A Chance Encounter

Chapter 4

Elizabeth was relaxing in the rose garden the next afternoon when Hetherington and Amelia Norris came to call. She had been into Granby in the morning to accompany Cecily on some shopping errands, and had listened to the girl practicing on the pianoforte after luncheon. Now Cecily was with her mother, and Elizabeth felt free to read at leisure the letter from her brother that had arrived by the morning post.

Although she saw the two visitors arriving on horseback, she did not reveal her presence or make any move to go into the house herself. She was very glad, in fact, to be granted such a fortunate escape.

Baby Jeremy had recently taken his first steps alone, she read with a smile. He had lowered himself down the whole length of the staircase one afternoon, waddled a few steps down the hallway, and toppled a marble bust off a table that he must have clutched for support. The housekeeper did not seem to know whether to scold or to hug the child. Louise was increasing again. John was a little worried, although she laughed away his fears. She was bilious in the mornings as she had not been with Jeremy. But she told him that she was merely looking for excuses to stay abed in the mornings. Elizabeth would be a very welcome visitor. She would be able to offer companionship to Louise, an extra member of the admiring audience to her nephew, and of course, a wonderful source of comfort to her brother.

Elizabeth smoothed the letter on her lap and smiled down at it. John never gave up trying to lure her home. And the temptation was great, she had to admit that. She could not go back, though, and be dependent on her brother. She could not break in on the family circle there. Although she was really no more than a servant where she was, at least she was supporting herself on her own earnings. She had a measure of independence and self-respect.

She was jolted from her reverie by the sound of approaching voices. She recognized the rather shrill tones of Amelia Norris and the softer, higher-toned voice of Cecily. Perhaps they had left Hetherington in the house. She lowered her head to her letter again, hoping they would pass by without seeing her.

"Hiding, Miss Rossiter?" a deeper voice said from the graveled entryway of the arbor.

"Not at all, my lord," she replied coolly, looking up into his face. "I did not know that my presence was requested."

"What are you doing out here?" Miss Norris asked.

"I have been reading a letter, ma'am," Elizabeth replied, ignoring the impertinence of the question.

"And who is it from, pray?"

Elizabeth's eyebrows rose. "From my brother, ma'am," she said.

"Ah, yes, the one who married Louise," she said. "An unwise marriage for her, I thought. His estate is still as impoverished as it was, I suppose?"

"My brother's affairs are no business of mine, ma'am," Elizabeth replied stiffly.

"He must be doing poorly if you are forced to work for a living," Miss Norris persisted. "And I suppose Louise is breeding whenever she may?"

Elizabeth flushed with anger. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Cecily busily examining the rose blooms, looking embarrassed. She looked directly at Hetherington, who was reclining against a stone wall having the unmitigated gall to look amused.

"Pardon me, ma'am," she said distinctly, goaded as much by that half-grin as by the rudeness of her interrogator, "but I do not choose to discuss my family's affairs with a stranger."

The haughty head tipped back and Elizabeth found herself being viewed along the length of a very aristocratic nose.

"Really, Miss Rossiter," she said shrilly, "I usually do not condescend to show interest in servants. I do so on this occasion only because dear Cecily seems to regard you so highly. In future I shall know how to treat you. You give yourself airs, miss."

Cecily turned away from the flowers looking most distressed.

"Oh, pray," she said, "do not be angry, Miss Norris. You do not understand, you see. Beth is a friend, not really a servant."

Hetherington pushed himself lazily into a standing position. "Amelia, now that you have established the superiority of your breeding, I believe it is time we returned to the house to take our leave of Mrs. Rowe," he said.

Elizabeth was amazed to see that the barb had not found its mark. Miss Norris looked at him with gratitude and turned immediately toward the house. Hetherington offered his arm to Cecily, cocked an ironical eyebrow at Elizabeth, and followed her.

---

Her own troubled feelings aside, Elizabeth found the evening of the Rowes' dinner party to be an entertaining one. Her employer had insisted that she attend.

"It is quite absurd, my dear," she said, "that you should be obliged to eat belowstairs or above in the schoolroom when you are quite as genteel as the best of our guests. No, you must come, Miss Rossiter. And I don't want any headaches on the night. I know you very rarely get headaches."

Elizabeth gave in. She decided to make the best of a bad situation and be an observer. And already there were signs that there might be much to observe: Miss Norris and Hetherington, Cecily and Hetherington, Ferdie and Cecily, Mr. Mainwaring and all the hopeful young girls of the district.

