Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Swanbourne Place, London

23rd September, 1816

Her quill pen darted across the page as Lady Olivia Sherwyn recorded her memories of another day. In this journal, she shared her inner thoughts about life at Swanbourne Place. Only on these secret pages could she pour out the emotional turmoil she felt about her changed circumstances.

She remembered describing the harsh days of the previous winter, when snow transformed the city, covering everywhere with a thick, icy blanket of sparkling white crystals. She remembered times when her fingers had been so cold it had been difficult to force them to form words on the page.

This house, which had once been warm and welcoming every day of the year, had become so cold that ice formed on the inside of the windowpanes. Her uncle only allowed fires during the day, in those rooms where he personally spent time. Olivia could bear frozen fingers, wrapping herself in a warm woolen shawl in her room. She knew that she could always find warmth in a corner of the kitchen by Cook's fire.

I can cope with the cold. No, it is the emotional emptiness I struggle to accept. If I could leave I would, but I can't leave Jocelyn alone in this icehouse. I will never accept his cold, harsh attitude to life.

Olivia looked across her room at Marguerite, sitting on her cushion. You have more warmth, little friend, than my Uncle Harold. While my brother was alive, Swanbourne Place was a warm, loving family home.

She had learned to accept her uncle's manner and not cross him. In the early days she had argued with him, but as earl, and her guardian, he always prevailed.

Olivia gazed out of the window across the skyline of the city of London. The tall spire of St. Mary Abbots church in Kensington stood proudly on the horizon. She drew in a breath, shuddering for a moment as she remembered a quiet country churchyard near the family estate in Bedfordshire, where she had said her farewells to her brother Frederick and his wife Mary.

How long before this pain of grief eases? I lost my family and my fiancé. Each day is marked with a scar of sorrow for their loss. I miss them, so very much.

She noticed the trees in the small park in the center of Swanbourne Place were changing into a blaze of autumn colors. The maple trees were bathed in shades of yellow ochre and burnt orange.

How beautiful. There is always something in the world to be grateful for, she thought to herself.

A memory of a walk through Green Park with Jonathan, the autumn before the tragedy, made her clutch the windowsill, and she felt the crisp frost crunching under her boots as they walked to look at the frozen lake. Jonathan had offered her his arm and tucked it neatly under his, as they made their way through the park, marveling at the colors of the trees. They shared so much in common.

I must stop this, she told herself sharply. She almost felt his cool lips kissing her forehead and the tip of her nose, and telling her that he loved her.

Jonathan, I still miss you. I miss our conversations and shared laughter. She looked down to see large dark eyes staring up at her. She reached down to stroke Marguerite between her ears and the dog began to lick her hand. Well, I know that you care, she laughed. No one is more loyal and affectionate.

As she looked at the display of autumn colors, she drew her hand through her hair, wishing she could ask Ellen, her maid, to put her hair into a high updo with sparkling crystals, rather than the low hairstyles, with several ribbons, which she had needed to adopt to hide her scars.

A sharp knock on the door drew her away from the window. She turned to smile at Ellen as she entered, but was immediately aware that something was wrong.

"Ellen, whatever is the matter?" she enquired gently.

"I'm sorry, miss, it's his lordship, he's been in an agitated mood all afternoon. Mrs. Jennings had to go in there herself when he rang the bell, as he had spoken to little Millicent so sharply that she was in tears."

"He has these dismal moods, that's not unusual," Olivia responded. "I'll speak to Millicent myself. She's an asset to this household, and we couldn't manage without her." She paused, "Is there something else?"

"I'm not sure, miss. We think he threw a crystal glass at the fire, as there was a terrible crash, about a half hour ago," Ellen continued, hesitating, and clearly holding something back.

"And …?" persisted Olivia.

"His lordship opened the door just now and demanded to speak with you immediately. I'm to tell you to go to his study directly." She smiled at Olivia, chestnut curls escaping from her mob cap. "I'm sorry to tell you about his mood, but it is best to be cautious when he's like this."

"Don't worry Ellen, I'm quite used to Uncle Harold when he is cantankerous. It won't help if I keep shilly-shallying here, and it's always best to get these things over and done with as soon as possible."

Despite her confident words she felt a slight sensation of discomfort. Since she had been forced to live with her Uncle Harold, now Earl of Riversmead, she had become used to his irascible temper which was often directed at her. She was always glad if that meant his anger was deflected away from her niece, Jocelyn.

Smoothing her hair and arranging it neatly around her face, Olivia made her way down the oak staircase, clutching the carved banister as she made herself walk with grace and confidence.

