Chapter 1

1

TWO STRANGERS COME TO HASTERLEIGH

It was a rare warm day in October and Leonora Appleby sat at the piano-forte playing an étude, but her mind was on other things. The full-length sash window was flung up and the garden with its late roses, penstemons and clematis beckoned. She heard a hallo and looking up, saw a young woman appear, one hand carrying a sheet of music and the other fluttering over the top of the box hedge that lined the path. The sun caught her fair hair. ‘Leonora!' She waved.

‘Oh, Lottie.' Leonora stopped playing. ‘I'm glad you're early.' She stood up and walked to the window. ‘I have a plan. Instead of your music lesson, let's go to the lake. Summer is over and perhaps it's our last chance to swim this year.'

Charlotte Blythe's face lit up with pleasure. ‘Oh, yes! But I'll have to be careful leaving the house in my bathing dress. Mama Mildmay does not approve of girls swimming, particularly if I'm missing a lesson to do so.' She laughed.

Leonora was already dressed in the required blue calico bathing smock she had stitched for herself, with long sleeves and a high neck, copied from a print in The Lady's Magazine. ‘Just wear an everyday cotton pelisse over the top. No one will guess what we intend.'

‘I'll be back in five minutes.' Charlotte Blythe turned and ran back down the garden to the pretty gothic house adjoining the Manor's parkland. Both the Vicarage and the Manor were so rooted in the surrounding land that they seemed to have grown out of the soil and to have been there forever. Leonora walked into the garden. She was enveloped in scent and in the buzz of bees harvesting pollen with a busy diligence that suggested they also knew the days of bounty were numbered.

Leonora loved her childhood home. She gazed on the symmetry of its elegant stone fa?ade with long sash windows opening to the garden. To one side, an ornamental orangery was filled with fruiting citrus trees and the fragrance of an exotic and warmer land. On her father's death two years before, the entailed estate had been inherited by a distant relation, but the lucky recipient had shown little interest in taking possession. However, that morning, a letter had been delivered from one George Lockwood, informing her in a measured hand that he would arrive the following Monday. Leonora could barely conceive that the Manor would no longer be her home; her settled world was beginning to tremble under her feet.

When Charlotte returned, the two young women set off down the lane. Hasterleigh was a downland village like many in the county of Berkshire, with church, vicarage and manor all in close proximity. Then slightly set apart was the big house of the neighbourhood, Rokeby Abbey, with its estate of some thousand acres of prime land. The forty or so tenanted farms provided the earls of Rokeby with the substantial income that funded a leisured, aristocratic mode of life, but the house had been uninhabited for years. Leonora led the way as they clambered over a broken-down section of stone wall and began to make their way through the fringing woodland. Full of ferns and moss with towering oak and beech trees hanging with lichen, the untended woods had a magical, other-worldly atmosphere.

The young women emerged from the cool shade as they reached the knoll, following the faint track curving through the grass until the dark water came into view, still and glassy in the late afternoon sun. At the sight of it, Leonora's heart began to beat faster. Trespassing on the Rokeby estate some years ago, she had stumbled upon the lake and discovered the surprising joy of swimming. Under an oak tree, they cast off their pelisses and walking shoes, pinned up their hair as high on their heads as they could and, slipping on some canvas pumps, waded into the lake.

Leonora pushed off into the chill water and gasped. The cold was less intense after the hot summer, but it was still breathtaking and hit her like a body blow. That first gliding stroke never failed to thrill as she breasted the still surface, drawing a cloak of ripples behind her, her whole being entirely alive. The euphoria that radiated from her heart to her limbs was close to love.

It was a pleasure too to find that Charlotte, her young friend and pupil, also enjoyed these clandestine expeditions. She was less bold and proficient in water and preferred to splash in the shallows while Leonora swam easily to the middle of the lake. No one knew how deep it was, but the thought of the inky depths below did not trouble her.

Bliss lay in the peace that descended, and in how the lake and surrounding woods were so unfrequented and still. She knew Earl Rokeby had left as a young man to fight as a hussar in the Peninsular War and had never returned. His younger brother had joined him, and it was rumoured that during the Battle of Corunna, Rokeby had died in his brother's arms. The house and estate had fallen into disrepair during the ensuing four years, and Leonora had come to treat the lake as her own domain.

Knowing she should not stay too long in the chill water, she turned to swim back to the shore where Lottie was well within her depth. Yet the meditative pleasure of the place was rudely broken by the appearance of a man. In the couple of years they had been visiting the lake, they had never seen another soul and it was a shock to find they were no longer alone. He was walking with purpose towards the farther bank. Leonora's heart quickened with apprehension. She sensed danger, as if a serpent had entered paradise and the certainties of her world had slightly shifted.

‘Lottie, swim to me,' she urged, considering the water gave them the greatest protection.

The man shouted something and waved his arm. He looked unkempt, and Leonora turned with Charlotte to swim in the opposite direction towards their clothes, hoping to get there before he could walk round the lake's edge. Suddenly, the sound of a gunshot shattered the silence and birds flew skywards, squawking in alarm. Leonora felt the shock reverberate through her body and with it, anger and fear.

She turned, her eyes blazing, to see the man put down his flintlock rifle. No longer feeling the cold, she was hot with rage. Her responsibility for Charlotte also weighed heavily as they swam on towards the oak tree while the man walked round to meet them. When Leonora was close to shore, she shouted, her anger still flaring: ‘How dare you shoot at us!'

The man was nearer now, and she realised he was in his middle years and dressed in the worsted jacket and breeches of a gamekeeper. ‘My lord don't care for trespassers.' His voice was loud and gruff and echoed over the water.

