Chapter 12

12

LOVE ME AS YOU ARE BELOVED BY ME

Leonora settled with Mrs Priddy on the seat opposite Lord Rokeby in his luxurious coach. Beside him was Achille. They were on their way home. The carriage was even more handsome than the one he had lent to convey them to London. The seats were upholstered in navy-blue satin with the Rokeby crest embroidered in black and gold, and matching tasselled blinds hung at the windows. In the midst of such elegance, Lord Rokeby cut a striking figure: his good clothes so carelessly worn, his cravat askew, his dark hair ruffled rather than sleekly pomaded, the leather eye patch harsh against his pallor and his scar unmistakeable in the slanting light. Leonora thought he looked magnificent.

As they headed through the busy London streets, the talk was desultory. Mrs Priddy commented on the fashions of some of the more extreme dandies they saw as they crossed St James's. Achille's head poked out the window and caused some consternation to pedestrians who saw him pass. Lord Rokeby watched Nanny P knitting and enquired, ‘Mistress Priddy, that looks a most intricate piece of work; what is it and for whom?'

She twinkled back at him. ‘My lord, it's an infant's shawl, I don't yet know for whom.' Lord Rokeby lifted an eyebrow. He then turned to Leonora to tell her of his plans to revive the Rokeby estate and prevent the weeds and tares of his unhusbanded acres encroaching on Manor land. Leonora found it hard to meet his gaze as she feared her emotions were so tumultuous they would be written on her face. He looked puzzled by her evasiveness; he settled into the corner and seemed to prepare for sleep. Leonora's nerves were as taut as an overstretched piano string; there was little chance she could succumb even to drowsiness as the coach swayed like a cradle on its well-oiled springs.

By Hounslow, Mrs Priddy's head had fallen onto Leonora's shoulder and she appeared asleep, although Leonora had her suspicions. Achille had also curled up on the fur blanket that covered the floor and closed his eyes. Suddenly alert, Lord Rokeby sat up and in a quiet, urgent voice said, ‘Miss Appleby, I have to know. Does my disfigurement cause you distress? In certain lights it's very marked.'

Leonora's eyes flew to his face, her cheeks colouring, appalled that he should think she found anything about him distressing. ‘No, no!' She so wanted to put out a hand and grasp one of his but was afraid to wake Nanny P. She longed to blurt out, I love everything about you. You are embedded in my heart, have reshaped my world, and altered my aspect to the sun. But instead she said, ‘I barely notice it now, Lord Rokeby,' in a voice restrained by fear of the feelings surging through her. However, she wanted to prompt him into saying more. ‘Why should it concern you, sir?'

He looked out of the window as if to deflect the emotion in his own words as he said, ‘Because everything about you concerns me.' She clasped her hands together to contain her dawning delight as he continued, ‘I've told you already that to have my life saved is one thing, but to wish to go on living is quite another. And you have done that for me, Miss Appleby. I now cannot put my hope in any other but you.'

What does this mean ? Leonora's heart was beating out a rhythm that she felt sure would wake Nanny P. Lord Rokeby's gaze returned to her as she said in the quietest of voices, ‘I thought my chance of love was gone but then I met you. Until that moment I had not known how lonely I have been, how much I longed…' She paused, afraid of revealing so much of her heart.

He leant forward and said softly, ‘Say it, Miss Appleby. You need hide nothing from me.'

Leonora took a breath and continued, ‘…how much I longed for love.' Her face was shining. ‘Since that meeting in the lane, thoughts of you have filled my empty dreams and measured my days.'

‘Ah, when my coach nearly ran you over?' he murmured, then reaching for her, he gently stripped off her glove and cradled her hand in both of his, his warmth radiating through her. Leonora looked down and held her breath. She felt her soul lay in his grasp. To love and be loved, was that not all there was? A bubble of joy rose in her breast.

He held her hand fast, gripped with his own emotion. ‘You've reminded me of who I used to be; my heart, a burnt-out ember, is now aflame and I cannot bear that spark to die.'

Her voice quivered with happiness as she said, ‘How can it die, my lord? Once lit, is not the flame of love eternal?'

‘That's a lofty thought, Miss Appleby.' He smiled. ‘You mean like music and the stars, the wind, waters, and the sky?'

Lord Rokeby released her and looked away as if he feared the force of feeling between them. ‘I have travelled Europe and swum its seas. I have been to hell and back.' He met her rapt gaze with a rueful smile. ‘And yet my happiness was here all along, in the village where I was born, with the woman who lives in the Manor next door.'

Laughter bubbled out of Leonora as from a released spring. ‘We both had to leave in order to find our way home,' she said.

The Earl shifted in his seat and said in a steadier voice, ‘I have some of my old regimental friends coming to the Abbey for four days' rest and recuperation.' He caught her eye again and the current of passion flashed between them. ‘When they have gone, perhaps, Miss Appleby, you would honour me with your company? With Mrs Priddy too, of course.'

At the sound of her name, Nanny P opened her eyes. ‘Oh, goodness. Where are we on the journey, my lord?'

‘Just an hour left. We have fresh horses and will soon be home.'

They fell into silence. At the sight of the familiar hedgerows and trees, Leonora knew that round the next corner the village would be in sight, nestling in its fold in the Downs. Achille had also woken up and stood at the window close to her, sniffing the air. Spring had truly arrived, with apple blossom in the orchards and cowslips in the fields. The green verges were abundant too with bluebells and wood anemones, campion, celandine and the mysterious medieval sleeves of lords-and-ladies pressing up through the grass. Excitement rose in Leonora's breast. She was home.

As the carriage drew up in front of the portico of the Manor, Lord Rokeby handed down both women. Mrs Priddy led the way, but he held Leonora back. Her hand was still ungloved, and he entwined his fingers with hers in a fleeting gesture of intimacy that left her breathless. He bowed his head and said with quiet intent, ‘My spirit rests at last now you are home.' His glance was suddenly shy. ‘When my friends have left, may I send for you?'

Leonora nodded, her heart too full to trust her voice. The Rokeby coach turned in the drive and his lordship tipped his hat as he climbed back into its plush interior. Leonora noticed his limp and her heart was touched. Here was a man prepared to give his life for his country. And this hero was hers.

The Earl sat back in the seat with a sigh. He looked down at his right hand where the middle finger had been torn away by a French artillery shot. Could Miss Appleby really love such an imperfect figure of a man? And yet he could not now envision life without her.