When she reached the hall she saw Mrs. Jennings, the housekeeper, waiting for her. "He's asked if you will join him immediately, My Lady," she said, smiling weakly, with affection in her gray eyes. Mrs. Jennings had been with the family since her father's time as Earl of Riversmead, and had known Olivia since she was a little girl.

"Thank you, Mrs. Jennings. I'll join his lordship immediately," Olivia replied, smiling.

Mrs. Jennings knocked on the door, and bobbed a curtsey, telling her uncle she had arrived. There had been a new level of formality at Swanbourne Place when her uncle took the title of earl, after her brother's death. It still felt strange to be announced within her own home.

Forcing her feet forward she entered the room, smiling warmly at the Earl of Riversmead. "Uncle, I believe you wished to speak with me?" she said brightly.

The elderly man, with dull gray hair and a stooped posture, took his time in raising his head to acknowledge Olivia. When he did, he looked at her as if she was a crumb which had fallen on his frock coat sleeve.

"I did send for you, but it has taken so long for you to join me that I have forgotten the matter which I wanted to discuss," he said sarcastically.

Olivia, who had become used to these games, simply stood and waited for her uncle to speak again. Would he make her stand here, or ask her to be seated, she wondered?

"Ah yes, I remember," he drawled. "I have been considering the accounts for this house in town and the re-construction of the damaged wing of Silverton Hall." He fiddled with his papers, almost as though he had forgotten she was there.

"How long since you came out Olivia?" he enquired.

This is intolerable, she thought. She looked her uncle directly in the eye, "Uncle, may I be permitted to sit?" she asked, not answering his question directly.

"Erm." He seemed to be considering his answer, but he could not refuse her request. "Pray be seated Olivia, we have much to discuss." He finally answered, as he gestured to a hard back chair across from his desk.

Olivia continued to ignore her trembling legs and made her way to the chair with all the elegance of a young lady of quality.

"Thank you," she said. "You wanted to know when I had my first season?"

"Indeed, I believe you are now twenty-three years of age?"

"I am indeed twenty-three and.." she paused, very briefly, "I'm very aware of the passing of time, and my situation as an unmarried lady. You may recall, sir, that I had my first season at eighteen, before becoming engaged, and was due to be married at twenty. However, because of the change in my circumstances, of which you are fully aware, and I find it difficult to speak about …"

Her voice cracked, but she would not let this odious man see the level of her distress and taking a sharp inward breath she continued. "After the tragedy, and the end of my engagement, I withdrew from society. I did attend two balls and several recitals last year, but I have no wish to return to the ton and attend society events."

"I noticed some dressmaking invoices in the accounts, but they are reasonable and not of concern." He turned to his papers and began sorting through them, as if searching for something specific. "Ah here, however, are the accounts for Lady Jocelyn's seamstress, and those appear to be astronomical." He pushed his fist down on the table.

"I do not believe Lady Jocelyn's gowns and accessories are any more expensive than other young ladies of her age and station," countered Olivia. "If anything, I thought she was prudent in her choices."

"Well it can't continue!" he said, Olivia could see the rage in his eyes.

He has the family fortune now, master of this house and the estate in Bedfordshire. He withdrew my allowance when he became earl and resents every penny which is spent. My uncle is a miser.

"She must be married," he continued. His words echoed around the room. Stark and devoid of any emotion.

"She?" Olivia queried, knowing full well that he meant Jocelyn, but disliking the way he spoke about her dear niece, who was just nineteen years, and only now emerging from her own grief at the loss of her parents.

"Of course I mean Jocelyn. The chit needs to be married. You may consider me a rich man, but I can't afford to keep the two of you forever. You must begin to prepare Jocelyn for a season in London, in the spring, and l will expect her to find a husband within months."

He really means this, thought Olivia. Although she knew that Jocelyn would be delighted at the prospect of coming out and having a season in London, the motives of her penny-pinching uncle were misguided.

"Very well, uncle. You realize there will be considerable expense? Every young lady of the ton must have a ball and a suitable wardrobe, including a dress for presentation at court."

"I have included that in my calculations," he retorted. "Much as I hate to see such a waste of a good shilling, I know it is necessary to get the girl out of my house."

Olivia nodded. However, her uncle hadn't finished.

"The same goes for you too. You've been moping about long enough. You might be penniless, but you are the daughter of an earl. You'll find somebody to offer for you, if you make an effort."