Leonora stood waist high in the lake, sheltering Charlotte behind her. ‘So your orders are to shoot before asking any questions?'

‘You ignored my shout. Discharged me trusty over yer heads to get yer attention.' The man seemed on the defensive.

Leonora was not certain if he had any authority in the matter. ‘No one has been in residence for years. We thought the Earl had died at Corunna.'

‘His brother's now the Earl. Escaped from Boney, didn't he? Now he's home, he don't care for company.'

‘Well, will you tell your master that he will be troubled neither by Miss Appleby from the Manor nor by Miss Blythe from the Vicarage. Now please be gone so we can get dressed.'

The young women watched him turn on his heel, his gun over his shoulder, to walk back to where he had first emerged from the long tree-lined vista that led to the house. Once he had disappeared, Leonora said, ‘I can hardly believe he fired his gun like that. Treating us no better than poachers.' She was still shaken. ‘We're neighbours and do no harm. It's shameful!'

Charlotte waded out of the water but Leonora turned and looked longingly at the lake. She felt this secret place had been desecrated, but could not bear to think she would never be here again. ‘I'm going to have one last swim to the middle and back. Wait for me under the tree, Lottie, I won't be long.' She set off with strong strokes to where the clouds were reflected on the dark still water. Only then was she ready to turn and swim back to shore.

Dressing in haste, Leonora and Charlotte headed to the fringing woodland and clambered back over the wall. They walked the hundred yards along the lane to the Manor, carrying their wet canvas shoes in their hands and keen to put on dry clothes again. Leonora struggled with a combination of outrage and sorrow that something she loved had been spoiled and snatched away. Emotion made her stride out, and Charlotte picked up her skirts so she could catch up with her friend. ‘He seemed a giant of a man; do you think he would have aimed directly at us?'

‘No, he wouldn't have shot us.' Leonora was reassuring but her own calm was fractured.

‘But he has the power to stop us swimming in the lake?' Charlotte was puzzled.

‘I'm not sure he was telling the truth about the Earl's return. I'd heard from Reverend Mildmay that the younger Rokeby brother had been killed too, or at least so badly wounded he could not survive. Nobody in Hasterleigh knew anything about this Rokeby heir, or even whether he lived.'

‘Well, it seems he's back.'

In the next few days, the weather turned wet and stormy, and Leonora started to pack her books and treasures into a collection of old trunks which had been brought down from the attics. In his letter, Mr Lockwood had suggested that she could live in the Lodge, a smaller house on what was now his land, until she married and set up her own establishment. She began to wrap the portrait of her mother, who had died at the age of twenty-seven – Leonora's age now – and gazed into the blue eyes, large and full of sparkling life. It saddened her to think how little she knew of her, how little she remembered. There were other people's words: Oh, what a beauty Mrs Appleby was! and then often in an aside, how her young daughter looked more like her father, with her hazel eyes and russet-coloured hair. Leonora was denied even the feeling of connection in knowing she shared her mother's character and looks. Instead, her mother remained this angelic blue-eyed figure in memory, unknowable, unreachable. A pang clutched at Leonora's heart. How altered her world would have been if her mother had lived, and how livelier the Manor with perhaps a brother or sister too to rattle around its empty rooms, playing hide-and-seek.

She sat on her bed, pensive as she finished wrapping the portrait; if her own Captain Worth had not been killed two years before at Fuengirola then she would be married by now, perhaps with her own family, and the loss of this house would matter less.

There was a knock at the door and Charlotte appeared. ‘Can I come in?' Her bright eyes alighted on the half-wrapped painting. ‘I love that portrait of your mother. You are lucky to understand just where you've come from.' She sat heavily on the bed beside Leonora.

‘I wish she were still alive. She died before I really knew her. When she was still just Mama.'

‘But at least you have a memory of family, and knowledge of where you belong on your ancestral tree. I feel like a piece of thistledown blown by the wind, with no sense of what I am or from where I've come.'

Leonora stood up. ‘Enough gloomy talk. We are both young.' When Charlotte laughed, she continued: ‘Well, you at least are young; I am a spinster of this parish at twenty-seven, but I have my music, I have you, and Nanny P, and the rest of the village to care about.'

‘Oh, Leonora. What a difference it would have made if you had a brother to inherit, then you could have stayed and life would have continued in contentment.'

Leonora caught sight of herself in the looking glass and was shocked at how doleful she appeared. Her hands flew to her cheeks. She was not conventionally beautiful despite the attractive symmetry of her features. She had fine skin and waves of auburn hair that had made Captain Worth call her his wild Irish beauty, but now he was gone and her radiance with him, would she only ever be the unremarkable daughter of a tragic and beautiful mother?

Charlotte reached out to touch her arm. ‘Is anything the matter?'

Leonora straightened her back and forced a smile. This was not how she liked to think of herself at all. She was proud of her brave approach to life and optimistic turn of mind. ‘We have our health, good looks and warm hearts, there is no reason for either of us to be downcast.' But she still felt in the shadow of a dream she'd had the previous night when she had heard her Captain's voice calling Leonora! Leonora! She had woken suddenly, with a sob, knowing she would never see William Worth's smiling eyes again, or hear that soft Irish brogue call her name.

Charlotte returned to the Vicarage through the garden and Leonora went in search of her old nursemaid, Peg Priddy, whose calm, philosophic approach to life was soothing to every soul she encountered. She found her in the kitchen, a floury apron round her ample waist, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, kneading pastry in a large earthenware bowl. ‘Nanny P! I thought you'd be quilting in the morning room, but here you are taking over Cook's work.' She laughed.