A sense of necessity and desire gripped his spirit. The force of will and endeavour that had characterised his life now made Alistair Rokeby impatient to grasp every precious second left to him, to live fully with his new countess by his side. Already more relaxed now that she was within reach, he inhaled the breezy scent of the country that fizzed in his lungs. What happiness to relinquish the clanging city, the soot-laden air, the press of people and the posturing coxcombs and coquettes, for this sweet green land and the only woman he loved.

Even the burden of guilt for his brother's death, and the sense he was an imposter sitting on the ancestral seat, began to shift its oppressive weight. Alistair Rokeby sighed with satisfaction as his carriage started the descent to the Abbey. He had spent too long wishing he had never agreed to that schoolboy pact, carrying for ever the conviction that it should have been him to die in a foreign field. But even these years of regret faded with the promise of a new life; he had survived and must now honour his felled brother by living that life to the hilt. Lord Rokeby exhaled as if for the first time and felt this breath as freedom. For this, for Leonora, for love, he would give all he had been and could be, and the thought soothed his soul.

As the coach pulled up in front of the ancient building, Lord Rokeby climbed out and looked up at the atmospheric ruin looming into the blue above, with the welcoming house nestled in beside it, and was overcome with emotion. He wished he could see his brother again and say thank you. But this could never be, and Alistair Rokeby straightened his shoulders and entered the ancestral home he loved with new gratitude and at last a sense of right.

Leonora and Nanny P settled in the room by the kitchen to sort out the menus for the week ahead. ‘I don't know when we will be transferring to the Lodge, but I think Mr Lockwood will soon be wishing to move in here and prepare for his new bride.' As Leonora spoke those words for the first time, she felt a fillip in her heart. How much she had hoped it would be Charlotte taking her place as the chatelaine of her beloved house, but now it was about to happen, she could not quite erase the underlying pulse of loss.

Mrs Priddy looked across at her with an anxious frown. ‘Oh Nora, it'll be a wrench I know, but you will be moving soon to an even more beautiful place, will you not?' Her eyes had dropped again to the list of meals in her lap.

Before Leonora could answer with a laugh that she was presuming a great deal, there was a tap at the door and Milly entered with a message from Cook. ‘Curate Fopling has sent across a haunch of venison to welcome you home, so she can cook that any day this week.'

‘Thank you, Milly.' Leonora looked across at Mrs Priddy. ‘What a thoughtful gesture.'

Milly hesitated and then blurted out, ‘All the female servants at the Abbey, apart from Mistress Plum, the cook, have been given four days off-duty, Miss.' Nanny P met Leonora's startled glance but Leonora would not reveal any of her shock to Milly, whom she could see was already agog with lurid speculation.

‘Thank you for that information, but I'm afraid the Manor cannot do without you.' Milly left, closing the door behind her. Leonora felt unable to express her sudden fears, even to her old nanny. She said in an equable voice, ‘Lord Rokeby told me some of his military friends were visiting for a few days. He did say they were rather a wild set. Perhaps he didn't care to have his servants upset by their language and drunkenness?' But a cold trickle of foreboding deflated some of the ecstasy in her heart.

The next days were unseasonably hot and sultry with a threat of thunder. Leonora longed to reacquaint herself with the beautiful lake and plunge in for a swift, exhilarating swim. But she did not wish to visit it when Lord Rokeby's friends were in residence. As she was walking past the Vicarage, Mrs Mildmay rushed out, a letter in her hand. ‘Charlotte is due home tomorrow! I'm busy devising a special welcome dinner for her; would you and Mrs Priddy come too?'

‘Of course, it will be so good to hear her news.' Leonora took Mrs Mildmay's hands and squeezed them.

Mrs Mildmay then imparted a less happy piece of news. ‘Oh, but have you also heard? The village gossips are clacking; they say things at the Abbey are as bad as the days when the old Earl was still alive.'

Leonora found her heart so constricted she could hardly breathe. ‘No?'

‘Well, a carriage full of ladies of uncertain repute was seen on its way into the Abbey drive. The old Earl would throw wild parties for his friends. Lord knows what those young sons were exposed to!' Mrs Mildmay's hand fluttered to her face but there was a certain glee in her eyes. Leonora felt as if a blade had pierced her soul. What a fool she was to think she knew Lord Rokeby's heart. What a fool to think it belonged just to her, with neither beauty, fortune, nor noble blood to distinguish her.

She turned away, so that Mrs Mildmay would not see how stricken she was. In a muffled voice she said as brightly as possible, ‘I will look forward to seeing Charlotte again. Until tomorrow!'

The following day dawned even hotter, with no overnight storm to clear the air. Leonora's spirit was oppressed. She returned to her packing now that George Lockwood would be taking up residence at last. This was a melancholy task as she wrapped in paper and put into boxes the Delft porcelain her mother had collected and loved, her own books, the miniature portraits of her ancestors, her jewellery and clothes. Overcome with heat and growing despair, Leonora decided to walk to the orchard to collect some wild flowers to welcome Charlotte home.

In the shade of the lane, her spirits revived. There were so many flowers in the verges she hardly needed to walk as far as the orchard to collect a big bunch of bluebells, cow parsley and wood anemones, inhaling their heady scent as she turned for home. Passing the wall of the Rokeby estate, Leonora heard distant shouts and laughter; the higher timbre of female voices floated towards her like sirens. She climbed over the broken-down wall that she and Charlotte used on their clandestine visits to the lake. Irresistibly drawn onwards despite her dread, she walked with careful stealth over the mossy ground, her heart pounding. Soon she came to the fringe of the woodland and looked down on the lake – her lake.

Five men – some bare-chested, having stripped off their shirts, others barefoot, with their breeches wet to the knees – were chasing four women in the flimsiest of chemises, their hair loose down their backs. They squealed, flitting in and out of the shade at the water's edge. Leonora was appalled. There was her majestic oak tree, her lake, all treated with scant regard by these careless, libidinous friends of Lord Rokeby's. She strained her eyes in search of him but could not see his dark-haired figure amongst them. She gasped, recognising one of the bare-chested men as Rufus Dearlove just as he caught a young woman in his arms, kissing her as she giggled, and his hands moved up beneath her chemise. She wriggled free and he set off in pursuit again as she pirouetted to flick water at him with her toe.