She found herself seated at table between the Reverend Claridge on her left and Lucy Worthing on her right. There were sixteen persons at the table, with the result that conversation was not general. Elizabeth listened to a health report of all the parishioners on the vicar's visiting list for part of the meal. Most people avoided the reverend as a bore. He tended to speak in a monotone, with long pauses between phrases, and about topics that were dear to his heart but to no one else's. But Elizabeth knew him as a kindly man, devoted to his parishioners, even the poorest of them, and an affectionate husband and father to his large brood. She sat and listened with patience, a smile of interest on her face.

Eventually Lucy Worthing claimed her attention.

"Miss Rossiter," she almost whispered earnestly, "how is it that you converse so easily with other people? I think and think of what I may say to someone and I can never think of a single thing."

Elizabeth smiled reassuringly at the girl. "I perceive you have been left to the company of Mr. Dowling too long," she said, glancing at the gentleman farmer sitting on Lucy's other side. "He never has two words to rub together."

"But I am the same with everyone," the girl said miserably. "You saw at Mama's ball how I could not converse with Mr. Mainwaring. I felt so uncomfortable. And all the while you were talking with Mr. Prosser as if you would never run out of ideas."

"Is it important to you that you be able to converse with Mr. Mainwaring?" Elizabeth asked, looking into her companion's face.

Lucy flushed. "Not necessarily," she replied. "But, you see, I have to meet gentlemen like him when I go to London. And I dread it, Miss Rossiter."

Elizabeth thought for a moment. "Perhaps the problem is that you are always thinking of what you may say," she said finally. "Have you ever asked yourself what your neighbor would like to say? If you know of an interest of his, one well-placed question will probably set him to talking for a long while. If you do not know his interests, a lew questions will probably reveal them. You see, the secret of good conversation is perhaps to listen well and to look interested in what you hear."

Lucy stared at her, fascinated. "Oh, do you really believe so?" she asked.

"I wager," said Elizabeth with a smile, "that if you were to turn to Mr. Dowling and ask about his hogs, he will hold your attention for the rest of dinner."

Lucy looked doubtful. "Hogs?" she said.

Elizabeth nodded and turned to the Reverend Claridge, who had directed some comment her way. A few minutes later she noticed that Lucy was at least talking with her neighbor.

The ladies retired to the drawing room a full half-hour before they were joined by the gentlemen. Amelia Norris seated herself at the pianoforte.

"Do come over here, Bertha, and sing," she said shrilly to her sister.

Mrs. Prosser did not move for the moment. "Perhaps Miss Rowe sings or plays," she suggested politely.

"Oh, but, please, you must favor us with a few pieces," Mrs. Rowe begged. "I am quite sure that with London singing masters, your style and repertoire will be superior."

Amelia began to play, a self-satisfied look on her face. She accompanied her sister for a while and then they changed places. Amelia was leaning against the pianoforte singing "Robin Adair," making a thoroughly pretty picture, when the gentlemen entered the room. She was facing slightly away from the door and pretended to have been unaware of their arrival, because she completed the song and affected great surprise at the applause that succeeded it.

Elizabeth, seated in her favorite window seat, smiled with great amusement. She watched as Hetherington stepped forward and kissed the beauty's hand.

"Very nice, Amelia," he said smoothly, smiling charmingly at her. "Shall we move away now so that our hosts can decide the entertainment for the evening?"

Very well done, Robert, Elizabeth thought ironically. His charm had worked on Miss Norris as it always had on her. The girl did not even seem to realize that she had been given a mild set-down.

It was decided that the carpet would be rolled up and an informal dance would be held. Mrs. Claridge was recruited to play the pianoforte. Hetherington danced first with Cecily, Mr. Mainwaring with Lucy. Elizabeth watched both couples closely. Robert was using all his charm on the young girl, there was no doubt about it, and she was glowing with high spirits. Lucy looked as if she was making an effort to draw her partner into conversation. Was she asking him questions? Elizabeth wondered. She seemed not to be making much of an impression. His manner was stiff and solemn. Elizabeth noticed that Amelia Norris was smiling brightly, her face flushed, as she danced with Ferdie Worthing.

Mrs. Claridge began to play a waltz next. Elizabeth was watching Ferdie make a determined effort to reach Cecily before any other man did.