At the sound of Leonora's voice, Mrs Priddy turned her rosy face to her. She was in her fifties, with a comfortable bosom that was too exuberant for unstructured modern fashions, so she favoured the more upholstered style of her youth. ‘Oh, Nora my love, I'm making an apple pie. Cook's run off her trotters preparing dishes for Mr Lockwood tomorrow.'

Leonora hugged her.

‘Don't get too close, my dear, I don't want flour on your pretty gown.'

Subsiding onto a kitchen chair, Leonora asked, ‘So what can I do to help?'

She looked up to see Mrs Priddy's blue eyes fixed on her face. Nothing much missed her regard but she did not choose to query Leonora's subdued demeanour. ‘If you could collect some more windfalls from the orchard, that would save me the trouble. After this bad weather, there'll be drifts of apples in the grass. And bring me what blackberries you can find.'

‘Of course. I'll be back in a minute for a basket.' Leonora ran upstairs to collect her walking boots and threw on her workaday pelisse of green linen with a hood, should the heavens decide to open once more. She whisked into the kitchen and collected a basket from the cupboard.

‘Select the blush Bramleys if you can. They're the best for cooking,' Nanny Priddy called after Leonora who headed down the flagged kitchen corridor to the back door.

The Manor orchard was famous in the neighbourhood for the variety of apples, cherries and pears that flourished on its favourable site within old stone walls on the edge of a south-facing escarpment. It was a long-standing tradition inaugurated by Leonora's great-grandfather that everyone in the village could help themselves to the windfalls and, for as long as anyone could remember, the farmer at Manor Farm grazed his sheep under the trees to keep the grass cropped close.

The storms had indeed brought down swathes of apples, and Leonora collected all the big Bramleys which had not been half-gnawed by sheep or mice, or hollowed out by slugs. Just being in the orchard, with the blackbirds singing and the bees busy in the foxgloves and clover, never failed to lift her spirits. There were fat blackberries too and she made a makeshift container in the basket with dock leaves. With a lightened heart, Leonora began her short walk home, the basket heavy against her hip.

She was concentrating on avoiding the mud when she heard the rattle of a coach being driven too fast for the rutted road. She glanced behind her and a smart black carriage pulled by a team of four black horses flashed past, straight through an enormous puddle, splattering sludge up her pelisse. ‘Oh no!' she cried, watching with dismay the trails of mud dripping down her skirts. She looked up to see that the chaise had been brought to an abrupt halt, the horses whinnying and stamping, their breaths like puffs of smoke.

Walking alongside the carriage, Leonora saw the blind at the window roll up and found herself staring into the face of an enormous hairy hound. She stepped back with a gasp. A man's voice drawled from the dim interior. ‘No need to be frightened, you know, Achille is only of danger if you're a wolf.'

Leonora was indignant. ‘I'm not frightened of him. Only surprised!'

The voice continued with an amused languor. ‘Tell me, Miss Green-Coat, do you live in the village?'

Leonora was astonished by the lack of an apology for the muddied state of her clothes. She gazed past the hound and into the interior where a man slouched in the farther seat, his curly-brimmed hat pulled low on his brow and a black patch over his left eye. Her chin went up and she answered in a crisp voice, ‘I do. And my name is Leonora Appleby.'

With a supercilious air he replied, ‘Well, Miss Appleby, can you tell me if there is anyone in the vicinity who can tune a piano-forte?'

She was taken aback by the request. Tuning a piano-forte was a complicated procedure, but she had learnt to do it in order to keep her own instrument in the best condition for playing.

‘Yes. I can.' Her voice was wary.

The passenger was obviously disconcerted by this piece of news as he sat up. ‘You? It's not a harpsichord I need tuning, it's a piano-forte.'

Irritated by his superior air, Leonora was gratified to be able to tell him, ‘Yes, I do know the difference. I was taught how to tune my Broadwood by one of the Broadwood sons, when I first bought the instrument.'

‘By Jove, you were, were you? And where is this fancy beast kept?' He had forgotten some of his languor as he leant forward. She saw his face for the first time and had to suppress an instinctive recoil. The black leather patch covered part of a livid scar that ran from his temple to the edge of his lip. His one visible eye glittered almost black in a haggard handsome face.

Without any change in her manner or voice, Leonora said, ‘I live at the Manor for a few more days and then I move with my piano-forte to Hasterleigh Lodge.'

The realisation that she was not just a village girl, despite her homely clothes and basket of apples, seemed to pique the stranger's interest. ‘Well, I'm Rokeby. If you could see your way to tuning my piano-forte, I would be gratified,' he said stiffly, as if unwilling to be beholden to anyone. With the sound of his name, Leonora knew that the gamekeeper was right. The Earl had indeed returned. A ripple of excitement and alarm shivered through her veins; what difference would this make to the predictable pace of village life? His gaze alighted on her blackberry-stained fingers and she slipped them into the pockets of her pelisse.

Disconcerted at appearing such a country maid, Leonora nevertheless met his sardonic expression with a frank, unembarrassed face. She was used to being Queen Bee in Hasterleigh and was not going to be intimidated. ‘It might take me a long afternoon. When do you need it to be tuned?'

‘Tomorrow?' He seemed impatient.

‘The heir to my father's estate is due tomorrow. But I could manage the following day?'

‘I'm on my way to a friend's estate. I will be absent for a few days but my factotum, Stowe, will show you where the instrument is. Would two of the clock suit you?'