Leonora turned away in a terrible confusion of feeling: shame that she was clandestinely prying on a scene she was never meant to see; horror that this licentious party was hosted by the man she thought loved her alone; shock at the jealousy and misery that gripped her spirit. How much she hated this feeling and hated what she had become: a sneaky, overwrought woman, humiliated by her presumptuous hopes and marked by ignorance.

Leonora scrambled back over the wall, pulled sticky grass from her skirts, and hurried home. She put the flowers into a jug of water and ran upstairs to throw herself on the bed and allow herself to cry.

Eventually, she recovered herself, splashed her face with cold water, and slipped into one of her favourite evening gowns, made by her and Nanny P in emerald tiffany. She could not resist a wry smile as she was taken aback by her image in the looking glass, noticing how green the fabric made her hazel eyes appear, how flaming her hair. She hoped her unhappy, jealous heart was not as evident to others. Leonora brushed and rearranged her hair and for good measure, slipped a pink satin rose into the waves she had managed to secure into a passable chignon.

She and Mrs Priddy set out to walk up through the adjoining Vicarage garden, scents of spring flowers hanging in the humid air. As they entered the house, they were greeted by a radiant Charlotte who flew into Leonora's arms. ‘Oh, Leonora, I have told Mama Mildmay and the Reverend everything. They are so happy too that I have a father who lives, and my mother also. I saw her at Lady Dundas's.' Charlotte reached for Mrs Mildmay's hand. ‘She wants to meet my family who cared for me and in time, will come with her husband to live in the Gardener's Cottage at the Manor.' Charlotte slipped her arm through George Lockwood's and said with utmost tenderness, ‘But most gratifying of all is my Mr Lockwood, my…' she hesitated, her fair skin colouring at the thought of the intimacy of using his name. ‘…my George. How can I not be happy when the man I love loves me?'

Leonora looked up into his beaming face. How at home he seemed, dressed in his comfortable country clothes, smiling down into the beautiful, flushed face of the woman he had chosen for life's adventure. Leonora could envision them in ten years' time, affectionate and indulgent parents to their family of small children clustered round the table, and she smiled. This was just what her much-loved Hasterleigh Manor needed, a new young family to love and care for it as she had done.

Leonora's own pallor and lack of vitality was unnoticed in the general light of happiness that spilled from Charlotte and George Lockwood as they sat together at the head of the table while a good roast goose was carved and eaten. There was ceaseless chatter and laughter as Charlotte and Mama Mildmay caught up on the village gossip, the deaths and newborn babies, the welcome news that Richard Fopling, not his father, would be managing the Fopling estate, with a more benign hand. George Lockwood added, to laughter, that Beau Beacham had been so charmed by his newly betrothed that he had commended his stepson for the first time in his life for his unrivalled good taste.

Nanny P was sitting next to Leonora and she realised something was troubling her. She slipped her hand under the lacy tablecloth to take Leonora's and give it an encouraging squeeze. Leonora roused herself to take greater part in the discussions and add something to the night's celebrations. She caught Charlotte's eye and raised her glass to toast her. ‘From the moment I first met Mr Lockwood, I determined he should marry Charlotte so that it would be her who took my place at the Manor. And I could not be more delighted this has come to pass. Who else but she can grace this place and make Mr Lockwood happy?' Everyone round the table raised their glasses to drink to Charlotte's and Mr Lockwood's health, laughing and grateful that Leonora had been so magnanimous about giving up her family home.

Leonora and Mrs Priddy left early to return to the Manor and bed. As they walked through the warm scented night, Mrs Priddy took Leonora's hand. ‘My dear, I know something is troubling you, and it's no longer just about losing the Manor. Tell me.'

‘Oh, Nanny P, I can't, not yet. It's just I've had a harsh awakening to the folly of dreams. And my foolishness in believing in them.'

‘We are never foolish to believe in dreams, my dear. Only sometimes to act on them is not wise. Come on now, you're hot and tired.' She patted Leonora's arm and Leonora hugged her.

‘Oh, Nanny P, how would I ever have got by when my mother died if it hadn't been for you? Then when Captain Worth—' her voice broke with a stifled sob ‘—when he was killed, I couldn't see a way forward. But you have always been by my side. Thank you,' she said in a muffled voice as she buried her face in her old nanny's shoulder.

The spell of stifling heat did not break. Leonora arose from fitful sleep to dress in her lightest white muslin. She had been tempted to leave off her stays but felt that would be going a bit far into déshabillé, especially as George Lockwood was in the house. He had suggested she take as long as she wished to move into the Lodge as he still had a thatcher there sorting out the roof ridge where birds had nested.

Everyone's nerves were frayed by the unseasonable heat. Leonora's hair had curled into damp tendrils against her forehead, and she sought the cellar as the coolest place in the house, deciding to pack the china there into boxes. She heard a knock on the front door and a gentleman's voice talking to Milly.

As Leonora emerged from the cool dark, she was hit by a blast of heat and dazzled for a moment by the sun. There, in dark silhouette, was a man she knew well. ‘Lord Dearlove!' she cried and took his hands, before she remembered she had seen him cavorting half-naked by the lake and was feeling very cross with him, and Lord Rokeby too. ‘Would you like to come in?' she asked in a less welcoming tone.

Rufus Dearlove looked as handsome and untroubled as he always did, particularly now his forehead and cheekbones were burnished by the sun. ‘Miss Appleby, I'm on my way back to my estate but did not wish to leave Berkshire before wishing you well.'

‘Have you been visiting in the vicinity, my lord?' she asked with an ingenuous smile.

‘Yes. The most bang-up reunion of us old soldiers at the Abbey. Rokeby certainly knows how to throw a good party.'

‘I thought he did not much care for society.'

‘Well then, something must have loosened m'lord's stays and upped his spirits.' The young buck laughed, little knowing the volcanoes of passion he was unloosing in Leonora's breast.

She hated herself for asking, but she was held tight in the toils of fear and jealousy. ‘So, a gathering of you men with no ladies present?'

