conclusion that I am either stupid or unobservant? I am young, yet I am hardly oblivious to all that surrounds me." She sighed a third time. "Well," she allowed, "in most situations I am quite aware."

"No one has ever accused you of stupidity, Sarah. However, your awareness of your surroundings is not directly the issue at hand."

"Isn't it?" she asked with a fair amount of disgust in her voice.

"Sarah, we need to deal with the issue at hand. Namely, our marriage."

"Agreed. At this moment, we must deal with the situation in which we find ourselves. There is no choice in the matter. We must wed. I agree with you in this."

"No, sweeting, there is no choice. I am glad that you see the wisdom. I will speak with my uncle the bishop and get a special license. We will wed this afternoon."

"We needn't create unnecessary scandal in the discharge of matters of honor. My monthly flux is due in within a matter of two or three days. There shall likely be no child resulting from this mating. It is the wrong part of the cycle of the moon, for me."

"That is plain speaking indeed. And displays a knowledge not common to virgins."

"After what just passed between us, you can doubt I was a virgin?" she demanded on a harsh whisper.

"No, Sarah, one thing of which I am certain is how deeply I have dishonored you," George said, self-disgust in his voice.

"Aunt Henny sat down with me, as she did with all my sisters and female cousins, when we were each growing into young womanhood, and told us the rudiments about such things. As each of my sisters and cousins have wed, I understand that Aunt has passed on more words of wisdom to them as well."

George smiled sadly. He knew only too well the results from those words of wisdom. Jane had always been full of delightful surprises in bed. "So I understand. What I fail to understand is how you are able to be so calm, after what has just transpired between us."

"Where would be the use, There is no time for recriminations, in this matter, Chisholm. I am not accusing you of anything, or demanding anything of you. However, this is too important a subject to allow for anything except plain speaking."

"I do appreciate that fact, Sarah. I thank you for your self-control. And you may call me George. Considering the terms of intimacy we are on, I think that appropriate."

"If I possessed any self-control, we would not be having this conversation now. Pray listen to me, carefully, for we may not have another opportunity to speak so plainly with one another."

"I am listening to you, Sarah."

"I have one suggestion for handling this situation. If at the end of a fortnight, I haven't experienced that monthly flux, then we will assume that I am likely with child and we will marry as you suggest. A quiet wedding, with us remaining in the country until well past the period of our mourning for Jane and Elizabeth, would then be appropriate. Otherwise, I would greatly prefer to wait out the year of your mourning for Jane and as long after that as it takes for you to actually be heart whole again. When you are ready to remarry, I shall be waiting for you. At that time, a wedding suitable for a duke would be able to be planned. No one would be then the wiser about this unfortunate event."

"That you are offering this shows a great deal of trust in me. And demands that I have a great deal of faith in you."

"I have always trusted you, Chisholm...er...George. If I had not trusted you so much, we would not currently be experiencing this contretemps. If I had not trusted you, I would have left the room as soon as I realized I was not alone here. As for your having faith in me, I give you my word, I shall be from this moment faithful to you."

George held her tighter. "I will give you a good life, Sarah. I promise you."

"Know this, George, regardless of when we marry, I will not endure your calling out for Jane during an intimate moment. Your having done so only a few moments ago was adding insult to the substantial injury you inflicted upon me."

"Sarah, I..."

She placed a finger on his lips. "Just listen to me. I am able to bear much, George. I am neither weak nor silly. However, I know myself well enough to know that regularly hearing my husband call out in passion for another woman would make me profoundly miserable. When the lady of the house is miserable, there is no one happy in the house. I do not wish to live in what would amount to an armed camp. Therefore until you are heart whole, there will be no further instance of intimacy between us, whether we wed now or ten years from now. I sincerely hope that you understand me."

George sighed, a pained expression on his face. "Sarah..."

"No, George. I've spoken my mind and heart to you," she said lowly as she gently pressed her fingers to his lips once more. "I will not mention this again. I do not wish to hear an apology. Let us leave it behind."

"You are too kind to me."

"There must not be any more incidents placing us alone together, until we are wed. We have both seen how low our resistance is to one another."

"That may be wise."

"I shall return to my bed. Pray do not say a word to anyone about this."

"I must talk with your father. Honor demands it."

"Wait, George, I beg of you, wait to have that conversation. I do not desire to shame Father. I do not wish to see the disappointment and betrayal in his eyes when he looks at me. Spare me that, if it is at all possible."

"As you wish, Sarah. He will eventually need to be informed that you have agreed to marry me."

"Eventually, yes, the family will have to be informed. Yet the later that conversation might take place the better I will like it," Sarah replied with a calm she did not feel.

"I can not think of any young lady who would have handled this with the calm logic you are displaying, Sarah. This situation could have easily degenerated into one of shouted recriminations and public scandal."

"I am my father's daughter."

George looked at her for the longest moment without saying anything. Then he smiled at her. "Yes, Sweeting, you are very much your father's daughter. You can't know how much that gives me pause."

Sarah chuckled. "Then you will never attempt to treat me unkindly, will you?"

"I could never treat you unkindly, Sarah."

Oh no? Sarah wondered with a sigh. What would he call what just happened?

"Try to get some sleep, George. And no more brandy. Little Georgie and Anne need you."

"What about you? Do you need me?"

Sarah lightly touched his face. "More than I thought possible."

With as much dignity as she could muster, Sarah replaced the candle that had burnt itself out in her candlestick with another from the candelabra on the table and lit it. She picked up a book from that shelves, William Law's A Serious Call to a Devout and Holy Life, because it sounded like a suitably sleep inducing tome. Then she left the library without looking back at him.

* * *

Reentering her bedroom, Sarah locked the door behind her. She lit the candles on the six branched silver candelabra atop the table beside the chaise.