Leonora nodded and picked up her basket, which seemed to have grown heavier. Rokeby was about to rap on the roof of the carriage to tell his coachman to drive on when he turned to catch her eye again. ‘That mud, was it my doing?' He gestured to the drying streaks splashed up her skirts.

‘You were going rather fast, my lord, and a wheel hit a rut in the lane.'

A sudden smile broke his austere countenance and he tipped his hat. ‘My apologies, Miss Appleby. Perhaps I should be more careful in future.' And with that the horses sprang forward, the blind went down and he was gone.

The following dawn was overcast and had the chill of autumn. Leonora had not slept well, troubled by the day ahead which marked the fissure in her life when her childhood home would be hers no longer and a new, less carefree, stage would begin. Mr Lockwood was expected by the afternoon. He was travelling some thirty miles from Mayfair, which should take the best part of the day. Cook and Nanny P were busy in the kitchens and Jack Clegg, their general manservant, was preparing the dining room for the evening meal. Daniel, the gardener, had brought in an armful of late-blooming roses, Michaelmas daisies and some rare pink Mexican dahlias, the tubers of which her mother had managed to charm from the head gardener of the royal estate at Kew.

Leonora decided to arrange the flowers herself for a large vase on the dining room table and one for the hall. She walked quickly into the garden to collect some more greenery to bulk the arrangements out. Busy cutting ferns in the boggy garden by the stream, she was hailed by Charlotte who swung through the gate from the adjoining Vicarage garden.

The girl's sweet face was downcast. Leonora straightened up from the fernery and joined her as she walked towards the Manor, asking, ‘Why so dismal?'

Charlotte paused to look up at the house and said, ‘I can't bear to think of you no longer living here. It's so encouraging to know you're just a garden away.'

‘The Lodge is only a few hundred paces farther. You'll still be able to visit whenever you like.' Leonora smiled at the young woman. She had known her all her life from when she herself was eight, and had been caught up in the excitement as the news flared round the village that a foundling had been left on the Vicarage steps. Leonora's mother had died the previous year, leaving her alone with a distant father who immured himself in his library; the miraculous advent of this baby was somehow connected in her own childish imagination with a longing for a sister.

The unknown baby also brought a different dream of family to Reverend Mildmay and his wife Sarah. They had not been blessed with children and were long reconciled to their state, but when this newborn baby was delivered to their door, it seemed to have been by the Divine stork itself.

Charlotte Blythe was her name, given her by an unseen hand who had pinned it on a card to her swaddling cloth. Now, at eighteen, Leonora thought her as pretty as a picture. The two young women stood in the Manor gardens, both with their different thoughts. Charlotte was disconsolate, gazing back at the house. ‘I hope the new heir will not change it. It's perfect as it is.'

Leonora took her arm and led her to a stone seat in the shade of an old yew tree. ‘Lottie, I've been wondering if Mama Mildmay has mentioned presenting you for a Season in London?'

Charlotte looked surprised and not a little alarmed by the change in conversation. ‘No. I don't think I have the breeding or they the funds for such a thing. They're only my foster parents, after all.' She grasped her friend's hand. ‘You haven't been presented, Leonora, and you don't mind, do you?'

‘Well, when I was your age my father was unwell and I could not leave him. I was also going to marry Captain Worth, don't forget. But then he was killed.' The baldness of those words and what they meant never failed to catch her breath. How could someone so young and full of life be snuffed out? Leonora sighed. ‘So I am too old now for such thoughts.'

‘You seem happy enough.'

‘Oh, I am content. Happiness can be found for a while, at least if you venture everything, but I've come to consider contentment as the greater art. I have my music, and Nanny P, and you, and others in the village as friends.' She took her hand. ‘But for you, so young, I'd hope a chance of a wider life, to marry and have your own family. And there is nowhere with more choice of fine young men than London in the Season.'

Charlotte had turned to look Leonora in the eye. ‘I know the Captain was cruelly taken from you, but you can't mean you are resigned to not marrying?'

‘I have enjoyed helping to manage the Manor estate all these years since my father's death. It is the loss of that that pains me more.'

Charlotte's face turned mischievous. ‘Reverend Mildmay's new curate is looking for a wife. You know he's the son of Sir Roderick Fopling.'

Leonora gave a shout of laughter. ‘Lottie, you can't be serious! The best that can be said for Richard Fopling is that he is as unalike his sporting papa as anyone could be!'

‘Oh, I know. What a bore Sir Roderick is. Always in his hunting clothes, mud-splattered and braying about his prowess in the field. He has no other talk!' Charlotte's face had fallen at the memory of how many meals she had sat through at the Vicarage as Sir Roderick talked at headache-inducing volume of his latest triumphs.

Their heads touched as they laughed. Leonora stood up. ‘Come, I have to get on with the flower arrangements. You are joining us tonight at six, are you not?' She picked up her basket of ferns and some trailing ivy and they headed back to the house.

‘Yes, it's very kind of you to include the Reverend and Mama Mildmay. And Curate Fopling too.'

‘Well, I thought it useful for everyone to get to know the new owner of the Manor and for him to meet his neighbours.'

‘I hope Nanny P will also be there.' Charlotte was handing Leonora the best pieces of trailing ivy to finish off the arrangement.

Leonora was firm in her response. ‘She's the closest I have to a mama, and I don't care a jot if Mr Lockwood objects to sitting down with my old nurse.'

Charlotte recalled what she had wished to tell her friend. With an animated voice she said, ‘Oh, the latest gossip! Everything comes to the Vicarage you know. The Earl of Rokeby has been seen in his black chaise. Well, they think it's him. The blind is always down but he has this great black-eyed dog which sticks its head out to survey the world and frighten the children.'