Lord Dearlove did not even look sheepish as he replied in his sunny way, ‘No, no ladies at all. A few days of eating, drinking and gambling into the night. It's restored our energy and good humour. But I must be going if I'm to get back home before nightfall.' Leonora followed him to his curricle and nodded at his groom. As he swung himself into the driving seat he said, ‘Oh, congratulations to young Miss Blythe. That George Lockwood is a fine man, rich too. My sister Livia was rather taken with him but is now betrothed to that cod's head Cholmodley.' He was irrepressible as he snorted with laughter. ‘An absolute fool but well-oiled, thirty thousand a year from his northern estate. But she won't be happy exiled to the wastes of Northumberland, so far from London.'

‘Please offer her my regards and congratulations.' Leonora was surprised how weak her voice sounded. His lordship then tipped his hat, wheeled his magnificent pair of black horses and set them off in a brisk trot as he drove his curricle back to the lane in a flurry of dust. Leonora was now hot, sticky and dusty and her mood was not improved.

She returned to her toil in the cellar and had been busy for about an hour when she heard a horse's hooves trot up to their door, followed by a rap. No one seemed to be available to answer the call and so she emerged from her cool dark sanctuary and opened the door to Roddy, Lord Rokeby's chief groom. He offered her a note, addressed to Miss Appleby in black ink in a large cursive hand she recognised with a jolt. ‘M'lord said I should wait for a reply.' Leonora's heart was hammering as she unfolded it and under the gilded Rokeby crest, read:

Would my favourite and best piano-forte tuner be able to attend Rokeby Abbey at two tomorrow?

And it was signed with a flourish, R.

After enduring days of heat, fevered speculation and distress, his facetious tone was the last straw. Leonora grasped a piece of her own writing paper from the table in the hall and scrawled:

No. I'm afraid she would not.

I suggest you find yourself a more amusing and complaisant p-f tuner.

And she signed with her own flourish, LA.

She folded it, not bothering with a wax seal, and handed it back to the groom. Leonora was seething with an anger she did not fully understand. After so many years of grief, when she had struggled for self-reliance, armouring her vulnerability with a steel band around her heart, she had finally offered it again to a man. Was she so hurt because he appeared to have treated her gift with scant regard? She removed her apron and catching sight of herself in the looking glass in the hall, was astonished by how untidy her hair was and how pink her cheeks, flushed with the heat of the day and the emotion of the hour. She had just managed to clean the dust of the cellar from her face, her hair still damp and tendrilled round her face, when there was the sound of cantering hooves.

Leonora went to the front door and there stood the Earl, his face dark, his hair wild. He was coatless, just wearing his shirt and breeches, and he too was flushed with the heat, sweat standing out on his forehead and glistening on his exposed collarbone. Achille came panting up and pushed through into the shade of the house. ‘Lord Rokeby, to what do I owe this visit?' Leonora asked with a cold voice.

He flourished her note. ‘To what do I owe this rude riposte? Why the sulky tone?'

‘I'm not sulking, I'm irritated and disappointed.'

‘How so?' he said, raking his hand through his hair, making it even wilder.

‘Perhaps your behaviour with your friends over the last days might give you a clue,' she said, horrified at the edge of sarcasm in her voice. He took a step towards her, fury in his face, and Leonora realised this argument was being conducted in full hearing of the servants. ‘Come into the morning room, my lord. I don't think we need to advertise our disagreements to the world.'

She closed the door behind them and he whirled around to face her. ‘Pray tell me, Miss Appleby, how do you know how I behave with my friends?' His face contorted with anger and incomprehension. ‘Did you come and visit me? Or were you by chance spying?'

Leonora recoiled from his words for he was right, and she felt suddenly very much in the wrong. She scrabbled for an explanation that did not implicate her. ‘The whole village was agog!' she said.

He was contemptuous. ‘So you prefer to hark to the clacking of old wives' tongues than to trust in my character?'

‘How could I not? A carriage full of women was reported as being seen in your drive.' Her own outrage was on stronger ground as she saw him blink in shock.

‘So I'm now guilty of entertaining a carriage-load of harlots, am I? Did it not occur to you this may have had nothing to do with me?' He had paced in his lopsided way to the window and back, then turned and said in an exasperated voice, ‘If a friend of mine, a comrade in arms, chooses to invite some of his female friends, do you expect me to humiliate him, and them, by barring their entry? I'd hope you would have done as I did and treated them with respect.'

Leonora was still upset, not least by the desecration of her favourite swimming spot that these visitors had prevented her from visiting. ‘If it was all so respectable, my lord, why were these friends cavorting in semi-undress around my—I mean your —lake?'

His visage suddenly lightened with amusement or triumph, she was not sure which. ‘Ah ha! So you were spying! Miss Appleby, you are back to your old trespassing ways. You say you are disappointed in me, well I am disappointed in you.' His voice continued, more in sorrow, ‘Why not think the best of me? And if you could not do that, then ask for an explanation. I thought you knew my heart.' In an involuntary movement, his hand went to his chest. ‘But perhaps I was mistaken in that too? Instead, you damn me, again unheard.' Leonora hung her head. Lord Rokeby was right. She had jumped to conclusions that had hurt them both.

‘You had not fully declared yourself to me. What was I to think? How was I to know this was a lark thought up by one of your gentlemen friends and not something you had organised for your own gratification?'

‘I'm sorry you have been concerned, but I'd hoped you would be less quick to judge.' He was still frosty.

In a quiet voice she asked, ‘Was the war comrade you mention Lord Dearlove by any chance?'

Alistair Rokeby met her eyes with lofty hauteur. ‘I do not intend to answer that. Dearlove is an officer and a gentleman, as am I, and I will not deign to tattle like a fishwife.'

Leonora thought , That spoilt Rufus Dearlove may be an officer and a gentleman but he's left you with this mess . She looked at the distinguished, irascible man who stood before her and he turned his head to meet her gaze, a softer, sorrowful expression on his face.

‘I thought I'd met in you, Miss Appleby, the love I'd waited for all my life, but I fear that you do not feel the same certainty. Instead, you offer so suspicious a mind, thinking the worst and rushing to judgement.' He then flared up with indignation. ‘You admonish me for my behaviour – and you're not even my wife!'

In any other situation, Leonora would have laughed. To hear him admit to having thought of marrying her just a week ago would have filled her disbelieving heart with joy. But that innocent time had passed. Overcome by distress at her own behaviour and suffocated by the heat, Leonora snapped, her eyes flashing, ‘Your wife? What presumption, my lord! Why on earth would I wish to marry you?'