"But uncle, surely in view of…" she hesitated and didn't know how to proceed. She felt tears welling up and forced them back. She would not let her uncle see how much his words were hurting her.

"I can't return to society," she said. As she replied she realized her hand was rising to touch the side of her face, so she pulled it back down, clasping her hands together tightly.

"Nonsense. You can and will return for a season, indeed you must accompany Jocelyn to all events. You can't stay under my roof forever, and you must make a match. There is no other way for a lady of your station in society."

"I could perhaps find a position as a companion, or governess," she suggested, almost inaudibly.

This time he banged the table so hard that the quill pen flew off the table and ink scattered across his dress shirt.

"Damnation!" he snarled, "Now, look what you have made me do."

Olivia gasped. She sat still, rooted to the chair, hoping this would soon be over.

"The daughter of an earl cannot be a governess or companion, don't be so ridiculous. You will find a husband. There must be someone who will have you." He began to dab at the ink with a piece of paper, but the stain on his desk only grew worse.

"Now get out of my sight. Ask Jennings to call for my manservant as this shirt is covered in ink."

"Very well, sir." She paused, reluctant to continue. "Might I remind you that I leave tomorrow to visit my friend, Lady Leighton, at Leighton Manor, and that I will be gone for several weeks. However, as soon as I return, I will ensure that Jocelyn is prepared for her first season and, if you insist, I will join her at events."

"If you meet someone while staying at Leighton Manor that would be excellent," her uncle mused, speaking to himself. "It will save me the cost of a season."

Suddenly, his mood changed, and he looked calmer. He had a plan and he had put it into action. "Please convey my regards to Lady Leighton. I hope she will visit with us at Silverton Hall, when the restoration is completed in the spring," he said gruffly.

"Of course, uncle, I'm sure she would be delighted," Olivia said, relieved at the change in mood.

"Enjoy your visit, niece," he said, almost grudgingly. Olivia smiled, knowing how difficult it was for her uncle to say pleasant things. It was his way, there was generally no malice in his actions, though recently he had become obsessed with household expenses.

She stood up, curtseyed, and made her escape, feeling the weight of the heavy oak door as she pushed it open. She could see Mrs. Jennings, hovering in the hallway and smiled wearily at her.

"I'll bring you a nice pot of tea. There's a fire in the small morning room," said Mrs. Jennings, returning the smile.

Olivia nodded her thanks and found sanctuary in the elegant room, which her sister-in-law, Mary, had decorated in pale blue and silver, her exquisite taste evident throughout the townhouse. The window looked out onto a quieter part of the garden where it was pleasant to sit and take tea on a summer's afternoon.

She made herself shake off the mood of despondency at the idea of having to endure a season in London. It was several months ahead, and entirely possible that her uncle would change his mind. Maybe she could attend a couple of balls and recitals and then fade away from society again. It had been her choice to live quietly at Swanbourne, and she did not regret it.

Olivia had accepted her changed status, and the loss of her inheritance upon the death of her brother. It had resulted in her losing her beloved fiancé Jonathan, with his family estate deep in debt, his mother had ordered him to end their engagement.

Within a few weeks Olivia had lost her older brother Frederick, her sister-in-law and friend Mary, plus the man she loved and had expected to marry.

In the midst of coping with her own grief and disfigurement, she threw herself into caring for her sixteen-year-old niece, Jocelyn, who had lost both her parents in such a sudden and untimely way.

Olivia sank wearily into a high winged chair, close to the fire, feeling the warmth on her fingers. She had clasped her hands so tightly together that there was a red mark where her thumbs had pressed into her skin.

She felt the soft brocade of the chair wrapping around her and closed her eyes, telling herself to relax and imagine a woodland walk, next to a stream, where she could smell the scent of pine trees on a warm spring day. This was her escape, her way of dealing with the reality of loss and the unpredictability of her Uncle Harold.

After a few minutes, Olivia opened her eyes and looked toward the gray clouds, as they moved across the darkening sky. The pull of the past was always strong, and she felt it then. Faces of her family and happier times.

We celebrated Christmas here, just days before the tragedy at Silverton Hall. There used to be so much laughter and love in our family.

Jocelyn, less than four years younger than Olivia, was a sister as much as a niece. Mary, Jocelyn's mother, had become a friend to her and was as much a mother to her as she was to Jocelyn. Silverton Hall had been a happy place, with a staff who had stayed with them for many years.

Her brother had been devoted to the Silverton Estate, and the crops which brought prosperity and helped maintain the cottages of the farm workers.

How I long for those days. If only I could turn back the clock and be with my family again. I miss them every day with an aching sadness which is never far away.