Leonora had begun to put the flowers into the vases when she looked up. ‘Oh, I've actually spoken to him.'

‘What? You should have told me! What's he like?'

‘Well, he looks as if he's been very damaged by the war. He has an eye patch.'

‘No! Did he say anything to you?' Charlotte was immediately intrigued.

‘His coach was going so fast in Orchard Lane it splattered me with more mud than even the young pigs manage when they escape to the orchard. He didn't seem in the least concerned.'

‘How inconsiderate! Surely he apologised?'

‘He was more concerned to ask me if I knew of a piano-forte tuner.'

‘You didn't offer to tune his, did you?' Charlotte's eyes were round with astonishment.

‘Actually, I did. But don't trouble yourself, Lottie. I'll take Nanny P as a chaperone. Anyway, the Earl will still be away.'

‘But it's complicated to do. I've watched you with yours. It'll take you all day.'

‘I so like piano-fortes. They have different characters and I'm happy to get to know a new one.'

The evening did not get off to a good start. The Reverend and Mrs Mildmay arrived early, hurried there by Charlotte who wanted to help her friend. She was sensitive to the fact that Leonora, without the benefit of parent, spouse or sibling, was due to entertain the assembled guests and this unknown interloper who would claim her home and everything she had known. Curate Fopling was delayed, having been sent by the Reverend to administer spiritual comfort to a parishioner crushed by a cow. The hostess too was late and still dressing so Mrs Priddy, in her best navy brocade gown, showed them into the drawing room with the windows facing the garden, and offered refreshments. Mr Lockwood, the unknown heir, had been due in the afternoon but was yet to arrive.

Leonora hurried into her best gown of cornflower-blue silk, embellished by herself with tiny cream silk roses round the neck and hem. Milly was the general housemaid but could come to her aid as a lady's maid when needed, to lace or button clothes and lend a hand with Leonora's luxuriant hair. In the country, Leonora felt she did not have to concern herself with high sartorial standards, fortunate indeed given her natural character and lack of sophisticated help to call on.

She dashed down the stairs just as Richard Fopling was being shown into the house. He was a tall man like his father, but where Sir Roderick was broad, red-faced and blustery, his curate son was willowy and pale; where the father had a booming voice full of opinion, his son was soft-spoken and poetic in his sensibilities. He looked up, surprised, as Leonora, a vision in blue, welcomed him, a trifle breathless in her haste.

‘Mr Fopling, I'm glad you have managed to join us.'

‘So am I, Miss Appleby. My apologies for my lateness.' They walked into the drawing room where the Reverend and Mrs Mildmay stood looking out on the garden and Charlotte tinkled on the piano-forte in the middle of the room.

‘I do apologise for not being here to welcome you.' Leonora took Sarah Mildmay's hand. The Mildmays were in their middle years, both shorter and plainer than Charlotte, the beauty who now towered over them with her own slender grace. Mrs Mildmay liked to say it was as if a pair of mallards had raised a swan and as she spoke, her genial face twinkled with gratitude – as if she still did not believe her good fortune.

Charlotte stood up and walked across from the piano-forte. ‘Oh, Leonora, you look very well!' she said, beaming with admiration. Leonora Appleby was striking with her large expressive eyes, flecked it seemed with gold, and her lively face, full of intelligence and humour. ‘Your hair looks different. How have you arranged it?'

Leonora laughed and then dropped her voice. ‘Oh, it's probably still stiffened with pondweed from our swim.'

They both looked across at Mr Fopling in conversation with Nanny P who had poured him some whisky to fortify him. Mrs Priddy knew everyone in the village, was called Nanny P or Mrs P by most, and was indulgent of them all. The bad boys were merely expressing their animal spirits and needed some useful employment; she was not shy of asking them to clean the village pond of blanket weed, or collect the windfalls from the orchard and offer them to the elderly. Sulky girls she took under her wing and taught to quilt or collect wildflowers from the verges to press and set in sketchbooks. The adults whom she had known as children accepted that her opinion carried authority. In her small world, she reigned supreme.

With the continued absence of the heir, Leonora visited the kitchen to soothe Cook who was growing concerned for her pièce de résistance , a roast crown of beef. This she withdrew from the enormous oven and wrapped in cloths to keep warm. The fish soup would not spoil, pulled to one side on the range, and the celery, cauliflower and spinach from the walled garden were all washed and chopped and in their pots, ready to be boiled when Cook was alerted that the last guest had arrived.

As she dashed back up the kitchen stairs, Leonora heard the crunch of wheels on the cobbled drive and walked quickly into the hall to open the door herself. A vision of fashionable tailoring emerged from the smart blue coach, but as George Lockwood straightened up, she was amazed to see just how tall and broad he was. His large face and rosy cheeks would have looked more at home above a good, worsted jacket and buckskin breeches, but he was dressed in a close-fitting coat of finest inky-blue broadcloth and dark pantaloons with mirror-bright hessian boots. His expression was guarded as he walked into the porch.

Leonora was disconcerted by Mr Lockwood's dandy dress, in incongruous contrast with his broad bluff face and ox-like physique. Such finely accoutred metropolitan men were rare and intriguing sights in the vicinity of Hasterleigh. She came forward to greet him. ‘Mr Lockwood, welcome to the Manor. I am Leonora Appleby.'

It was her visitor's turn to look disconcerted. ‘Why, Miss Appleby! We are distantly related, are we not?' He took her hand and bowed. ‘My apologies for being later than I hoped.'