She took the carafe of water from the grog tray over to the wash basin and stripped off her wrapper and examined that garment in the light of the candles. It appeared to be without damage. There was, however, a considerable amount of her blood on the chemise. There was a large rip in the chemise. She hadn't heard the cloth rip. She looked at the garment. In many ways, this was chemise was a symbol of her life-- ruined.

She ripped a section off the garment. She wet the square of linen and washed the blood from her legs.

Sarah allowed herself to feel the anger she had tamped down earlier. Her father taught her letting others see one's anger was unwise. It was never a good thing to give an adversary ammunition.

The tears she refused to let George see came uncontrollably now. She had always thought herself to be a quite practical sort of female, not one given to fits of hysterics. Her father had always said of all his girls, Sarah had the most masculine of minds. But just now, she didn't feel particularly masculine in her mind or anywhere else.

Sarah looked out on the storm. Determining the wind was blowing away from the house, she opened the window and dumped the contents of the wash basin out the window. The last thing she wanted was for some servant to see the bloody water and begin to talk. Servants' talk in this house could all too easily reach the ears of her parents, as a housemaid might say something to the housekeeper who might have a word with her mother's maid. Sarah couldn't take the risk. If she was with child, everyone would know soon enough. If not, then no one would ever have to know.

She stoked up the fire, added wood, and made sure the fire was going well. Then she placed the chemise into the fire, and watched as the flames consumed it. She didn't want anyone ever to know what had happened between her and George. Scandal was one outcome the family did not need. A wise woman might have kept the garment as evidence to use against him if he chose later not to honor his commitments. However, if there was any word describing George, it was honorable.

Sarah pulled her wrapper back on. She sat down on the chaise and pulled a lap rug over her legs. Then she picked up the book and began reading.

But after several long moments of staring at the title page, she was forced to admit that her mind was not on the book. She put it down and blew out the candles before heading off to bed with no expectation of sleeping.

* * *

George drained the rest of the carafe of brandy into his glass and swallowed the liquid in one large gulp.

He couldn't believe he had acted in this way. He simply couldn't believe it. He had treated a gently reared young lady, a family connection, with less consideration than he would have used with a common lightskirt. He was bitterly disappointed in himself. Sarah was blameless in this. He had given her no choice in the matter. Yet, he knew she would be blaming herself, feeling badly about herself.

He went to his office and lit candles.

He sat down at his desk and wrote a note to his solicitor, telling the man to rewrite his Will. Lady Anne and the young marquis were to be left to the guardianship of their godmother, Miss Sarah Elham of Elham Park, should he die. Should Miss Elham not be at her majority at the time of his death, the children were temporarily to be in the guardianship of their grandfather, Baronet Elham, until such time of Miss Elham's majority. In any event, Miss Elham was to receive a bequest of fifteen thousand pounds sterling in addition to an annuity for life of one thousand pounds per annum. He made the provision the sum was to be reviewed every five years and adjusted in order to maintain her in the same lifestyle throughout her life. The children were to be raised primarily at Chisholm Hall.

George blotted the note, reviewed his instructions, then folded the paper. He melted sealing wax and pressed his ducal seal into the warm wax. The letter would go out by messenger to London tomorrow, first thing. Regardless of the circumstances, Sarah would be provided for during her life. George felt a sense of relief at that.

More brandy sounded good. Sarah's words rang through his head. She was right, he did have people counting on him.

He was prepared to do his duty to Sarah. However, he didn't know if he ever could meet her conditions for her being a true wife to him. George couldn't imagine a time in which Jane would ever fail to be in his heart.

Lady Constance, dowager Duchess of Chisholm, handed her fur lined gloves to a liveried footman on Thursday, the thirteenth day of December, 1810. She and her kinswoman companion, Miss Eustacia Everly, had arrived only moments before at Elham Park.

"Miss Elham is in the stables, Your Grace. Master Elham is in the library with the Vicar, engaged in his studies of Latin and Greek. Lady Henrietta has retired to her rooms with the headache. Miss Elham instructed me both Your Grace and Miss Everly were to be shown to your usual rooms," Weems, the butler, informed the Duchess.

"Thank you, Weems. Miss Everly and I would be most happy to have the occasion to rest after our journey."

"Your rooms are prepared for you, Your Grace. It is a chill day. Would you take spiced wine to warm yourselves?"

"Thank you, Weems. That would be lovely. We shall show ourselves up. Have the wine brought up."

"As you wish, Your Grace."

"My goddaughter still keeps country hours, Weems?"

"Yes, Your Grace. Dinner shall be served at four."

"We shall be down."

* * *

Lady Constance looked at her goddaughter over the dinner table later that afternoon. Sarah was a quiet pretty, but not classically beautiful, woman. The child was too tall, too freckled, too Scottish in her appearance, for her to be considered by the beau monde to be beautiful. What her goddaughter lacked in classical beauty, she more than made up for in the strengths of her mind and character.

"Clive should be sent away to school," the dowager duchess stated.

"I think not," Sarah replied, seeing the terror in her ten year-old brother's eyes. "His education is progressing quite satisfactorily, Godmama. When Clive is older, I'll send him to Oxford, much as Father did Edwin, Giles, and Matthew. For the present, he remains home with me and his various tutors, just as my brothers remained at home with their tutors until University. Father asked me to raise Clive in the way he and Mama had raised Edwin, Giles, and Matthew. I am bound by that promise to my father."

Her brother rewarded her with a smile. Sarah returned the smile. She had been her brother's guardian since their father's death almost a year ago. It was only a matter of days now until the end of their period of mourning for their father.