"May I have the honor, ma'am?" a rich voice asked close beside her, and she looked up, startled, to find Mr. Mainwaring looking into her eyes, his hand outstretched.

"Me, sir?" she asked foolishly, a hand at her throat. "You wish to dance with me?"

"Yes, Miss Rossiter, I wish to dance with you," he said gravely. "Will you, ma'am?"

Elizabeth got to her feet, feeling self-conscious in her plain gray silk. She had not waltzed for six years.

Mr. Mainwaring was a good dancer. He held her firmly and provided a lead that she could easily follow. But she wondered why he had asked her to dance.

"How do you take to your new home, sir?" she asked, looking up, and found herself gazing into velvet brown eyes.

"Very well, ma'am, I thank you," he said. "My friends and I have certainly been given a warm welcome."

"Ah, that is because you provide novelty and entertainment to a neighborhood that is normally dull, sir," she said, smiling impishly up at him.

His eyebrows rose. "I am devastated, ma'am," he replied. "And I thought they were responding to my own fair self."

Elizabeth laughed outright. "Well, the fact that you are quite personable and, so we hear, rich, certainly helps," she commented.

"Ah," he said, and came very close to smiling, "it is a shame I do not have my friend's title too, is it not? I should take the place by storm."

Elizabeth chuckled again and glanced across the room at that friend, who was dancing with his betrothed, but he was glaring, tight-lipped, straight at Elizabeth! Her eyes dropped in confusion for a moment. Then she glared back defiantly. She was not going to be made ashamed just because he obviously disapproved of a servant-and one dressed drably in gray-dancing with his friend. If he did not like it, let him leave. She turned back to her partner.

"You are a very good dancer, sir," she commented. "I have not waltzed for many years and you have contrived to keep your feet from landing beneath mine."

"A very unwise comment, ma'am," he said gravely. "The music has not finished yet."

Alone in the window seat again a few minutes later, Elizabeth mused on the one major surprise of the evening. Mr. Mainwaring was certainly not the top-lofty, stern man that she had labeled him. Stiff and quiet as he appeared on the outside, he had a sense of humor. Which was more than could be said of the Marquess of Hetherington.

---

"Ah, Miss Rossiter," Mr. Rowe said the next morning when he met her outside the breakfast room, "I was beginning to think that Prince Charming was going to ruin our fantasy by refusing to show up. But could he be disguised in the person of William Mainwaring? He seemed quite attentive last evening."

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. "Indeed not, sir," she said. "The conquest of a mere 'mister' would not be near startling enough. No, no, I wait for someone of more exalted rank."

She would have swept past him with an arch look, but he was not finished. "Ah," he said, "the Marquess of Hetherington, perhaps? He seems quite the Prince Charming. He has the looks, wealth, and rank."

Elizabeth tried to keep her tone light. "He has one missing attribute," she said, pretending to consider. "He refuses to recognize me as Cinderella."

"Foolish man," commented Mr. Rowe. "But I am glad of it. I cannot like the man's attentions to Cecily. He has made her the target of his gallantry, but I cannot fathom why. He treats her much as he would a child. I wonder if he is not trying to make Miss Norris jealous. There seems to be some attachment between the two, though I would guess it is more on her side than on his. Which now makes me wonder, why would he try to make her jealous? My wife always tells me, Miss Rossiter, that one should never try to think before luncheon. I begin to appreciate the wisdom of the lady."

Elizabeth smiled and again would have moved into the breakfast room. He again detained her.

"Miss Rossiter, will you watch Cecily very closely?" he asked. "She is a silly little chit in many ways, but she has a good heart and I should hate to see it hurt."

"Believe me, sir," Elizabeth replied gravely, "I have a deep affection, too, for your daughter, and I take my position seriously. She shall not be taken advantage of if I have anything to say in the matter."

Mr. Rowe nodded vaguely and moved off in the direction of his office.

Mrs. Rowe, meanwhile, was a different story altogether. When she joined Elizabeth at the table, she was bubbling with high spirits.

"Do you not agree that everyone enjoyed last evening excessively, Miss Rossiter?" she began. "Such friendly, informal entertainment, such agreeable company, such stimulating conversation."

"Indeed, ma'am, it appeared to me that your efforts had met with great success," Elizabeth agreed kindly.

"Elva Hendrickson assured me that the evening was a tar greater success than the Worthing ball was. Insipid, she called that."

Elizabeth murmured a diplomatic comment.

