Woodside was a modest, neat structure; its recent façade of red brick hiding an older property beneath. It sat in a small walled park, with an orchard and stables to the right and an ornamental shrubbery on the other side. In all outward appearance Fielding thought it a respectable property for a country gentleman with a moderate-sized estate, although it was scarcely larger than the vicarage that his father had rebuilt at Meltham five and twenty years earlier.

Mr. Latimer was sitting by one of two tall windows that looked out over the carriage drive and front lawn. He wore a capacious silk banyan over his shirt and black breeches, while the grey hairs beneath his cap made him look older than Fielding had imagined. A table at his side held a pile of books and ledgers, while another smaller pile had grown on the floor by the chair.

Shrewd grey eyes assessed him over wire-framed spectacles as Miss Latimer made the introductions, but other than repeating the usual social pleasantries, both men remained silent and watchful until the heavy door closed behind her.

Once they were alone, Mr. Latimer waved his hand around the room. "Please forgive me for receiving you in these less than formal surroundings. I have been forbidden from attempting the stairs until otherwise instructed."

"I quite understand, sir." Fielding glanced at the man's extended leg, resting upon a cushion, swathed in bandages. "Does the injury heal to your satisfaction?"

"It proceeds at far too slow a rate for my peace of mind, but there is little I can do. Nature works to its own clock and will not be hurried, or so Mr. Jones assures me. But you did not come here to pander to the ramblings of an invalid, I am sure."

"Your desire for a speedy recovery is understandable, given your circumstances. It must be difficult when you have so many responsibilities and cannot attend to them personally."

"Ah, yes." The older man nodded. "Anabelle told me you did not wholly approve of her assisting me while I am unable to leave the house."

Fielding bit his lip to hold back his first response. That Mr. Latimer would willingly send his daughter out to do a man's job, with no thought to her safety or reputation, still rankled. "It is not for me to approve or disapprove. She is your daughter."

"That is correct," Mr. Latimer observed in a pleasant tone, as though commenting on the weather. "She is."

The two men stared at one another in silence before Fielding's gaze fell and he brushed a speck of dust from his knee. Despite his strong opinions on the subject of Anabelle Latimer's welfare, it would not serve his purpose to antagonise her father.

"You must understand," the older man continued, "I would not have allowed Anabelle to attempt these tasks on my behalf were she not both willing and capable."

"But for her to walk alone—"

"She loves walking."

"With no chaperone?"

"We are in an inconsequential corner of Hertfordshire, not half way down St. James' Street. Anabelle has only been visiting families she has known since she was a child."

Fielding recalled the moment she had first entered the steward's room at Blackwood Hall, her eyes bright, and her cheeks glowing from her walk through the woods. How differently might the meeting have progressed if Mr. Burgin had been sat in that office instead of him, or any other man for that matter? The thought sent ice down his spine. "Would it not be safer for her to travel on horseback?"

Mr Latimer threw a disgusted look at his afflicted leg. "As safe as I was on Sampson? Those damnable rabbit holes are everywhere! Besides, Anabelle does not care to ride, and of all my daughters she is the only one with sufficient understanding for the tasks."

The first part of this speech explained why he had always met her on foot, and Fielding could not argue with the second. "Miss Latimer does you great credit. I have rarely met a young woman who so instinctively recognises the symbiotic relationship between an estate and its tenants, and does what she feels necessary to promote it."

"I am pleased to hear you rate my daughter so highly, for she is most complimentary of you. Indeed I feel I know you already, for a day never passes without her telling me what Mr. Fielding thinks or Mr. Fielding has said. It appears Anabelle has been much in your company of late."

When he heard that she had spoken of him to her father, Fielding straightened in his chair. "I have been fortunate to have crossed your daughter's path while acquainting myself with the neighbourhood. She was particularly helpful in explaining the idiosyncrasies of some of the local farmers."

Mr. Latimer peered over his spectacles. "Hmm."

Had Fielding been the father to a daughter like Anabelle, he would no doubt be just as sceptical. "On the way here Miss Latimer and I were discussing what you planned to grow next season. She mentioned you already have turnips in your south field. What sort of yield will you see from them?"

If Mr. Latimer recognised his desire to divert the course of their conversation, he did not remark on it. "They will produce around three and forty ton per acre, if you set them five to the yard. They will keep our animals fed over winter."

Fielding thought back to the figures he had pieced together from the papers he had found in the steward's office. "That is an improvement on the figures Blackwood saw last year. How did you manage it?"

"There is no trick to improving the yield at Blackwood. The concept is simple, although one Mr. Burgin failed to grasp. You have to sow the seeds in the ground before you can harvest the crop. Mr. Burgin was no doubt sowing three to the yard and selling the rest on. He preferred to have the money in his own pocket."