Alistair Rokeby looked stricken. Even Achille gazed at her with an aghast expression. His lordship turned on his heel and walked straight for the door, his hound at his heel. Leonora was appalled at what she had said, how opposite it was to any truth she felt, and yet she had uttered the unsayable and it could not be undone. She dashed after him, but he was mounted on Jupiter and they were disappearing at a fast trot down the drive towards home.

Unbearably agitated by the emotion of the day, Leonora rushed back into the house and opened her piano-forte. She banged out the most clamorous of the Clementi sonatinas. The house rang with the notes and Mrs Priddy bustled in, her hands over her ears. ‘Nora dear, can you play a little more quietly? You'll make my head break!'

Leonora rose from the stool and walked across to sit beside her old nanny. ‘I'm sorry. I've just been such a fool and I don't know what to do to try and make it right.'

Mrs Priddy looked at her and asked, ‘I presume this involves Alistair Rokeby?'

‘I've done such damage not trusting him, not trusting myself. Oh, Nanny P, I've been so afraid of loving anyone again, fearing that my heart asks more than life can give.'

‘It's not surprising my dear, given the deaths you've had to endure.'

Leonora took her hand. ‘I can't bear the risk of loss. Or never finding love again. And yet I think my own stupidity has thrown Lord Rokeby's trust and affection back in his face.'

Mrs Priddy put her arm around Leonora and said in her motherly way, ‘I think you'll feel much better after a night's sleep. And so will Master Alistair.'

‘What will make me feel better is a swim. I've been longing to slip into that cold water since we've been home. I'll ask Charlotte to come with me early when Lord Rokeby's still abed.'

‘These last days may have been hot, but that lake water will still be winter-cold. Take care not to stay in too long.'

‘I think I'll go round to the Vicarage and ask Lottie.' Leonora stood up and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Thank you for always being on my side, Nanny P.' Leonora ran into their garden; the moon was growing brighter in the dusky sky and the birdsong had ceased as the birds roosted for the night. She swung through the connecting garden gate and started walking towards the house when she heard low laughter. Peering through the dim light she saw, in the distance, the pergola of roses and honeysuckle, with Charlotte and George Lockwood sitting on a garden seat, their hands intertwined and heads bent close.

Leonora felt she was intruding and was about to turn and go when Charlotte looked up and called, ‘Leonora, come and join us.'

Leonora shook her head, smiling, as she walked towards them. ‘I don't want to disturb you.'

‘You're not. Mama Mildmay doesn't know I'm out here without a chaperone, so you can be her.' Charlotte laughed and threw back her head to look up into George Lockwood's face, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight.

‘I really can't stay. I just came to ask you, Lottie, if you would accompany me swimming tomorrow early, about nine?'

Charlotte cast a smile at her betrothed and said, ‘I could manage noon, but Mr Lockwood—George,' she corrected herself shyly, ‘George and I were going to ride round the estate just after breakfast.'

George Lockwood stirred and got to his feet. ‘We could always postpone our ride until the afternoon?' He looked down at the woman he loved.

Charlotte had gained so much in confidence that she was perfectly happy to go against both him and her dearest friend and answered, ‘It's going to be another really hot day, I'd much rather we rode early. Do you mind, dear George, and you too, Leonora? We could swim the following morning?' Her face was questioning.

Leonora kissed Charlotte. ‘Thank you. I'll think about that offer. Sleep well, my dear. Isn't it good to be home?'

‘Oh yes! It's where the heart is. Now with Mr Lockwood here, my heart is with him.'

As Leonora turned to go, she put out a hand to George Lockwood. ‘I haven't congratulated you on finding the sweetest, most competent and generous-hearted wife you could hope for.' Over her shoulder she added, ‘The garden door will be open for you when you return.' They waved and Leonora walked back through the Manor gardens with the sound of their soft voices murmuring on the scented air.

The night was hot and heavy but Leonora was so exhausted by the day, she was quickly enfolded in a deep and dreamless sleep where no shame, jealousy, hope or fear of loss could follow. Even the insistent moon and its attendant stars did not penetrate the dark oblivion. She awoke with a start to a world wreathed in mist; it was the softest of mornings. The call of the lake and its reviving dark waters could no longer be resisted. She knew she had promised everyone she would never swim alone but all she needed was a quick dip, then she'd be out and home for breakfast. No one would be any the wiser.

Leonora slipped into her bathing dress of blue calico. She had followed the pattern and used a good strong fabric so it wouldn't cling when wet, but high-necked, full-length and covering her arms, it was almost too hot for the day. She threw her plain green pelisse over the top and stepped out into the warm morning. The mist was clearing but the light was still milky as she clambered over the wall into the Abbey estate. She trod her old path down through the trees, bright with spring foliage. Excited birds were rustling in the branches and rummaging through the moss and dead leaves.

Emerging from shadow into the sun, the new grass springy beneath her feet, Leonora felt at peace at last, as if only the elemental forces of water and air, life and love, truly mattered. In the clarity of this moment all the petty everyday concerns were as nothing. As if to mark this revelation, a blackbird in the tree above her poured out its liquid song as she ran down through the dew to her favourite oak tree by the water's edge.

Leonora's heart was beating fast; how she had longed for this since last October when Diggory Shrubb had banished her and Charlotte from the lake. It was astounding to think how entirely her world had altered since she had last stood in this place, but here the lake lay before her, unchanging and beyond understanding, its water merged with sky, with no ripple to disturb its glassy surface.

She tossed off her pelisse and changed her shoes for canvas swimming pumps. Her hair was already swept upwards in a tight chignon as she waded into the shallows. The intense cold made her gasp, and the heat of the air made the contrast all the more shocking. As she breasted off into the inky black, exhilaration began to rise at her silky passage through the water. Leonora could feel her heart pounding in her chest and knew she should not stay too long, but the mysterious centre of the lake was seductive; she could not leave it undisturbed.

Leonora swam through the filaments of mist before slipping onto her back for a minute to gaze upwards into the sky where newly arrived swallows were inscribing airy curlicues in the blue. She could feel the cold beginning to work itself into her limbs and turned to swim for shore. As her left leg trailed into the deeper recesses of the lake she was filled with dread as something caught her by the hem of her garment. She tugged as vigorously as she could, but the fabric held fast. She tried kicking her legs to break free, but the toe of her canvas shoe hit something hard and pointed. With rising panic, Leonora realised she may have been caught in the branch of a petrified tree, part of the woodland that was flooded when the lake was first created. She had strayed into the part Lord Rokeby had warned was out of bounds for this very reason. She had broken every rule.