"I do believe the Marquess of Hetherington is smitten with Cecily, do you not agree, Miss Rossiter?" Mrs. Rowe continued. "He is so particular in his attentions to her. It would be such a splendid match for her. I can hardly wait to see Maria Worthing's face if he should offer for her."

Elizabeth felt that her opinion was being called for. "His lordship is a very charming man," she said carefully, "and of course, he is taken with Cecily's prettiness. I am not sure, though, ma'am, that his behavior amounts to more than gallantry. I believe I have heard that he is something of a rake." Elizabeth had heard no such thing, in fact, but it seemed likely to be true, she assured herself guiltily.

"A rake?" Mrs. Rowe repeated incredulously. "Surely not, my dear. Such a charming man! But I certainly do not like that sharp-tongued Miss Norris, who seems forever to be hanging on his sleeve. She sets her cap at him altogether too openly."

"I believe they may have an understanding," Elizabeth said hesitantly. "She hinted as much when she was introduced to me."

"Indeed!" the other lady said sharply. "Then perhaps it may be a good idea to keep a close eye on Cecily at tomorrow's picnic, Miss Rossiter. I do not want the girl to be hurt or made to look foolish."

"I shall do all in my power to prevent either, ma'am," Elizabeth replied calmly.

And so, if Elizabeth had not gone to the picnic as a result of Hetherington's dare, she would certainly have gone as a result of the express concern of Cecily's parents.

It had been decided that the old church should be the site of the picnic. Hetherington had taken on the role of host. All the members of the Ferndale party were to be present, and in addition he had invited Cecily and Elizabeth, Ferdie and Lucy Worthing, Anne Claridge, and Mr. Dowling. The party was to assemble at Ferndale at eleven in the morning and travel together by horse or barouche.

After much animated discussion, it was decided that the gentlemen would ride and also Amelia Norris and Lucy Worthing, who was an excellent horsewoman. The remaining four ladies were handed into the barouche by a smiling, high-spirited Hetherington. When it came to Elizabeth's turn, she gathered her skirts together and would have stepped into the conveyance unassisted. But his outstretched hand did not waver. She had to accept his assistance or appear rude in front of an audience.

And so she placed her hand in his and he gripped it firmly. She was touching him again after six long years. For a moment she forgot time and occasion. It could be no one else's hand: warm, broad, capable. She had once thought she could put her whole life in it and be safe. She looked up wide-eyed into his face. His blue eyes looked steadily-and blankly-back into hers.

"Ma'am?" he said politely, and she stepped into the barouche and released his hand.

Once the picnic site had been established, the party broke up into two groups. The picnic blankets were laid at the foot of the small hill, at the only spot that was well sheltered by a clump of trees. And they would need that shelter later on, they all agreed. The sun was already blazing down on them with all its summer heat.

Several of the party decided to stroll beside the stream that meandered around the base of the hill. Hetherington insisted that Cecily show him the old church that she had dragged them all there to see. Amelia Norris, Ferdie, and Elizabeth, for reasons of their own, tagged along too. So did Mr. Mainwaring.

Cecily clung to Hetherington's arm as they climbed the grassy slope. Amelia strode ahead. She was staring scornfully at a half-ruined stone church when the rest of the group came up with her.

"Look at this, Robert," she said shrilly. "It is nothing but a pile of rubble. I told you that we should picnic at the river, as you originally suggested."

"So you did, Amelia," he agreed, "but I consider this an interesting pile of rubble. Tell us about it, Miss Rowe."

Cecily and Ferdie between them told about how the church had deteriorated from lack of use after the town of Granby grew up three miles away.

"The bell was taken to the town church about fifty years ago," Cecily explained, "and that seemed to be really the end. It seems such a shame. This would make a splendid setting for a Christmas evensong or for a wedding, would it not?"

All the while the small group had been tramping around the church through the overgrown grass and weeds.

"Do you remember, Cec, how we used to come up here every chance we could and try to piece together the shattered stained glass from the back window?" Ferdie asked.

"Oh, I say, yes," Cecily replied, her face lighting up with pleasure. "And didn't we have a thundering scold that afternoon of the storm when we sheltered for hours and no one knew where we were?"

"I got more than a thundering scold," he said dryly.

"You also caught cold, did you not, Ferdie?" Cecily asked. "And it was all because you lent me your coat to keep me warm."