Sarah was ready to be done with mourning. She relished the thought of burning all of her black clothes, even though she knew that she wouldn't do so. There were simply too many of the women among the tenant families on the estate who would be glad for the gift of a well made dress or warm shawl, even if it were a black one. But the mere thought of burning these mourning clothes was profoundly satisfying. All in all, Sarah had not been in colors for more than a month over the last six years, as one member after another of the Elham family had died suddenly from either illness or injury.

Sarah was still dressed severely in black. The color made her appear far more delicate and pale than she truly was. She could have gone into half-mourning months ago. Godmama had encouraged her to do so. Sarah had far preferred to retain the severity of the black for several reasons. Her half-mourning clothes were little better than threadbare rags. The day her father died, she had looked at her mourning clothes and discarded most of them because they had been in similarly worn condition.

New mourning gowns had been a necessity. But Sarah hadn't wanted to spend the money for half-mourning clothes she would wear only for two months. It hadn't seemed to her a good use for their limited funds. Granted, one could always sell such garments to brokers and regain part of the cost of the clothing. Equally, she could have gone to London and acquired used clothes. The shades of purple and gray suitable for half- mourning wear suited her auburn coloring even less than the black did. So, Sarah had retained the black.

"Surely, you are not telling me that you believe Clive should receive less than an excellent education at a school like Eton?" the Duchess demanded.

"The quality of the education he might receive elsewhere is not precisely the point, Godmama. I am bound by my word to my father. Father wished Clive would be educated not only in the academics, but also in the practical matters of estate and stable management. That practical education is best accomplished here. The stables are Clive's livelihood. It is important he learn to manage them properly."

"My dear, you must have a Season, this spring. If Clive is not in school, then how will you manage?"

"Frankly, Godmama, I am not certain how I should manage a full Season, at all. Too much requires my attentions here for me to be spending the months following Easter in Town chasing pleasures," Sarah replied in a tone of false ease. "Many improvements need to be made around the Park. A new stable needs building. The drainage in the south fields needs improving. A new pond needs digging in that regard. Two dozen yearlings and a dozen two year olds among the racing stock need selling. And then there are that many hunters to be sold. The training of both the racehorses and hunters must be overseen. Several of the tenant cottages need re-roofing this spring and summer. I simply cannot fathom how I may see to these things and be elsewhere. I was presented at Court when I was seventeen, as you well know. There is no pressing need for me to spend another Season in Town."

There were times that Sarah knew she carried entirely too much responsibility for the estate. Who else was there to take on the responsibility? Clive? These weren't jobs for her ten-year old brother, although she tried to include him in as much of the work as possible in order to help prepare him for his adult life. Someone had to be held responsible for the estate. As Clive's guardian, that someone was she. She didn't particularly care for the amount of work involved in carrying out that responsibility. The only other option would be to hire an agent. Leaving their livelihood fully in the hands of a paid employee seemed a profoundly dangerous thing to do. No one else would be as diligent as she was. Besides that, she didn't know how she should be able to afford to pay an agent.

"You have been rustic for all too long. You deserve to have some gaiety in your life. You can easily engage an agent to handle your business affairs," the Duchess said in a tone which clearly said that she failed to appreciate just how tight money was at the Park.

The estate was operating at a profit, but just barely. Sarah was truly coming to hate spending the estate's money. Expenses of running the stables were high. That perhaps wouldn't have seemed quite as desperate if the income from the estate hadn't been substantially lower than it had been before her father had died. However, she couldn't see any viable way of lowering operating expenses. She could decrease the household staff. That was a step she was profoundly unwilling to take. It would let the world know the Elham family was on the decline. Fewer staff members would lead to the house being poorly maintained, perhaps even falling into disrepair, something she couldn't allow because of her fiduciary responsibilities to Clive. The only way of increasing revenues she could see would involve raising expenditures to the point of making the stables operate at a short-term loss in the hope of gain. It was a gamble she didn't know if she were truly willing to take. Debt could be a vicious cycle forcing the sale of part of the estate grounds, which would mean less income and more debt. Sarah had no desire to become embroiled in that cycle.

"Gaiety was the point of the house party, Godmama," Sarah allowed gently.

Never would she let anyone know just how bad the Park's financial situation truly was. There had been barely one hundred pounds net profit from last year's operations. If it hadn't been for the investment income from the Exchange and the money Father had loaned out at interest, Sarah didn't know how she should have managed, short of dipping into her own personal funds in order to meet estate expenses, something she truly could not afford to do. Since Father's death, sales of horses had fallen off dramatically. Some people, maybe even most people, had assumed the stables had died with Father. Then there was the fact that horses, even when they weren't racing, ate, well, like horses. The feed was the least of the expenses, because of it had been grown on the estate. Grooms, exercise boys, trainers, jockeys, and farriers, they all had to be paid and provided room and board. Tack had to be made as it wore out. Livery for the jockeys and stable hands needed to be replaced from time to time. The annuities for retired retainers had to be paid on schedule. The various tradesmen's bills went on and on, until Sarah thought that she should never see the end of them.

It was one thing for her father to go to the races to conduct business. However, it would be another thing entirely for Sarah, as an unmarried gentlewoman, to do so. There were disadvantages to a woman running stables. She would never say something like that to her godmama.

Father had distrusted agents, preferring to keep the family business firmly in his own hands. Maybe--just maybe--Godmama was correct. Perhaps it wouldn't be a bad idea to engage a good man to handle the business end of things, at least as it related to the races. She certainly couldn't allow the stables to continue in this fashion. Perhaps, she could promote O'Sullivan from stable supervisor to racing agent. The man had a good head on his shoulders and knew both horses and men. He had a good education, for a man, particularly for an Irishman, of his class. He could read, write with a fair hand, and had sufficient arithmetic skills to keep books. More than that, he was honest, hardworking, and profoundly trustworthy.