She felt her limbs grow weaker as she struggled. Her fingers lost all their dexterity as she tried to unloose her buttons. Perhaps she could wriggle free of the dress? But so quickly had the cold entered her body that she barely had the strength to reach her back, let alone manage to slip the buttons through the loops. She started to call for help but as her voice echoed over the water, Leonora feared there would be no one abroad this early to hear her. Where was Diggory Shrubb when she needed him? she wondered bleakly. How headstrong and foolish she had been to come alone, how impatient and obstinate in her determination to swim in her precious lake. She should have waited for Charlotte.

Leonora could not feel her limbs and keeping her head above water was increasingly difficult. She called out again, more weakly, and put up an arm to wave, but even the smallest movement took more energy than she had. Suddenly, there was a young man with a dog emerging from the woods. Was this a hallucination? she wondered. Then, as the sun caught the unmistakeable flame of his red hair, she recognised Silas Sproat and a spark of hope was ignited.

‘Silas!' she called, ‘Silas!' Her cry was feeble and took an almighty effort.

He seemed to have heard her and raced to the shore. ‘Miss Appleby, is that you?'

‘Yes, Silas. Quickly! My dress is caught. I can't move.'

‘I can't swim, missus!' His voice was panicked.

‘Get help!' And she watched him set off running up the broad ride towards the Abbey.

Leonora could feel her body closing down. She knew she could not resist this cold much longer before losing consciousness. Barely able to prevent her eyes closing and her head slipping under the water, she lost track of time. Her life began to pass before her: her darling mama smiling, with sunlight in her hair, holding out her arms; her favourite pony, Meg; her father; then brave William Worth so handsome in his regimental colours; Nanny P as a young woman, lifting her onto her lap; then a dark turbulent lord galloping, galloping on his black horse. With a sob she felt herself slipping away.

‘Miss Appleby, Miss Appleby! Hold on!' The voice seemed to come from far away. Was it still part of a dying dream? ‘Miss Appleby!' With enormous effort, she opened her eyes to see that dark-haired lord gallop up on Jupiter and before he'd reined his great steed in, he threw himself from the saddle. Alistair Rokeby was barely dressed, his nightshirt stuffed into his breeches; he hadn't even pulled on his boots. He dived into the water and in an instant was surging towards her, a knife between his teeth. Without saying a word, he dived down to where her dress was caught and she felt the knife sawing through the hem. She was free but incapable of movement. He grasped her round the waist and started to propel them back to land.

Leonora could not speak, her teeth were chattering so much. Unconcerned by propriety when a life was in the balance, Lord Rokeby hitched up Leonora's skirt so she could sit astride in his saddle, her naked legs almost blue as they hung down against Jupiter's glossy flanks. He sprang up behind to sit on Jupiter's rump, with his arm around Leonora's waist to keep her from falling. Then he drove Jupiter into a canter.

Leonora's mind slipped in and out of reality; she did not quite know where she was but she knew she was safe. The arms tight around her belonged to the man she loved; she felt his warmth pressed against the frigid cold of her back. When they reached the Abbey, Lord Rokeby dismounted and she almost fell into his arms. He called for his groom. ‘Help me carry Miss Appleby into the drawing room where there are remnants of last night's fire. Then take the curricle and collect Mrs Priddy from the Manor. Tell her to bring some warm clothes.'

The two men laid her gently on the sofa by the fire; her body was limp and her lips, blue. Lord Rokeby chafed her hands. ‘Miss Appleby, don't slip into sleep. Nanny P will soon be here. You don't want to alarm her.' His voice was urgent, his face, distraught. Roddy left to collect Mrs Priddy and Lord Rokeby called for Mistress Plum, his cook, his most capable female servant, to come and remove Leonora's sodden bathing dress.

Despite his damaged leg he ran up the stairs and returned with the only piece of his mother's clothing he had kept, her ermine-lined opera cloak, together with the wolfskin cover from his own bed. The cook was just undoing the buttons of Leonora's gown when he entered. ‘I'll leave you to this, Mistress Plum. I must also change. Dress Miss Appleby in my mother's cloak then cover her with the fur blanket. I'll be back in five minutes. I'll put your kettle on the stove. We'll need warm drinks.'

Alistair Rokeby was gripped by the same fear he had endured when his brother was cradled in his arms, his life slipping away in front of his eyes. The second person he loved more than life itself was here in his house, her own life hanging by a thread. He stripped off his clothes and dressed quickly in a clean shirt and breeches. He did not have time to shave and his face was grey with worry and the night's stubble. All that concerned him was to return to Leonora as quickly as possible.

Lord Rokeby re-entered his drawing room to find his cook brushing Leonora's hair off her forehead and chafing her hands while she lay under his wolfskin blanket, colour slowly returning to her face. ‘Thank you, Mistress Plum. I will take over until Mrs Priddy arrives. Could you bring us two cups of hot chocolate, please?'

Leonora's eyes flickered open and she smiled before closing them again as she murmured, ‘Lord Rokeby, I apologise for all this trouble.'

He fell to his knees beside her. ‘Thank God you have come back to me. How could I live without you?' Leonora had just the energy to place her hand on his cheek and gently stroke the curling hair at his temples. He took her hands in consternation. ‘You're still so cold. Do you feel warmth returning at all? May I check your feet?' Leonora nodded and he slipped his hand under the wolfskin to cradle her feet in his warm hands. ‘Good, they seem less chilled.'

Leonora shivered with the thrill of his touch. She opened her eyes to meet his intense gaze. His words were close to a murmur, so terrible were the memories that assailed him. ‘When I first found you, your eyes had that distant glassy look I have seen too many times before. In that moment, nothing mattered but you and securing you to life.' He dropped his head to kiss her feet, before covering them again carefully and tucking them in the skirt of his mother's cloak with the heavy fur bedcover over the top. He sprang up to place another log on the fire. On such a warm day the room seemed almost unbearably hot, but colour was seeping back into Leonora's skin. Her lips were no longer blue.