"Let's go inside and see if any of the glass is left," Ferdie suggested.

"Oh, yes, do let's," she agreed, and they scampered for the empty doorway like a couple of schoolchildren.

"I am hot and thirsty," Amelia announced. "Escort me back down this hill, Robert."

Hetherington smiled ruefully at the pair disappearing inside the ruins and led away his angry betrothed.

"What is at the other side of the hill?" Mr. Mainwaring asked.

"Oh, merely more grass and trees, sir," Elizabeth replied. "If you wish, we may walk down there and follow the stream around the base of the hill until we reach the picnic site."

"That sounds pleasant," he said. "Shall we go, Miss Rossiter?" He held his arm for her support.

More than half an hour passed before they came in sight of the rest of the party, who were already assembled on the blankets and surrounded by the contents of the picnic hampers. Elizabeth had enjoyed the stroll. Close to the stream and beneath the shelter of the trees that grew on either side of it, they were shaded from the heat of the sun.

And she discovered that she had been right in thinking that Mr. Mainwaring was not as taciturn or as top-lofty as he had at first appeared. He began to tell her about himself. He had been brought up, after the death of his parents when he was an infant, by his maternal grandfather in Scotland. The old gentleman had been stern and something of a hermit. The place had been lonely. The boy had been brought up almost entirely by his grandfather and a crusty old housekeeper. He had been educated at home. It was not until his grandfather died when William Mainwaring was nineteen years old, that the boy fully realized that he had an estate and wealth awaiting him in in England. But he had no training for the sort of life he would face. He knew no one in England and, in fact, very few in Scotland.

He explained to Elizabeth that, although he was now thirty years old, he had never quite recovered from the strangeness of his upbringing. He found it difficult to relax and behave with the ease of manner he so admired in other men. He found it difficult to make friends, but found himself firmly attached to those he had made.

Elizabeth could not help allowing curiosity to get the better of her. "How comes it that you are friendly with the Marquess of Hetherington?" she asked. "You and he seem so different from each other."

"Robert?" he said, looking at her solemnly. "Yes, he is the sort of man I should like to be. He has an ease of manner and a charm that come naturally to him. People invariably warm to his personality. However, there is great depth to his character that you may not know on such short acquaintance, Miss Rossiter. Strangely enough, his upbringing was similar to mine in many ways. And I believe he has suffered in his life. He has a sensitivity to the hurts of others that can have come only from personal experience."

Elizabeth hid her skepticism in silence. "Around this next bend we should find ourselves close to the horses and the luncheon," she said.

"Ah," he remarked, "I had forgotten the others. You are an easy person to talk to, Miss Rossiter. Is it part of your profession to set people to talking so much at their ease?"

Elizabeth smiled. "Not at all, sir," she replied cheerfully. "Perhaps it is my plain gray dress that gives you confidence. Maybe you allow a lady's grand appearance to awe you into believing that she is a threat to you."

They had rounded the bend and were now in full view of the others. He looked down at her and laughed. "What a novel idea," he said. "And I only now noticed that you are dressed plainly. Do you always dress so? You must have a powerful personality, ma'am. One tends not to notice."

Elizabeth too laughed, but could not hide a blush at the unexpectedness of his words. "Why, sir, I do believe I have been complimented," she said, looking up into his face, and across into the tight-lipped, glowering face of the Marquess of Hetherington, who had paused in the process of pouring wine for the company. Elizabeth had enjoyed the walk and the conversation with William Mainwaring, and refused to have her mood spoiled. Joining the group, she placed a meat pasty and a buttered bread roll on a plate, and moved over to join Mrs. Prosser and Anne Claridge, who were exchanging views on the latest fashions.

As she ate and listened, Elizabeth let her eyes rove around the company. Lucy Worthing and Mr. Dowling, she was amused to see, were sitting together and conversing-or, at least, Lucy was listening to Mr. Dowling talk. The girl was looking almost pretty today with her sky-blue muslin dress that did not make her hair look too yellow or her complexion too pasty. Ferdie, Cecily, and Amelia Norris formed a group with Hetherington, but Elizabeth noticed that Cecily, flushed and slightly disheveled, was talking animatedly to Ferdie, while Hetherington, looking quite genial again, was entertaining his betrothed. He must have been angry to remember that he had invited her, Elizabeth thought, and that was why he had looked so out of sorts a short while before.