Putting aside the thought for later consideration, Sarah continued, "The need for some measure of gaiety was also behind the renewal of the Winter Ball tradition. Mama and Father used to give the most marvelous parties. It is time there was life in this house once more."

Lady Constance smiled at her goddaughter. "It is indeed. It also is time for you to marry."

Marriage. Godmama had not been shy in letting Sarah know she wanted Sarah as a daughter-in-law. George had been a widower now for six and a half years. Sarah still saw little sign in him that he had been able to put Jane out of his heart.

It was only recently the rumors about George wanting to remarry had begun to circulate among the haut ton. Sarah had gotten several letters from old friends each asking if Sarah was to be the next duchess. A few of her old friends, and for those persons she used that term loosely, saw fit to inform her of the existence of George's current mistress and their newly born natural child. From the number of those letters, Sarah suspected the betting book at White's contained such a wager. Moreover from the tone of the letters, she would have laid odds on just which of her correspondents had husbands who had wagered pro and con on the matter of her speculated marriage to George.

Sarah sighed. "We both know that you have someone in mind as you make that suggestion, Godmama."

"Indeed. Both of you could do much worse than to marry one another. And my grandchildren need a good stepmama."

"Your son has not spoken to me of it."

That much was a lie. Her godmother didn't have to know anything about her son's initial proposal or about his subsequent attempts to convince her that the time was right for them to marry. Sarah wanted many things out of life, but marriage contracted out of a sense of reparation wasn't one of those. The problem was there would soon be no honorable way out of marrying George. She could no longer plead it was unacceptable for her to consider marriage when she was in deep mourning.

"And when he does?" her godmama demanded.

"I do not know, Godmama. I simply do not know," Sarah stated on a sigh, noting the question it was a 'when' and not an 'if' her godmama had used.

She remembered all too well how much it had hurt that night six years ago in the library when George had spoken Jane's name as he had been firmly within her. She was less inclined than ever to repeat that incident.

Her godmother looked at Sarah intensely. "Then I shall simply have to wait and see," Lady Constance replied in a casual tone that fooled no one into believing Sarah's godmama would fail to move heaven and earth to see Sarah and George wed.

"As I shall. I received a note from your son this morning to the effect that he would be delayed for several days due to urgent business."

"My son is an important man, having many responsibilities," Lady Constance said with more than a hint of pride in her voice. "He needs a good woman beside him to assist him in his burdens."

"After dinner, Clive, you will play your latest composition for Her Grace," Sarah instructed her brother, changing the subject, not too artfully.

Before Clive could answer, Weems, the butler, announced the arrival of the Earl of Barrow.

"Barrow?" Lady Constance asked quietly.

Sarah's face showed her surprise. Marc Lewis, the Earl of Barrow, a friend of Edwin's had not been at Elham Park for nearly seven years, not since that Christmas when Sarah had been sixteen and completely smitten with him. "Show the earl to the blue salon. We shall be with him presently."

Weems continued in a disturbed tone, "Miss, the earl has been seriously injured."

Sarah's face showed her fear. The last time she had heard that tone from the butler was the day her brother Matthew had been thrown from Raphael's Rage and had died. Without a word, she rose from the table and rushed from the room towards the entryway.

Marcus Lewis sat there, clearly in pain. A large gash on his forehead had clotted over. The right front of his great coat was dark and wet looking. The small round hole there eliminated any doubt as to the reason for the coppery smell of blood in the air. His right leg was clearly broken below the knee from the way that his foot lay.

Sarah felt ill as she crossed over to him and sank to her knees before him. "Oh, Marc!"

"Sarah, pray forgive me for intruding," he greeted her in a pained and weak voice.

"There is nothing to forgive, my lord," Sarah hastily assured him. "Tell me how I may best assist you."

"I need to contact your uncle," Marc replied, his voice no stronger than before. "It is of utmost importance, Sarah. Send for your Uncle James, I beg of you."

"We shall tend to you, first, I should think, your lordship," she told him tenderly. "Uncle James can wait."

"No, he cannot wait! Send for him, Sarah! Tell him that I need to see him, urgently! It is a matter of utmost importance!" Marc demanded in his weak voice, his eyes pleading, even though they showed unbelievably intense pain.

"Of course, he is expected here tomorrow or the next day."

"Thank you," he replied, his relief obvious. Then he added, "My mount is down."

"That, too, will be taken care of, Marc. Have no fear," she said lowly to him, her concern for him clear on her face. "But you come first."

"Sarah, I--" he said, then, to her horror, he fainted.

She took his left hand and checked for a pulse at his wrist. With a relieved sigh, she instructed, "He lives! He is feverish and in shock, yet he lives. Take him up to my father's rooms."

"Sarah," her godmother asked quietly, "are you certain you wish to place him in your father's rooms?"

"They are the rooms best equipped for long term nursing, Godmama. He will need constant care for some time, if he survives this," Sarah replied as four footmen lifted the chair containing the injured earl and began to carry him upstairs. "None of you are to say a word outside of this house and nor to the people here present about this. I'll have no gossip circulating about the earl. Is that perfectly understood?"

The servants all replied with a prim, "Yes, Miss."

Sarah knew that she could trust them. Her father had hand picked each and every one of them precisely for the sake of trustworthiness. Father, Edwin, and Matthew, bless their memory, had needed to rely on that loyalty often in their quiet work for the Crown, even as Marc now needed that loyalty for the same reason.

* * *

Sarah's great aunt, Henrietta, who had made her excuses after nuncheon, pleading the headache, popped her head out of her room at the sound of the commotion in the hall. The elderly woman was dressed warmly in a flannel rail and wrap with a nightcap on her head. Wool stockings and leather slippers were on her feet and she wore her spectacles.