She smiled. ‘I'll ask Milly to show you to your room. Your valet can fit in with my servants.' A young man had struggled in with a smart leather trunk and Leonora called for Jack Clegg to help him transport it up the stairs. Milly led the way to the main guest bedroom at the back of the house.

When Leonora finally re-entered the drawing room, everyone turned curious faces to meet hers. Charlotte's question was on everyone's mind. ‘Well, what's Mr Lockwood like?'

‘He's very well-dressed.' Then with a mischievous laugh, she added, ‘And he's enormous! The tallest, broadest man I've ever seen.'

Charlotte's eyes were wide. ‘Even taller than that gamekeeper at the Rokeby estate?'

‘Yes, by a good measure.'

Mrs Mildmay gasped and took Charlotte's arm. ‘My dear, when were you ever in the way of Diggory Shrubb? He only ever concerns himself with poachers.'

The young woman met Leonora's eyes before responding airily, ‘Oh, Mama Mildmay, Leonora and I sometimes cut through the park at the Abbey on our walks.'

‘Well, my dear, no longer can you wander at will. The new Earl is back from the wars and not in a cheery mood, it would seem.'

‘He's already asked Leonora to tune his piano-forte,' Charlotte said with a giggle.

Mrs Mildmay grasped her arm again and in a hushed voice exclaimed, ‘No young woman is safe in Rokeby Abbey! The parties his father used to have! His sons were exposed to them too. Carriages full of disreputables would arrive from London. The profligacy went on for days. You would not have believed the servants' tales!'

Leonora intervened. ‘Do not fear, the new Earl seems to be far from sociable. In fact, he will be absent all the while I am there.' With this, she seemed to soothe some of Sarah Mildmay's anxieties.

At the sight of George Lockwood in the doorway, Leonora crossed the room to introduce him to the assembled guests, and at last they could process into the dining room where Cook's special meal awaited. Leonora had decided it would be gracious to seat George Lockwood at the head of the table, but he declined. ‘This is still your home, Miss Appleby.' He sat instead at her right hand with Mrs Mildmay beside him, and opposite Mr Fopling and Charlotte Blythe. Mrs Priddy and Reverend Mildmay took their places at the foot of the table. Everyone's eyes were on the new heir as he tucked into the beef.

He met their eyes and smiled. ‘I think it will interest you all that I won't be taking possession of Hasterleigh Manor in the immediate future. I hope Miss Appleby will remain here at least until the summer.'

Charlotte could not contain her delight. She clapped her hands together. ‘Oh, I'm so glad.' She turned to address the hostess with a question in her bright eyes. ‘That means things can go on as usual?'

Leonora was more composed at the news and turned to Mr Lockwood with her own question. ‘So do you wish me to continue overseeing the estate?'

‘I would wish it to carry on as before, with you and your father's bailiff in charge. If that suits you, Miss Appleby?'

She nodded, a small bubble of happiness rising in her chest.

He continued, ‘We'll formalise the arrangement while I'm here. You see, I'm busy with my father's estate in Oxfordshire. It's in a sorry state. And my stepfather insists I spend the Season in Town with him.' His face fell.

Mrs Mildmay asked him, her voice full of concern, ‘Do you not care for London, sir?'

‘I don't enjoy frittering my time with gaming and dancing and would much prefer country life. But first I have to find myself a wife.' George Lockwood gave a rueful smile. His bluff, honest way of speaking made Mrs Mildmay's eyes widen in surprise. He then turned back to Leonora, a certain tightness constraining his features. ‘I'm looking forward to seeing over your father's estate. I'm impressed by how productive it appears to be from the figures your bailiff, Fleming, has sent me.' His candid blue eyes gazed into hers and she realised with relief he was not going to be the ogre she had feared.

There were other women around the table coming to similarly favourable conclusions about him. Mrs Priddy was listening to the Reverend's chatter about his parishioners, all of whom she knew or had helped bring into the world, but her attention was half on the top end of the table where her beloved Leonora sat with this new man to enter their world. He was rich and nice-looking enough, big and strong, a perfect country gentleman, but even better husband material.

Mrs Mildmay also approved of a man who was tired of London and preferred the country life. How much she wanted to see her beautiful foster daughter Charlotte happily settled. She looked sideways at George Lockwood. It was not in her nature to aim high, let alone scheme to achieve her ends, but she thought what a perfect son-in-law this man would make. Pity he was quite so tall – she and the Reverend were like pygmies beside him, but Mrs Mildmay was prepared to overlook that handicap given the kindness in his eyes and the largeness of his fortune.

Charlotte too eyed him with interest. She so wanted Leonora to be happy and married with a family of her own, and could not think of a more fairy-tale ending than the heir to the Hasterleigh estate marrying her dearest friend. This would mean she could remain the chatelaine of the house she had grown up in and loved so. She thought Mr Lockwood a fine figure of a man and liked his amused eyes, deciding he would most likely treat Leonora well.

But Leonora was watching Charlotte as she listened with rapt attention to their guest relating a story about his favourite hunting dog. Her eyes were sparkling with amusement at the story's denouement. Would it concern Mr Lockwood, Leonora wondered, if someone as beautiful and charming as Charlotte Blythe had unknown parentage? Surely her evident attractions would outweigh any disadvantage of illegitimacy?