Mistress Plum appeared with two bowls of hot chocolate and Mrs Priddy followed her into the room. ‘Oh Nora, what have you been up to? Let me see you.' She sat down heavily in the chair next to the sofa and leant across to take her hand. ‘Good, you're warming up. I'm not surprised, this room is like a furnace.' She stood up to remove her pelisse and bonnet and then turned to Lord Rokeby. ‘Well? What's been going on, my lord?'

‘Miss Appleby was swimming in the lake when she got entangled in the branches of the petrified forest at the eastern end. That village lad, Silas Sproat, poaching no doubt, came tearing up to the Abbey, yelling. Got me from my bed. Our greatest thanks are due to him. Not many people are brave enough to demand I rouse myself from sleep at such an unconscionable hour.' He smiled.

‘And how did you rescue her?' Mrs Priddy had grasped both of Leonora's hands.

‘I dived down to where the hem of her dress was entangled and cut it free.'

‘Well, thank the Lord she is safe.' She picked up the bowl of hot chocolate and said, ‘Nora, I think you need some sustenance. Can you sit up?'

As Leonora struggled to sit, Alistair Rokeby put his arm around her back. Her old nanny handed her the hot chocolate and she sipped from the bowl. It was the first time Lord Rokeby had seen anyone but his mother wear the beautiful cream velvet and ermine cloak that now set off Leonora's colouring. He smiled. ‘My mama's garment becomes you well, Miss Appleby. I shall have to give it to you.'

The chocolate and the warmth had revived her and she smiled. ‘I have never worn anything so soft and luxurious.' She pulled it closer round her face. Then she added, ‘Why not have your chocolate too, my lord? You won't have had any breakfast and saving me from the icy lake is a rude awakening, I'm sure.'

Mrs Priddy stood up. ‘I'm far too hot by the fire.' She went to sit by the window and settled down with her knitting. ‘I've nearly finished, just the last piece of scalloped edging to go.'

Lord Rokeby took her seat and gazed with some concern at Leonora. ‘Are you really feeling stronger?' He took her hand and felt her pulse. ‘You are warmer, 'tis true. You cannot be in the army as long as I have been and not learn to read the vital signs.'

Leonora would not let his hand go. ‘I apologise for trespassing and spying on your friends and their party. And for being so reproving when really, I had no right or reason. It's a presumptuous conceit I have that the lake is special and is mine.' She did not add and a presumptuous conceit that you too are mine.

Lord Rokeby smiled. ‘I also must apologise for the behaviour of my friends. I was not pleased, but perhaps am indulgent of men who have been to war and seen the worst of humankind.'

‘I know. How can I ever know what you have suffered.'

‘I think you understand, though, how my music has consoled and healed me.' They still held each other's hands. ‘But only you have made me value the life that was snatched from death. Now I want to live that life with you.'

Leonora was still weak and her emotions close to the surface. She laid her head on his knee, and he bent his face to put his cheek on hers. Drawing strength from his warmth, she straightened up and said, ‘Do you remember my first visit here? My showing you the musical phrase you had forgotten?'

‘How could I not? The air between us vibrated with some connection I could not fathom. But I resisted. For what had I to offer any woman? A broken body and a haunted mind.'

Leonora leaned forward to touch his face. ‘But I'm not just any woman, my lord.' Her face was serious. ‘And that forgotten melody came back to you, did it not? And the music was released again to flow on.'

‘'Tis true. Like that splintered arpeggio; you showed me where the notes belonged and how to complete the composition.'

‘So, less haunted now, my lord?' With an anxious question in her eyes, she met his mischievous gaze.

He gave her a roguish smile. ‘Not so haunted, but mightily distracted by the thought that you are naked under that cloak.' He looked at her, her eyes dancing, her cheeks flushed from the roaring fire. She put a finger to her lips and checked where her old nanny sat.

‘She's fallen asleep,' she whispered.

‘Our dear Nanny P always seems to drowse off when she's meant to be chaperoning us. Are we really that tedious?'

Leonora laughed. ‘No, but I think she's very diplomatic.' He put out his hands and helped Leonora to her feet. She looked down at the beautiful ermine-lined cloak fixed across her body with kitchen twine. ‘As you can see, your kindly cook has trussed me like a haunch of venison. I think she knows her master's susceptibilities well.'

He chuckled. ‘She should by now. But I have never before had to rescue a headstrong beauty from my lake!' He took her into his arms, bundled up in velvet and ermine, and said in a more serious voice, ‘A beauty who then threatened to break my heart by leaving me alone in this world.'

‘If my déshabillé so disconcerts you, my lord, I can go upstairs and get dressed in the clothes Nanny P has brought from the Manor.' She looked up into his face with a teasing light in her eyes.

‘No, it's much more fun to see if I can unwrap this charming parcel.' He pulled at the bow in the twine his cook had tied at the front, and the makeshift string belt fell to the floor.

Leonora giggled and clutched the edges of the cloak together. ‘Have a care, Lord Rokeby! As you once pointed out to me, we are not even married!'

‘Well, Miss Appleby, as you once told me, nothing would induce you to marry me. I wondered if there were anything I could do or say that might persuade you otherwise?'

Leonora gazed up at his rough, scarred face, shadowed with the night's stubble. She glanced across at where Mrs Priddy slept and feeling unaccustomedly provocative, slipped her arms round his neck. ‘Do you think you might kiss me, Lord Rokeby?'

He looked down into her expectant face, a peculiar, guarded expression on his. With a voice no longer teasing he said, ‘Before you agree to marry me, even to kiss me, I want you to know the full extent of the damaged man you profess to love.' He released her and took a step backwards, and in one deft movement he stripped off his shirt.

Leonora gasped at the sight of his lean, muscled torso bisected by a long shocking wound. From his left shoulder to his right hip bone was a jagged raised scar. Watching her face, he turned his back and there was a comet-shaped gouge across his shoulder blade, and scattered pitted holes from grapeshot.

His voice was matter-of-fact but Leonora sensed the air between them electric with emotion. He continued, ‘That was the shot that deflected off my shoulder and took my finger instead of my life. The sabre cut that opened my chest was wielded by one of Napoleon's elite Old Guard, still wearing his bearskin. Such men don't usually leave their adversaries alive.' He turned back to face her, his expression soft and uncertain. ‘As you see, it is not a pretty sight.'

Leonora put out her hand and traced the scar with her finger. ‘I see it as part of your beauty and the courage in which you live your life. How could I think otherwise?'