"And who is that?" the old woman demanded as she came towards them. "Good Lawd, Barrow. I shall fetch my medicine basket."

"Thank you, Aunt Henny," Sarah replied in relief.

* * *

Henrietta Elham fixed her great niece with a strong look as they stood in the Master bedroom. "It is not proper for you to be here, child."

"Propriety may go hang," Sarah replied with heat in her voice. "I shall stay here and help."

"Sarah!" her godmama stated in a shocked voice. "This is not the place for an unmarried lady."

"We must unclothe him to tend his wounds, Niece," Henrietta Elham explained with characteristic bluntness.

"I have seen the unclothed male form before this Aunt Henny," Sarah replied. "I am not given to swoon."

"This is not one of your brothers, or your father, Niece. It is not even one of the tenants for whom you might be called to render assistance in the absence of the surgeon or apothecary," Henrietta replied sharply. "You may not be put to the blush at his nakedness. But he might well be, once he learns of your presence here. Spare him his blushes, if nothing else. It would be another matter if there were no one else to tend him. Yet we are here. Pray take yourself off."

Sarah sighed. "I shall be downstairs in the estate office, if you have need of my assistance," she replied quietly.

"If the situation arises that Weems, I, and your godmama cannot handle, then the man is likely to be dead," Sarah's great aunt replied with more sharpness in her voice than the situation warranted.

Sarah left the room, that sharp rebuke stinging in her ears.

* * *

Once downstairs, Sarah spoke briefly to the underbutler. Sarah went into the office and sat down at her desk. She had sent for two of the groomsmen who had often been used as messengers for her father.

She wrote a brief note to her uncle, using the family code of English words written in Greek letters. "Dearest Uncle, The Earl of Barrow is at the Park. His injuries place his life in jeopardy. He asks for you. Please hurry. Your niece, Sarah."

After carefully blotting the note, she folded it and sealed it with the horse head seal that had been carved by her own father as the emblem, a seal he had only used on correspondence with his brother.

Then she wrote a note to Marc's sister.

Miss Lewis, I am niece to Baronet Elham, with whom I believe you to be acquainted. Your brother, the earl, has been grievously injured. He is being cared for at Elham Park, my home, where he sought refuge following his injuries. I pray you, Miss Lewis, come soon to the aid of your brother. The groomsman who delivers this note is a highly trusted servant. He has been instructed to remain there until he may serve you as an armed outrider safeguarding your journey here. With a prayer for your safe and speedy journey, Miss Sarah Elham.

"Come in," Sarah replied as the scratching came to the door to the estate office.

The groomsmen, Robbie and Jack, came in.

"Take Moonwind, Robbie. Draw arms and ride with all safe speed to Elham Hall. This note is to be placed directly in the hands of my uncle and in none other," Sarah stated. "I trust that you understand me?"

"Yes, Miss," Robbie replied.

"Return with an answer from my uncle tomorrow. You shall already be riding in the dark and cold to get there. That is sufficient risk for one day. I am certain my uncle will find a bed for you among the servants quarters and a stall for the horse. Godspeed."

"Jack, I need for you to take Nightdancer quickly to ride with this message for Miss Lewis, concerning the earl. You will have to stop for the night. Here is some money for expenses. Whatever you do not use is yours for your trouble. However, make certain that you do eat and properly care for the mount entrusted to your use," she said as she pushed a small drawstring leather purse towards him. Inside the pouch was more than enough money to pay for both lodging and meals for the round trip with a guinea or two besides. "It is too far of a distance to cover in a few hours. These are the directions."

Sarah quickly gave the groomsman instructions on how to find Barrow Hall. She had never been there. However, she remembered distinctly the description that the current earl had once given her of his grandfather's country estate.

"Repeat those back to me, pray." Sarah said then listened carefully as the groom accurately repeated the directions. "I wish for you to remain at Barrow Hall, returning only when you can do so as an armed escort for Miss Lewis. Should Miss Lewis decline to come, return immediately. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Miss," Jack replied.

"Ride safely, men. I trust that I do not need to tell you the nature of this errand is profoundly confidential?"

"No, Miss," both men answered.

"Disclose the full tale to my uncle, should he ask for details, Robbie. But Jack, I do not know Miss Lewis. I would not have you to deal with a hysterical female. Simply tell her that her brother is seriously injured and is being cared for. Still, her presence here would be most helpful to the recovery of her brother. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Miss," both men replied.

"Then draw small arms, balls, and powder, then ride swiftly and safely, men. I shall pray for your safe journey. Godspeed you both."

The men hadn't been gone for more than two minutes when Clive walked in without knocking. "What happened to him?"

"I do not know, Clive."

"You called him, 'Marc'. Is he your friend?"

"He was Edwin's dearest friend. You are too young to remember his last visit among us. Until recently, he has been in India."

"Is he going to die, like Edwin?" the boy asked, concern and fear in his voice.

"I really couldn't say, Clive. I pray not."

"His mount is down and dying," the boy said, distress in his voice. "Looks like the animal was ridden hard, past the level of his strength."

* * *

Sarah threw on her fur lined, boiled wool domino and went out to the drive. The Sorrel gelding on which Marc had arrived was truly in sorry shape. There was no doubt that the animal was dying. The grooms had not been able to get the beast back to its feet.

"Miss," Kevin O'Sullivan greeted her, obviously agitated.

"O'Sullivan, how could you allow any animal to suffer so at the Park?" she demanded of him.

"His lordship's mount is not in my charge, Miss. That's his lordship's decision," O'Sullivan replied in a distraught voice.