As memories of that early January night crept into her thoughts, she pushed them away. It was no use, the tears which she had forced back in her uncle's study welled up and streamed silently down her cheek. She wiped one away with her fingers and, running her fingers into her hair, felt the edge of the puckered, scarred skin. That night had taken away her family and changed her appearance forever.

I would have endured more scars, even across my face, if it meant I still had my family.

That loss made the loss of her beauty insignificant in comparison. Then there was Jonathan. He loved her, she knew in her heart that he loved her, but he had been forced to put family obligation and duty before love.

I'll never marry. I'll never have a man look at me in the way that Jonathan did, that night when he told me he loved me, and asked me to marry him. She lost herself in memories of an idyllic evening, after a ball at Silverton Hall, with the stars twinkling in the sky, when she lost herself in his eyes of Jonathan.

The shadows grew darker and the silver thread in the curtains sparkled brightly in this special room, which had become her sanctuary. She truly believed that Uncle Harold did not even know this small morning room existed.

The truth in his words had struck a chord. He's right. I can't stay at Swanbourne Place in town, or even live in the great house on the estate at Silverton, without his consent. Everything belongs to my uncle now.

She was practically penniless, her expected inheritance lost in some legal complications. Jocelyn had fared a little better. Her brother had ensured that his daughter had a substantial settlement which would come to her on marriage or at the age of twenty-three.

The prospect of marriage dismayed her. Who would want a scarred bride? Was it fair for any children of a marriage to have a mother who caused comments from strangers when they saw her face? It would be best if she simply disappeared into obscurity.

Tomorrow she would leave Swanbourne Place for a long-awaited visit to her friend, Marianne, Lady Leighton, whom she had met during her first season in London.

I'll talk to Marianne about the future. She might have an acquaintance who needs a companion.

Despite what Uncle Harold had said, she needed to find a way to earn her own living. As soon as she had supported Jocelyn through her first season, she could look to her own future.

Once Jocelyn has found a husband, I can find a position as governess or companion and leave. I'll go in disguise if necessary.

A gentle rapping at the door brought her back to reality. She opened it to find Mrs. Jennings carrying a tray with a teapot.

"A pot of tea and some of Cook's special lemon cookies," said Mrs. Jennings, with a look of concern. "I thought you needed something to cheer you up. I know it isn't easy, with everything changed."

Olivia took the housekeeper's hand and pressed it gently. "Thank you, you always know when it's difficult. He doesn't mean anything by it, it's just his way."

Mrs. Jennings snorted and moved to pour two steaming cups of tea. "I still miss Lady Mary too. This morning room was her favorite place in the house. I don't know what she would make of the way your uncle has behaved."

"You know I can't discuss it," said Olivia quietly. "He is my uncle."

"Of course. Now tell me about your visit to see Miss Marianne, I mean Lady Leighton," she asked, keen to know about Olivia's visit to Leighton Manor.

Olivia looked toward the window, seeing the rivulets of rain make patterns as they ran down the glass panes. She wished it was summer. As the days grew darker, leading up to the Christmas celebrations, the memories which haunted her grew stronger. She was glad her niece was staying with a friend in the North and would not return until November.

I don't think I could have left Jocelyn here with Uncle Harold and I do so long to see Marianne again.

***

The next morning, the sun shone brightly, and its warmth filled the air. Olivia felt a sense of relief flooding her whole body, as she climbed into the barouche carriage, waiting to take her to the Buckinghamshire countryside.

A whole month! Four weeks away from Swanbourne and Uncle Harold.

Beside her, Ellen already had her eyes closed, looking forward to a rest during the journey.

Olivia knew she could talk with Marianne about the dilemmas she faced. Marianne had supported her through those dark days three years ago, and helped her find her way toward recovery.

Her spirits lightened as the carriage gathered speed, trundling away from Swanbourne, and miserly Uncle Harold, toward the Chiltern Hills.

Chapter 2

Marcus, Earl of Hatfield, slowed his horse, Hector, from a canter to a walk as he rode down the track from the Folly on the hillside toward the lake. He always stopped to look at the view. That morning, the lake glimmered in the early sunshine as the last tendrils of late summer mist drifted away.

Beyond the lake, was his ancestral home of Belvedere Abbey, with its turreted tower joined to the remains of a medieval wing. His grandfather had modernized the Abbey, adding the new wing, but Marcus loved the ancient part of the building, and the great hall with its minstrel's gallery.