When everyone had eaten his fill and the food was packed away again, Mrs. Prosser got to her feet. "Come, Miss Claridge," she said, "show me this church of yours on top of the hill. Is it worth looking at?"

"Oh, not really," Anne said, standing up and shaking out her skirts, "but there is a splendid view from the top."

"Is there? Come, Henry, I need your arm," his wife called cheerfully.

"May I come too?" Mr. Mainwaring asked, and offered his arm to Anne Claridge.

"Miss Rossiter, I should like to discover the walk you were just showing to William," Hetherington's voice said from close to her shoulder.

Elizabeth turned, startled. She was even more surprised to see that he had put the church group between himself and those who were still sitting on the blankets, so that it was almost a private moment that they shared. He obviously meant that she was to go with him alone, not with a group.

She looked into his face for a clue to his motive. But his expression was polite, impassive. She smoothed her skirt and turned quietly to walk along the bank of the stream again toward the bend that would take them out of sight of the group. They walked in silence until they were unobserved. Then he began.

"What is your game, Elizabeth?" he asked quietly. "Is it Mainwaring you are out to captivate now?"

She looked across at him blankly. "What?" she said.

"Because if it is," he said, his voice now revealing an underlying fury, "I am here to tell you that you will not be allowed to succeed."

"What are you talking about?" Elizabeth stopped and turned to him, a puzzled frown on her face.

"Do you think I have forgotten what you are like?" he sneered. "He is wealthy and he is vulnerable, is he not? And it seems that you need money again. So you have set to work. And your plan is succeeding already, damn you. 1 have never seen Mainwaring so taken with a lady."

"I believe I have walked into a conversation not meant for me, my lord," Elizabeth said, breathing rather fast. "I have not the faintest idea what you are talking about, except that I realize you are being insulting. I wish you would explain yourself more clearly."

He turned fully to her now, his fury showing in his heightened color and in his flashing eyes. "You wish me to put the matter plainly to you?" he snapped. "I shall do so. If your position does not offer you enough in the way of luxuries, and if you need more money, you may apply to me for it. I shall give it to you. But you will not ruin a friend of mine who has had a hard life and deserves some happiness. You will leave him alone, ma'am."

Elizabeth's eyes had widened. Her body was rigid, fists clenched at her side. For a moment she could not speak. "How dare you!" she whispered at last. "By what possible right could you so insult me?" Her hand rose of its own volition and cracked across his face.

She watched in fascination as the white marks left by her fingers darkened almost immediately to an angry red. Then she met his eyes, which still blazed.

"By God, Elizabeth, you forget yourself," he said through clenched teeth, and then his hands clamped painfully on her shoulders and crushed her against his body. His mouth came down on hers, hard and bruising.

Elizabeth reacted in panic. This could not happen, her mind screamed. It must not happen. Her only defense against him was distance. If she did not get away immediately, she would be lost, in the same state of raw pain she had suffered for months six years before. So she fought. She clawed at his chest with her fingernails, kicked at his shins, twisted her head from side to side, and moaned her protest. His answer was to haul her harder against him so that hands and breasts were crushed against his coat, and to open his mouth over hers so that she could not pull away.

Elizabeth continued to moan, but gradually collapsed against him and angled her head so that his seeking tongue could slip past the barrier of her teeth. And he was Robert, the man she had always loved, the only man who had ever touched her, the only man she had ever wanted. And wanted now with a searing passion.

But suddenly she was alone again, cold, back beside the stream close to her place of employment, only two hands holding her shoulders in a bruising grip, a pair of cold blue eyes looking at her cynically.

"You could have had it all, could you not, Elizabeth, had you only waited a little while?" he said. "You must have felt that fate had dealt you a treacherous blow. But you have made your choice, ma'am, and you must live by it. You will stay away from William Mainwaring. Do I make myself understood?"

His words had thawed some of the numbness that seemed to grip Elizabeth's heart. "Remove your hands from me, my lord," she said calmly. "I have nothing to say to you, now or ever. I had never thought to hate anyone. Hut I believe I do hate you."

They stared at each other for a long moment, each cold and unyielding. Finally his hands dropped and she turned to go back the way they had come.

"Let us continue with our walk," he said stiffly. "You are flushed and breathless. I do not doubt that I still have the mark of your hand on my face. It would not do for us to be seen in the near future."

They walked side by side, coming around at the back of the hill, and climbed the slope to join the other group, which was still at the top, sitting on the grass admiring the view.