"The earl is in no condition to make any decision at the moment. I will not allow any animal to suffer so at Elham Park. Give me the pistol, if you please, O'Sullivan."

"I shall do it, Miss Elham. You needn't trouble yourself with this."

"No. Since I shall be answering to the earl, I take the full responsibility. There will be no one to blame but myself. Just give me the pistol, if you please, O'Sullivan."

Sarah took the pistol from him and looked at it. It was the weapon normally kept loaded in the stable tack room for just such a purpose. O'Sullivan had been ready to put down the animal. But the rank of the owner had given him pause. Sarah supposed she could not fault him for that degree of caution. Being Irish, he had more than sufficient reason to be wary of English noblemen.

Sinking down on her heels, she stroked the animal's neck and spoke softly, "You've struggled long, old man. Now, it's time for you to rest." Then she stood, cocked the pistol, and fired a single ball into the animal's brain. "Dispose of the carcass as you see fit. I would have the tack put away for the earl," she instructed the grooms as she returned the pistol to O'Sullivan. "And kindly see the drive is cleared."

* * *

Back in her rooms, Sarah tried not to let her vivid imagination run amok. Yes, Father had been often involved in tracking down traitors, scoundrels, and smugglers. Edwin had been similarly employed, an endeavor which had cost his life. Uncle James was still active in His Majesty's service in that regard. This family service to the Crown was not generally known. Sarah supposed that those who did know thought her ignorant of the involvement. But Sarah had inherited the family penchant for sniffing out details which others overlooked or dismissed as unimportant.

Sarah knew for a fact, due to an overheard conversation, Marc Lewis had been recruited into the same service to the Crown that her family performed. She strongly suspected both he remained engaged in that activity and his wounds had been inflicted upon him in the course of that service.

Were that to be true, and from his asking for Uncle James, she suspected it were, then Elham Park could very well be in danger. Whichever miscreant had inflicted the wounds would be looking for Marc in order to put a rather permanent end to the affair. Sarah didn't want to think about that. Yet she knew she had to think about it and prepare to deal with it.

From her bedroom window, Sarah looked out onto the back gardens. The landscape was white as far as the eye could see. Deep, dark, clouds threatened another storm coming.

Another storm. How appropriate. Had they not already weathered enough storms in this house? There had been so much death, already. Far too much of it had been related, directly or indirectly, to the family service to the Crown. So many people who had been dear to her had died in the past few years: her cousin Jane; her sisters Elizabeth and Susanna, and their husbands; her mother; her brothers Giles, Matthew, and Edwin; her cousin Nathaniel; and finally her father. There had been too much death in this house and for this family. She could only pray that Marc Lewis would not be added to that unhappy number.

In what had Marc been involved? Did she want to know? Would it be safer for her not to know? Or would not knowing put her and the rest of the people in the house into even more danger? Was it better to be forewarned of danger, so that one could be prepared? Or would knowledge serve as seed for further trouble that wouldn't be sprouting otherwise?

Sarah looked unseeingly out onto the white landscape below.

She remembered the last time that she had seen Marc. It had been almost seven years, nearly to the day, yet the memory was as fresh as though it had been yesterday.

It had been the second Christmas holiday Marc had spent with her family. That Christmastide was the first time Sarah had been allowed to wear her hair up and to join the adults for dinner when non-family guests were present. She had been sixteen, nearly seventeen. Edwin and Marc would have been sitting their examinations in the spring. Both young men had just reached their majorities in the fall. Sarah, who had harbored a secret tendre for Edwin's friend since the first time she had seen him, had been most gratified when Marcus Lewis had been unable to take his eyes off of her during the first dinner of that visit. After that, the two of them had been in company as much as had been possible, even if it were a matter of being nearly constantly chaperoned.

Nearly constantly, but not chaperoned every moment, Sarah thought with a small bittersweet smile. Marc had caught her under the kissing ball, once. Only once. The memory of the tender magic of that kiss remained with her, even now.

During the Winter Ball, Marc had asked her to dance with him twice. She had been expecting a third dance. That would have been tantamount to an announcement of their betrothal. Yet the third invitation never came. Marc had left early the next morning without so much as a farewell to her. When Sarah had asked about him, she had been told Marc had been recalled to India to handle family affairs after the death of both his father and maternal grandfather, without having a chance to sit for his examinations. She had survived the heartbreak of calf love.

On the other hand, perhaps she only had thought she had. Marc had returned to England only after his paternal grandfather's passing and his coming into the title. Sarah had received a note from Marc, shortly after his arrival in England. She retrieved the note from her prayer book.

My dear Miss Elham, she read silently, Having but lately returned to England, my sister, the Lady Clarissa, and I are settling into the ancestral seat, Barrow Hall. I should like to call upon you. I lack only the knowledge that such a visit would be welcome. I remain, as always, Your Devoted Servant, Marcus A. Lewis, 19th Earl of Barrow

She had immediately sent a reply stating the hospitality of Elham Park would always be available to friends and that she awaited his arrival at his convenience. However, Sarah never anticipated showing Marc hospitality in quite this fashion.

Sarah looked at the door to Marc's room and bit her lip. Would he live? And if so, what danger did his presence here bring upon the occupants of the house?

James Elham sat in his study late on the thirteenth of December. Across the desk from him was his son-in-law, the Duke of Chisholm.

"Barrow is seriously overdue, Chisholm," Sir James said in a worried tone.

George nodded. "There is no sense in looking for Barrow. If the ring has him, he is quite likely to be dead. I do doubt he would have told them anything. However, we should exercise reasonable damage control by severing all possible traceable ties from us."

James sighed. "I am aware of this. And those steps to isolate him have been taken. This is dangerous business in which we are engaged. There are always plans to isolate any of us if we fall in the line of duty."