George Lockwood, himself the focus of so much scrutiny and speculation, seemed unaware of the stir his presence created. He had been schooled by his stepfather to practise sprezzatura, the courtier's manner of studied carelessness and effortless superiority, which sat uneasily on his open nature. The tension between the sophisticated dandy he was required to project and the friendly giant he naturally was created a guarded care in his dealings with strangers he was meant to impress. Instead, he focussed on the meal, so appreciated after a tiring day's travel, and was particularly delighted with the quality of the beef he ate with such gusto.

What he'd seen of the house looked modest but handsome enough. He was not one to nit-pick and find fault in unexpected good fortune. And he was pleased to be in the company of two such attractive young women, both of whom were much more interesting and open in their manners than the schoolroom misses he had to court in Town. He liked the lack of airs of these country people and looked forward to the week he had allotted himself to explore his inheritance.

It had been some years since the small rural community of Hasterleigh had enjoyed so much excitement: in this one week they had not only seen the arrival of the new heir of the Manor, but also the unexpected return of the master of the big house, the mysterious new Earl of Rokeby.

When at last Leonora went to bed that night, her mind was restless with possibilities, not focussed on these unexpected arrivals in the neighbourhood, but on the fact that she could remain at the Manor for a few more months and continue to help run the estate alongside her father's bailiff, the redoubtable Ned Fleming.

When she came down to breakfast, Nanny P was already there, her knitting in her lap and a cup of coffee at her elbow. ‘Good morning, child. I realise with Mr Lockwood in the house, you need me as chaperone. You know how the village gossips for the want of something better to do.' She looked up, her wise face wreathed in a knowing smile. ‘I must say, dear, he seems a good man, and up to the job of running the estate. What do you think?'

‘I hope that first impressions don't deceive. I'm just pleased I won't have to move into the Lodge just yet.' She helped herself to some toast and sat down beside the older woman. Leonora loved this room in the morning. Her mother had chosen to have it painted a rose pink and no one had ever wished to change it, despite it being a surprising colour for a dining room. It glowed in the morning sun that spilled through the birch tree in the courtyard, and never failed to lift her spirits.

‘I approve of his liking for the country,' Mrs Priddy said mildly, not looking up from her speeding fingers.

Leonora laughed and leant towards her, to say in a confiding low voice, ‘I know you well enough to recognise your matchmaking brain at work. If it's anyone I'd like to see well settled, it's Lottie.'

Nanny P stopped her work and looked up, a troubled expression on her face. ‘My dear, you know her unknown parentage makes it more complicated, charming and beautiful as she is.'

Leonora grasped her old nanny's arm. ‘Oh, it's so unfair! Why should the child pay for the transgressions of her parents? Charlotte Blythe's character and person are such that any man should be proud to call her his wife!'

‘We know that, my dear, but Society is not so forgiving. She will marry, but it's a mistake to aim too high. I fear your Mr Lockwood's cheerful manner and fortune mean he has the choice of any number of well-born heiresses in Town.' Mrs Priddy put down her knitting and turned to face Leonora, her eyes intent. ‘But you are a different matter, Nora. You are well-born with a small inheritance of your own. You have beauty and charm and every kind of accomplishment – your father and I made sure of that – and I can think of nothing better than your remaining at the Manor, the property that is rightfully yours.'

‘You are incorrigible!' Leonora leant over to kiss her cheek. ‘I'm afraid you're going to get a great deal of knitting done. I will need you to chaperone me this afternoon at the Abbey.'

‘Oh, I'm looking forward to that. I haven't seen inside that great crumbling house since I went there when the two rapscallion boys were young.'

Leonora's interest was piqued. ‘Really, Nanny P, why so?'

‘Oh, their poor mama was beside herself. They were out of control, and encouraged to be thus by the old Earl. She felt in need of some advice.'

‘No! What did you say?' Leonora was intrigued.

‘Well, I just told the Countess they were good boys with an excess of animal spirits.'

‘Of course you did! That's what you thought of all the roaring boys in the village. So what did you suggest would put them right?'

‘I suggested they needed small jobs around the estate. Charles liked shooting so I thought he could work with Mr Shrubb, the gamekeeper, protecting the habitat for the nesting grouse.'

‘What was the younger brother like?' Leonora remembered her abrupt meeting on the road with the arrogant Earl.

‘He was quite different. He loved dogs and was very musical. Of course his father, the veriest rake if ever there was one, didn't appreciate his son playing the piano-forte, like a schoolroom miss, he used to say.'

‘Well it's that very instrument the Earl wants tuned this afternoon. But he won't be there.'

‘It may be more relaxed if he isn't,' Nanny P said in a way which made Leonora look at her again, wondering what it was she knew. Before she could ask, George Lockwood came into the room in search of breakfast.

Leonora sprang to her feet. ‘Good morning, Mr Lockwood. I hope you slept well?' She was interested to see him dressed in his country clothes and looking so much more at home. His green broadcloth jacket was generously fitted around his broad shoulders and his buckskin breeches were a soft buttery yellow, but it was clear they were as finely tailored as the immaculate Town clothes he had arrived in.

He bowed to both women. ‘I slept as in the arms of Morpheus. Thank you for giving me such a comfortable room.'

Mrs Priddy poured out some coffee for him and Leonora gestured to the cold ham and the bread. ‘There's ale if you prefer. And sweet pastries on that plate by the window.'

They all sat down again at the table and George Lockwood extracted from his pocket a hand-drawn map of the Hasterleigh Estate that he spread between them. In between mouthfuls of bread and ham he pointed to the big hundred-acre field. ‘Can I congratulate you, Miss Appleby, for this is a well-resourced estate. I'm intending to bring my father's less well-endowed land back into productivity, but yours has plentiful water. A boon indeed.' His forefinger traced the course of the Hester River that meandered through the Hasterleigh acreage, providing irrigation points for livestock and crops. ‘I'm not surprised your arable and pastureland is as fertile as it is.' Mrs Priddy saw Leonora's stance soften under his praise of the estate and her care of it.