Alistair Rokeby put his damaged right hand over her small pale one and pressed it against his chest. ‘There is one other disfigurement I have to show you.' With his gaze steady on her, he slipped off his eye patch. Leonora had become so used to the scar that ran across his face she had grown to barely notice it. It was part of the gallant landscape that distinguished him. She now saw the full extent of that French sabre's damage and her spirit recoiled. The raised gash that ran from his temple continued across his eyelid to his jaw. His lordship's eye had been saved but was milky and sightless. It was a shock to see his face so ravaged and she felt her knees give way. He had been watching her closely and murmured, ‘Do not be ashamed of recoiling. I would find my look repellent if I hadn't become so used to it by now.'

‘No, no! Never repellent. Never anything but beloved.'

He still held her from him. ‘Can you really love such a grotesque carved-up man as this?'

Tenderness welled in Leonora's breast and she flew into his arms. ‘How could I not love every inch of you? Your character and heroism are inscribed on your body and I embrace them with pride and love.' She stretched up on tiptoe to gently kiss the puckered corner of his mouth, then with a small moan he moved his head and their mouths met, at first with the faintest brush of their lips and then with the urgency of long pent-up desire. The opera cloak had fallen open and Leonora's bare breasts were pressed against his naked chest. The intimacy was astounding to her. She had never felt so close to anyone in her life, not certain where her flesh ended and his began, aware only of the warmth, the hard insistent strength of his body and the soft pulsating joy of hers.

There was a stir in the window and they looked across at Mrs Priddy who had just woken. They sprung apart. Nanny P said, ‘My dear, you look quite restored to health. In fact, more bonny than I've seen you for ages.' She stood, holding up the large lacy shawl she had been knitting for months. ‘It's finished at last!'

Leonora had hurriedly closed the cloak over her body and walked towards her old nanny. Lord Rokeby slipped his shirt back on, tucking it roughly into his breeches. He replaced his eye patch and with Achille by his side, walked to stand with Leonora and Mrs Priddy. They both put out their hands to touch the shawl. He said, ‘This is beautiful, Nanny P. Now you have to tell us who it's for.'

Her blue eyes twinkled. ‘It's for either your or Charlotte's baby, whoever first arrives.'

‘But neither of us are yet married.'

‘Well, I suggest you hurry up, then,' was her unruffled reply.

Leonora took her hand. ‘My dearest Nanny P, I have relied on you as a mother for so many years, so you must be the first to know.' She looked up at Alistair Rokeby, her face aglow. ‘I think Lord Rokeby has just asked me to marry him and if that is so, then I have agreed.'

Lord Rokeby stepped forward to embrace them both. ‘Of course I've asked Miss Appleby—Leonora, to marry me. And of course she has agreed, as you, Nanny P, always knew she would. And I hope you will move with her into the Abbey as soon as we are man and wife.' With a smile that was full of mischief he continued, ‘As Leonora and I are no longer young, we will need help with our new baby.'

Leonora protested with a laugh. ‘How ungallant, my lord!'

He slipped an arm around her waist, pulled her close and continued, ‘We have both stared death in the face and need now to grasp hold of life. Time is fast fleeing and happiness so precious; if I have learnt anything, it is that we can rely on very little. My life with Leonora begins on this auspicious day.'

He took her hand and turned to Mrs Priddy. ‘Before you and Leonora return to the Manor, may I have your permission to take my future countess upstairs to help her dress?'

This scandalous request did not shock Mrs Priddy who merely looked unruffled and offered no objection. ‘Since I first knew you, Master Alistair, convention has never constrained you. And in my dearest Nora, you have found yourself a woman who can match you in independence of spirit.'

‘You mean we are both laws unto ourselves?' Leonora smiled, turning her old nanny's favourite description of the Earl back on her.

‘Indeed, I don't think anything I might say would change either of you.'

Alistair Rokeby bowed his head in thanks and took Leonora's hand. She looked at him, her heart beginning to race. Nanny P had warned her he was a law unto himself, but what did the wild Earl have in mind?

‘Lord Rokeby—Alistair.' Saying his given name out loud was another moment of thrilling intimacy. ‘Alistair, Alistair,' she sighed, ‘when were you ever a lady's maid?'

He bowed his head and smiled. ‘I am willing to learn.' Then his expression turned serious. ‘But first, I have shown you my scars and you have promised to love them as you love me. It seems only fair that you show me your scars too. Then I can assure you of my passion for you in your entirety.'

Leonora and Alistair walked into the hall where he picked up the portmanteau Mrs Priddy had brought and led Leonora up the great oak stairs. Achille tried to follow them, but Alistair turned and sent him back to the drawing room. Alistair Rokeby led Leonora into the master bedroom where a great four-poster bed – the bedclothes in disarray, exited as it had been that morning in a hurry – stood in stately splendour in the middle of the room. Putting down the portmanteau he took Leonora into his arms and murmured in her ear, ‘Come now, my Lady Rokeby, let's start with that small mark on your neck. If I'm to marry you, I fear it needs closer scrutiny.'

Leonora wriggled out of his embrace and standing opposite him, her head proud, she said, ‘As you so ungallantly pointed out, I'm no longer a young miss. I hope, Lord Rokeby, you will not think less of me for being so bold?'

He chuckled. ‘My beautiful, headstrong, rule-breaking, most dear Lady R, I would expect no less of you. I think we should begin as we mean to go on.'

Leonora laughed with the delicious naughtiness of it. ‘So, it's this mark on my neck?' She tilted her head to expose her throat and slipped the ermine cloak from her shoulders. ‘I hope you will love my imperfections as I love yours, my lord?' As he walked towards her, she put her hand to his cheek and with the greatest tenderness, slipped his eye patch from his face. ‘Thus, all defences gone.' Her eyes never left his as she slowly let the ermine cloak fall to the floor.

With a sharp intake of breath, Alistair Rokeby gasped, ‘Oh, Leonora!' She walked into his arms, and he scooped her up and carried her to his disorderly bed. Laying her down amongst the pillows, he gazed at her with an expression on his face she had never seen before.

Excited and shy, Leonora pulled a sheet over herself and feeling rather breathless, said, ‘Lord Rokeby, you are meant to be helping me dress!'

‘I am… but not quite yet.' He bent his head and deflected her laughing protestations with a kiss.