"That this is dangerous business is something we have known since we began," George replied quietly. "It is necessary work as well, in order to protect the Realm."

"That, it is. We must take steps to try to re-infiltrate this particular ring of traitors, before they go to ground once more."

"I've had a second line of infiltration working since before Barrow became involved," George stated.

A knock came at the door. Edwards, Sir James' longtime servant, came into the room. "A man has arrived from Elham Park. Says that he has a message from your niece to be given into your hands only, Sir James."

George and James exchanged puzzled looks. What could Sarah have to say so urgently? There was no sense in speculating when the truth could be easily discovered.

"Show him in, Edwards," Sir James said rapidly.

The man called Robbie came into the room. "Sir, Miss El'am sends me to deliver a letter into your 'ands and your 'ands only."

"You are Robbie Watson, are you not?" James asked.

"Aye, sir, I am," the servant acknowledged. "'Ere's wot Miss El'am sent to you."

"Robbie, you will stay here tonight. It is far too late to be riding back to the Park," Sir James replied as he took the message from the groomsman.

"Thank'ee, sir," Robbie answered. "Miss tole me to ask if I might stay. Thank'ee kindly sir."

James broke the seal on the note. It was the horse head seal that his brother had always used on correspondence relating to Foreign Office matters. Carefully, he unfolded the single sheet of heavy paper. He scanned the paper and fought back the shock he felt. Sarah knew the family code.

How in the world had Sarah learned the code? Certainly, he hadn't taught her. Yet someone had. Either that or she had discovered it on her own. He didn't put that past her.

The shock gave way to both concern and relief. "Barrow is at Elham Park," Sir James announced in rapid German, a language he knew the servants not to speak. "He's seriously injured. Sarah says his life is in jeopardy."

"She isn't given to making rash statements," George stated, also in rapid German. "I should believe her concerning the earl's condition."

"Do you know what is in this letter?" Sir James demanded of the groomsman.

"No, sir. Ain't no scholar, sir," the groomsman replied. That was the standard reply of someone who was illiterate. "It came sealed from 'er 'ands for you. You jist broke Miss El'am's seal. You know I ain't read it."

Sir James said kindly, but firmly, "I did not accuse you of reading the note. I simply asked if you are aware of the circumstances that led my niece to send this word to me. I need to know more of the details of the recent happenings at the Park. My niece's note is sketchy on the details. I require more information. What can you tell me?"

Robbie nodded. "Miss tole me to answer ye. E's hurt real bad, 'e is, th' Earl 'a Barrow. Saw 'im ride in, I did. All bent over 'is 'orse, 'e was. Tied 'imself to the saddle. Leg 'ad to be 'urtin' sumtin fierce. If it ain't broke, my name's not Robbie. 'E's got a 'ole in 'is shoulder, 'e 'as. 'Is 'ead was 'urt. 'E'd been in a 'ole 'eap a trouble, 'e 'ad. Beat up real bad. Jack and me, we picked 'im up off the ground when 'e untied 'imself and fell off 'is 'orse. Feverish, 'e was. Didn't rightly know wot to do wit 'im. So, we took 'im in th' 'ouse and 'e asked for Miss El'am. 'Is 'orse was down and dying when we rode from th' 'ouse. 'Eard a pistol as we was leaving. Miss was puttin' th' beast down. Miss ain't one to let an animule suffer if she kin 'elp it."

"We?" Sir James asked sharply.

"Miss sent Jack for th' earl's sister. It ain't a short ride to Barrow 'all."

"Not from the Park, no. It certainly is not a short ride to Barrow Hall. I trust my niece furnished the man expense money?"

"Tossed 'im a purse, she did," Robbie acknowledged in reply.

"Nothing of this is to be said to anyone else," James stated. "You understand this?"

"Course, sir," Robbie said, clearly affronted that anyone would think he was a talebearer. "If Miss El'am 'adn't tole me I could tell you, I wonna 'ave done. I never tole anyone 'bout the work I did for 'er Pa."

The duke tossed a gold guinea at the groomsman. "This is for your troubles, Robbie."

The groomsman caught the coin and quickly put it into his own waistcoat pocket. "Thank 'ee, Yer Grace."

"Edwards, see Robbie fed and show him to a warm bed in the servant's quarters. Have his mount groomed, fed, and stabled."

"Thank 'ee kindly, Sir James," Robbie replied quietly.

When the servants had left the room, Sir James turned to his son-in-law. "Well, Chisholm?"

"We have some misdirection to do, I think. If Barrow was seriously injured, and escaped, he would have easily have to have inflicted more damage upon his assailants," the duke replied. "He isn't a man to go down without a tremendous fight."

"That is very likely. I trust you will have the matter well in hand?"

"I shall. Sarah already expects me to be delayed. A few more days will not cause any irreparable damage in my suit for her hand."

Sir James smiled at his son-in-law. "Are we to wish you and Sarah happy soon?"

"If all goes well," George replied. "Sarah, as you well know, has a mind of her own."

"Indeed she does. You are aware Barrow once offered for her?"

"I am."

"With him there injured and helpless, she is apt to find tender feelings for him resurfacing."

George sighed. "This is simply something with which I shall have to deal, should it arise. More pressing issues for the Crown must take precedence over my domestic arrangements. Have you a detailed map of the area?" George asked.

"Indeed I do. Come along to the library."

They pored over a map of the area surrounding Elham Park.

"He couldn't have traveled in his condition for more than ten miles in any direction," James said.

"Maybe fifteen at the most. But it is likely it was under ten."

"That leaves only a few areas where he could have been. We can rule out any of the larger noble houses along the route."

"Mayhaps. Yet if the ring leader is as well connected as we believe him to be, then I fail to see how we can easily rule out even the great houses."