Fielding shook his head, disgusted but hardly surprised by the image Mr. Latimer painted of Sir George's former employee. "Such behaviour from a man who held a position of trust is as much a crime against the tenants as the owner."

"I agree. I never could like the man."

"Miss Latimer also spoke of you growing rye. Do you find the return worth the effort?"

"Certainly on a dry sandy soil, such as we have in the lower fields, rye is the only crop that will turn a profit. Have you never planted rye before?"

"No, we do not have the right ground for it. Some of the tenants have wheat in the lower fields and graze sheep and dairy on the higher pastures."

"I've never been one for cows but I do have a soft spot for my pigs. You always know where you are with a pig. Do you not find the current price of wool disgraceful?"

"So I understand. Fortunately we have enough income derived from alternative sources that a small drop in the wholesale price does not unduly affect the estate income as a whole."

Mr. Latimer rubbed his chin. "Alternative sources?"

"We also quarry granite for millstones, and I have a pit that produces an excellent red clay for brick making."

"Granite on Blackwood land? I've never heard such a thing."

Fielding wondered for a moment whether Mr. Latimer had hit his head when he fell from his horse. "No, there is no stone at Blackwood Hall. I referred, of course, to my estate in Yorkshire."

The older man sat forward, his eyes now lit with curiosity. "With so much happening there I wonder they can spare you to watch over Sir Henry's concerns."

"It is true I have not spent much time in the north of late. However, my steward is more than capable of managing estate affairs during my absence. I have no fear for Meltham. Sir Henry, on the other hand, has no experience of holding land or managing tenants. The discovery of Mr. Burgin's behaviour, and the perilous condition of the estate prompted me to take the estate in hand until he could find a suitable replacement."

His host frowned and waggled a finger in his ear. "I beg your pardon. Did you say that you employed a steward?"

"Of course. He is a very good sort of man, and entirely trustworthy."

Mr. Latimer sat back in his chair. "You must hold a fair amount of land to justify his wages."

While Fielding was too well-bred to be boastful of his possessions, he also recognised a desire that Anabelle's father should think well of him. "Since the enclosure of the moor, we now hold three and a half thousand acres, including eight farms, the quarry and clay pit, two orchards and five plantations—"

"A property of some substance then. In amongst all that I presume there is a residence of some kind?"

It had been many years since Fielding had met someone who had no knowledge of his family home. "I have a house, of course, surrounded by pleasure grounds and shrubberies; in addition to the usual ancillary buildings, of course."

"Of course," Mr. Latimer agreed, as though the dairy, laundry, stables and icehouse were to be expected. "And you said you do not spend much time at the property?"

"Less than I would like; I have family in Derbyshire and social obligations in town that keep me away for a good six months of the year."

"Do you have a house in London?"

"Naturally."

"I often wish I could escape my family for a few hours, let alone six months." Mr. Latimer paused a moment, frowning. "When you say family, do you mean your wife and children?"

Fielding smiled at Mr. Latimer's less than subtle questioning. "No, I refer to my three aunts, two uncles and a younger sister who resides with them. My present bachelor establishment is unsuitable for—"

In the room above there was a loud crash against the floorboards, causing them both to look up in alarm. What sounded like two pairs of shoes were heard running away, and the older man shook his head. "You have already had the dubious pleasure of meeting my sons, I believe."

An image of the flaxen-haired twins made him smile. "Yes, sir, I have."

Above them, a voice that Fielding ascribed to a nursery maid could be heard screeching, "Master Ned! Master Jack!"

Mr. Latimer rolled his eyes heavenwards before refocusing on Fielding. "And Anabelle told me you were John's saviour when he fell in the stream."

"I am afraid Miss Latimer has overstated matters. Your son hardly needed my help. The water was shallow and he would have pulled himself out soon enough."

"Regardless of that fact, Anabelle did say that she might well have panicked had you not taken the situation in hand, so I must thank you for what you did."

"It was fortunate that I happened to be fishing close by."

"Yes, so my daughter said; a most providential occurrence. You have my enduring gratitude."

The clock on the mantelpiece struck the hour, and Fielding realised that his visit had lasted longer than intended, particularly considering his host was still convalescing. Accepting an invitation from Mr. Latimer to call at any time, he extricated himself and returned downstairs to the entrance hall.

Although he had cherished a small hope that Miss Latimer would be waiting for him, he saw no one but the housekeeper as he left Woodside. Half way down the drive he paused to look back at the house, wondering whether Anabelle's contemplations turned to him as often as he thought about her.

Regardless of his plans for returning to Meltham, Fielding was not at all sure he could leave Hertfordshire without seeing her again.