There really is nowhere more beautiful than Belvedere Abbey in the autumn. I hadn't realized I missed the place till now.

Whoever had called the estate Belvedere had chosen well, as the views across the Chiltern Hills stretched for miles in the distance. On a clear day, a white horse, carved into the hillside way back in the mists of time, was visible from the folly.

There was a crispness to the air. This was the transition between summer and autumn, when the leaves were beginning to change color, but the sun's warmth still made a difference on days with a clear blue sky.

For a moment his thoughts wandered to his home in Italy, where he'd spent much of the last two years. After Napoleon was sent to the Island of St. Helena, he had left his regiment and settled in the rolling hills of Tuscany. He loved the heat of the Mediterranean sun, and the landscapes covered with tall cypress trees.

He had made a home in a villa there and when he had been summoned home he had expected to miss that life. The widowed Contessa Lucretzia Fiorella, who had shared many of his days, and given pleasure during many starlit nights, had spoken to him six months ago. He remembered her words and wondered if she had been able to see into the future.

"Caro, I am not for you. You are thirty-one years old, and it is time for you to take a bride and settle down. You are the son of a duke, and all great families need an heir."

"Lucretzia, I have no interest in the life of London society or farming a country estate in the gray mists of England. My life is here, in the heat of the Italian sun. I need you in my life. If it makes a difference, we could marry."

Lucretzia had tossed her long, blonde hair and laughed in her low sultry voice. "My dear boy, what would the Duke and Duchess of Hargrove say if you arrived at Belvedere Abbey with a wife who was ten years your senior and with a history of scandal in her past. No, I have enjoyed my time with you, but it is time for me to return home to my palazzo in Rome."

However hard he had tried to persuade the Contessa, she was adamant that their liaison was at an end. He had been desolate for several weeks, only roused from lethargy when a letter arrived from his mother, Elizabeth, Duchess of Hargrove, informing him that his father was ill.

The duke had suffered a seizure, and although he was recovering well, she felt it advisable for Marcus to return home immediately. So, he had closed the shutters on the Villa Montefalconi, and begun the journey back to the family estate in Buckinghamshire.

He waited on the brow of the hill for Colin, his cousin, to catch up with him. Even riding Hector at a canter, he had left Colin far behind.

"Come on," Marcus called. "We need to be back at the Abbey before tomorrow. I've an appointment with my tailor in the morning and at this rate I'll miss it."

"You know you've always been the best rider in the county, and nothing has changed there. Hera and I had no hope at all of keeping up with you."

Marcus looked down at Hera, his Italian spaniel, who was panting and clearly in need of refreshment. "Let's stop at the lake. Hera needs a drink and the horses could do with one too," he suggested.

Colin nodded agreement. "You're glad to be home?" he asked "I thought you'd never return from Tuscany. Aunt Elizabeth had quite given up on you."

"It's strange. When I read the letter from Mama, asking me to return post haste I didn't want to return. I had a life of ease and pleasure in Italy, but now I am back here it feels as if I'd never left. Belvedere Abbey is my home. I've even enjoyed overseeing the estate business; though I think Papa is itching to take that back, now his health has improved."

"You're right Marcus. I came looking for you this morning and found your father looking through a pile of papers that you'd left in the library," said Colin, smiling.

"I'll speak with Mama. It might help his recovery to take back some of the estate business again."

"She'll agree," said Colin and this time he couldn't stop laughing. "Aunt Elizabeth is very keen for you to put all your time and energy into finding a bride. She would rather you were dancing the cotillion at the assembly rooms than dealing with crop rotation at the Home Farm."

"Stop that now, Viscount Ludlow. If I have to endure a season of balls and recitals in town, then you can join me. I noticed that Mama has been spending a lot of time at Granville Hall visiting with your mother. There will be no escape."

"Unlike you Marcus, I rather enjoy a ball and dancing with a young lady of quality in my arms. It will be no trouble at all to join you in your ordeal." And with that Colin urged his horse forward toward the lake.

The early morning mist had cleared, giving a spectacular view of the shimmering waters of the lake. They entered Hargrove Woods and took the winding path down the valley side to the shore The gushing sound of the stream feeding the lake always surprised Marcus.

As he jumped off his horse and guided Hector to the stream, Marcus turned his head up toward the sky and felt drawn into a green canopy of fir trees, mixed with the ancient oak, ash and willow trees.

He heard a splash and saw that Hera had jumped in, her head just visible above the water. "Colin, how about a swim?" he called.

"Why not?" came the reply. The water is still warm enough." And with that Marcus jumped in the lake.