"Great houses have servants. Servants talk. If you were running an illicit operation of this magnitude, would you care to have your business broadcast about at the local pub?" James offered. "No. We will find nothing in or immediately around a noble house. This wouldn't have stayed quiet for quite so long if too many servants had heard of it. Even with the profits from this operation, he could not assure the silence of every servant."

"Barrow was last seen in London. He was supposed to report to Thompson following his meeting with the ringleader."

James nodded. "I know this."

"We shall begin looking here," George said as he put his finger on a spot on the map. "It's the closest possibility from Town. They wouldn't have wanted to transport him any further than was necessary. Even with him bound and gagged in a closed carriage, it would have been far too dangerous."

"I defer to your judgment on this, Chisholm. If Barrow did leave behind dead or seriously injured assailants, then we must make it to appear as though he himself had perished shortly after dispatching his assailants. Preferably as a result of his wounds."

"Otherwise, the ringleader will be apt to go to ground. We can ill afford that to happen. Not now, when we are so close to finding him and stopping this ongoing treason."

James nodded. "Indeed."

"I shall see this done."

"I know that you shall. You have always succeeded in every task. When I retire from this work, my post will be yours."

"You will never leave the field, James."

"Probably not. Yet there are times the thought is profoundly tempting. My lady wife longs for me to spend more time at home."

George smiled. "It is good when a man and wife are inseparable in their middle years."

"It comes of a long and loving relationship, my son. I wish that you would have such a marriage with whatever lady you take to wife."

"I've had one love match, to your daughter. For me to seek two such unions smacks of greed."

"On the contrary, life is too short not to harvest the joy from every possible moment."

George nodded. "Good night, Father Elham."

"Good night, Chisholm. Rest well," James said.

"I will get a few hours sleep, then I will set out at first light," George told him.

"Godspeed, Son. Be safe."

* * *

James went up to bed. He entered his dressing room and placed the single candle upon the table that sat just before a mirror. Quickly, he changed into his dressing gown. His valet despaired of his late hours and early risings. James went to his bedroom and was pleasantly surprised to find his wife there, waiting for him in bed. She sat there reading by the light of several candles. That was unusual. She only rarely came to him, these days.

"My dear, I thought you had retired some time ago."

"I've been awaiting for you, sweetheart."

"Obviously," James said as he walked over to the bed. "What is on your mind?"

Helen smiled at her husband as she held out her hand. "Must I have an nefarious purpose in mind to justify a visit to my husband's bedchamber?"

"I most certainly hope not," he said as he sat down facing her. "However, you must admit that you do so quite rarely these days."

"You are rarely at home these days," she countered.

"That will be changing soon. I promise you."

"You have embroiled Chisholm into your work for the Crown," she stated. "You are grooming him to take your place at the Foreign Office."

"Chisholm is never embroiled in anything against his will," James answered.

Helen smiled. "No, he isn't. Has he said anything about Sarah?"

James sighed. "Sarah?"

"Pray do not be obtuse, James. Are we to have an announcement from that quarter?"

"Mayhaps. I suspect that particular situation will not proceed smoothly."

"Our grandchildren need a loving stepmama. Especially Lady Anne."

"Helen, my dearest, there is little we can do about it. This is a matter to be settled between Chisholm and Sarah. I shouldn't count on hearing an announcement from them."

Helen sighed as she removed her spectacles and placed the silver-framed eyeglasses upon the bed table. "Do you wish for me to return to my own room, husband?"

James touched his wife's face. "Not unless you would have me join you there."

"Your bed is far more comfortable, my love."

* * *

George retired for a few hours sleep before he would have to begin his search. It was only a few hours ride to Elham Park. If everything went well, he should be able to have this resolved soon and be at the Park, with Sarah, before she had time to greatly renew her attachment to Barrow.

In spite of what he had told his father-in-law, George was concerned about that relationship being renewed. And he resolved that whatever he had to do, he would do in order to win her heart as well as her hand. Questions of honor were enough to force the marriage. But he wanted more than a conventional marriage with her.

He knew Sarah well enough to know that money, title, honor, and social standing alone would not sway her. Sarah was a romantic. She needed to be wooed, not to have the marriage presented to her as the payment of a debt of honor. With Christmastide approaching, there would likely be kissing balls hanging at various places throughout the house. With a little judicious planning, he should be able to catch her under those fairly regularly. A healthy dose of passion couldn't help but influence her decision. He could always bed her as often as it took to get her with child. If she had a child to consider, she would marry him. Then he dismissed that thought.

Yet before he could pursue Sarah, he needed to take care of this matter before him. And to do that, he would need a few hours sleep before he rode out at first light. With any luck, he would be able to handle this without significant problems. However, luck wasn't always on the side of the virtuous.

This was as dangerous and unpleasant of a charge as he had ever taken on. That was something to say. George had been in many situations over the past ten years he would never be able to discuss with anyone who hadn't been there. Yet those people who had been there knew better than to ever discuss the events. So the secrets would remain secrets he would carry to his grave. He only hoped that would be quite some years distant yet. The duke was in no tearing hurry to leave mortality behind.

This situation could easily call for desperate measures. George was prepared to do whatever he needed to do to resolve this. He didn't want to run the options through his head. He didn't want to think about what he might have to do in defense of the Crown. Yet he couldn't help running the various possibilities through his head. Those thoughts were not at all conducive to a good night's sleep.

But sleep he must, he knew if he were going to be fit for the day's, or several days', work that lay before him. So, he lay back in bed, closed his eyes, forced himself to relax, to think of pleasant things--Anne's laugh, Georgie's gleeful face when the child was particularly proud of himself, and Sarah's gentle smile. In a few moments, he was asleep.