Mr Lockwood took another gulp of coffee. ‘I am indeed grateful to you for offering to show me over the estate. Have you any free time today?' George Lockwood's frank face turned to Leonora, his blue eyes alight with anticipation. Nanny P had returned to her knitting but was alert to the conversation and change in the atmosphere.

‘Yes, I can manage a couple of hours this morning but I'm busy later. My bailiff Ned Fleming will come with us and can accompany you in the afternoon.' She stood up and took her leave of him and Mrs Priddy. ‘I can meet you here in twenty minutes, if that suits.'

As Leonora, Ned Fleming and Mr Lockwood strode down towards the woodland that fringed the western border of the Manor lands, George Lockwood threw back his head and inhaled the crisp clean air. ‘If I never returned to London, I would be a happy man.'

Leonora looked across at him with some puzzlement. ‘Why do you feel compelled to go then, sir?'

‘I'm only there for the Season. In part to please my stepfather, Beau Beacham.'

Even Leonora in her country fastness had heard of the Beau. He was well known as a dandy and man about Town, striking for his elegance, charm and fast way of life. ‘He married my mother when she was widowed, and was kind enough to adopt me before she herself died.' He looked across at her with a rueful smile. ‘He has a high opinion of his place in Society and expects me to occupy a similarly elevated position, especially to find myself a suitably rich and noble wife to match his social pretensions. Then I'll be free of my obligations.'

Leonora felt a prickle of unease at being reminded of the gulf between the simple country life she and Charlotte enjoyed in Hasterleigh and the expectations and prejudices of London's haut ton . How foolish to even countenance the thought that Mr Lockwood and his family would consider her young friend as a suitable match.

They walked on through the lower field ready for the plough, Mr Fleming at a discreet distance. Mr Lockwood bent to crumble the soil between his fingers as he turned to the bailiff. ‘This is good loamy soil?'

‘Yessir, over a brashy clay.' Ned Fleming's eyes met Leonora's; he appeared pleased that this fancy Town gentleman seemed to not mind getting his hands dirty.

The new owner of the Manor estate then gestured to the neglected field on the other side of the drystone wall. ‘Whose land abuts ours?'

Fleming replied, ‘Oh that's the Rokeby Estate, sir. The Earl was killed fighting for Lord Wellington in Spain. It's been fallow ever since he left.'

‘It's in a sorry state. Those tares and thistles migrate into our domain, I suspect?' He narrowed his eyes as he surveyed the distant fields. ‘It would be easiest to traverse the Manor lands on horseback.' George Lockwood turned to Leonora with a warm smile. ‘Do you have a mount big enough to carry me?'

Leonora was disconcerted and felt her cheeks grow warmer. It was considered impertinent to draw attention to someone's physical size, but he seemed to be quite unembarrassed and she thought she should be as frank. ‘I'm afraid we don't. But our sporting neighbour, Sir Roderick Fopling, runs a whole stable of hunters. I'm sure he'd be happy to lend you one of his.'

‘That would be very kind, Miss Appleby. Perhaps we could make a visit this afternoon?' He met her eyes with an enthusiastic gleam.

‘I have a previous engagement so will not be able to accompany you, I'm afraid.' Her face brightened with a happy thought. ‘But the Foplings are well known to Miss Blythe and her family, the vicar and his wife. I'm sure Charlotte Blythe would introduce you. It would be perfectly appropriate if Mr Fleming accompanied you both.'

The men set off to return to the Manor while Leonora headed for the Vicarage to call on Charlotte. The house had all the charm of its occupants. An old, honeyed-stone building over three floors, with symmetrical latticed windows placed three on each side of a porticoed front door. Late roses of golden yellow still bloomed on the trellis round the door and bees were busy in the red and purple hollyhocks, taller than Leonora. As she walked up the path, Charlotte opened the door, her face bright with the excitement of the previous night. ‘I'm so glad it's you! Come in.'

‘I can't stay. I have to get ready to go to Rokeby Abbey. But Lottie, would you mind introducing Mr Lockwood to Sir Roderick Fopling? I hope he'll be able to borrow one of his hunters. He's too big for ours.'

‘Of course I will. But what about last night?' Charlotte could not suppress her curiosity. ‘What do you think of him?'

‘I am pleasantly surprised that he seems to be such a countryman, despite his dandyish appearance.'

‘Oh, no! You couldn't call him a dandy! He's just finely dressed, surely? But what about his character?'

‘He seems perfectly amiable and I hope will be an excellent custodian of our beloved Manor estate.'

Charlotte was impatient with Leonora's prevarication. ‘Of course he will! But did you like him?'

Leonora laughed. ‘He seems well enough, but it's too soon to say if I like him. More to the point, do you?'

‘Of course I like him. I think him really fine. He fills a room! Rarely do we have the pleasure of any personable young man in our midst.'

‘This is why I think you should at least have a partial Season in Town to meet some other young men and realise the world is larger than Hasterleigh, however lovely it is here.' Leonora turned to go. ‘Thank you, Lottie, for taking my place this afternoon. I think if you can charm a good hunter out of Sir Roderick, then Mr Lockwood will be happy to set off on his tour of the estate with our bailiff.'

She ran from the Vicarage, aware that she had to hurry if she was going to be punctual on her first visit to Rokeby Abbey.