As his body met the water, he felt the coldness reviving every part of his body. He pushed through the cool, fresh water, enjoying the early morning swim. He heard a splash as Colin followed him, exclaiming about the cold.

"Nonsense Colin," he called. "It's lukewarm. Swim, it will help your body get used to it."

After that they relaxed into a pattern of swimming, then treading water, both enjoying the sensation with the contrast of the warm sun and chill from the lake in the early morning sunlight.

When they finally arrived back at the stables, they were intercepted by Mr. Pevensey, the Butler, who informed Marcus that his mother was waiting for him in the drawing room. Colin held his hands up, "No, Marcus. Aunt Elizabeth wants to see you and not me. I need to get back to Granville for estate business. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Very well cousin. Wish me luck," replied Marcus as he set off toward the drawing room.

He found his mother working at her tapestry frame in a room adjoining the drawing room. The door was open, and a blazing fire roared in the hearth. The sun shone brightly through the mullioned windows.

"Marcus. Where have you been? You're dripping wet. Stand away from the Aubusson rug," she implored him. "And why have you brought Hera into the drawing room when she is wet through?"

"I've been for a swim with Colin, and Hera is pretty much dry. Your rug is safe."

"A swim? The lake must be freezing cold this early in the morning. You can easily take a bath. I will never understand this desire to swim in cold water for pleasure. Now, let me think, what did I want to speak to you about?"

"Papa?" he queried.

"Ah, yes. Your father is clearly champing at the bit and feels ready to take back some of the less arduous estate duties. It was so encouraging to see him at the harvest dance in the big barn last week. He really does seem to have made a full recovery."

"All due to you Mama and your herbal potions and tisanes," said Marcus and he kissed her on the cheek.

"I remember, it was something your father said to me. He's worried about there being no heir."

"Mama. You know very well that I'm the heir to the dukedom."

"Well your father thinks it is time you married," she said, looking at Marcus with her almost luminous green eyes. Her blonde hair, pinned into a simple chignon, showed no signs of gray. "He has a point," she added.

"Oh Mama, he's already tried speaking to me about this matter, and I told him I have no desire to settle down in the immediate future."

"But …" interjected his mother.

"I will marry, Mama, but there is plenty of time for me to find a wife and produce an heir."

"I think it would help your father's recovery if you showed a willingness now to try to find a young lady, to bring home to the Abbey, as future duchess," his mother added. "Lady Cressida Lantham would seem a perfect choice."

"Mama, you are verging on blackmail by bringing Papa's health into this," exclaimed Marcus. "And as for Lady Cressida, I do not warm to her."

"But it is quite true," persisted his mother. "Your father would be delighted if you married. It would give his health a boost. Promise me that you'll spend some time in town in the spring and attend a few balls. You may find a young lady who would make a suitable bride."

"Very well Mama. If I am still in England in the spring, then I will attend at least 2 balls and 3 recitals. But beware, I will probably just offer for the first young lady who likes dogs and horses and has heard of the Greek gods."

"You and your classical civilizations. It's the future of this estate we need to think about. Ah, here is your father."

His father, no longer looking as gray and drawn as he had at the height of his illness, smiled brightly at his wife and son. His brown eyes twinkled, and it was difficult to believe that he had been so ill.

"Marcus, I was wondering about repairing that old boat which we used to have on the lake? What do you think?" his father asked.

"An excellent plan. I believe it is the best way of fishing for trout. Let's walk down there and take a look later."

"And did your mother tell you that it's time you found a wife?" his father added in his usual direct, blunt fashion.

"Indeed. I disagreed, but you were very persistent, weren't you Mother?" said Marcus, grinning.

"As always," said his mother, laughing.

Marcus went over to admire the tapestry his mother had been working on and compared the stitches with other quilts. He could see it was a work of beauty.

"This is exquisite, those colors go together perfectly," Marcus said.

His mother laughed again. "Many years' experience, sitting next to your grandmother. This is one of her patterns. Look here is a unicorn, in the forest, searching for a maiden."

"Grandmother was a wise woman," Marcus said quietly. "We're all searching for something."

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to speak with the cook about the menus for the rest of the week," his mother said, and she left the room with a scent of violets wafting around her.

"If you find a bride like your mother, then you'll be doing well my boy," said his father.

Marcus nodded his agreement, "One in a million. However, that doesn't mean I agree to find a bride, just that I am prepared to look."

"That's a start. That's all that's needed. I have every confidence that you will find someone when you least expect it," his father said, full of confidence.