When Anabelle returned to her room she disturbed two maids who were remaking her bed. Not wishing to interrupt them she collected her shawl and went out into the garden.

As her gaze drifted over the wall her thoughts strayed to Blackwood Hall and the gentleman who currently resided there. She wished she'd had the presence of mind to ask how much longer Mr. Fielding would remain in the neighbourhood, but at the same time knew she would not have liked the answer.

The part of her mind that most loved being outdoors strained towards the gate, wishing for freedom. It was a long time since she had denied herself the pleasure of a daily walk, but she knew in her heart that meeting Mr. Fielding again would be too painful right now.

Anabelle wandered through the shrubbery, kicking a stone and watching it fly into the bushes. In the distance she caught sight of the same two maids who had been in her chamber. As they carried arm-loads of linen to the wash-house she found herself again wondering how much work one young maid could do in a day, or what tasks a wife of a steward would be expected to undertake to compensate for the lack of servants.

When they were younger she and Selina had spent some time playing in the kitchen, but she never stopped to consider the amount of work involved. Cook and her staff had always given her the impression of a hive full of bumble bees, hovering from flower to flower, always moving, never still.

She drifted closer to the kitchen door, watching the industry within. Cook was busy, preparing a joint for roasting, while the kitchen maid addressed a pile of vegetables with a paring knife. Neither was too busy to offer her a curtsey as she entered the room. "Mrs Smith, I wondered if I might be of use to you this morning."

"Why no, Miss Anabelle, we have everything in hand. Besides, Mrs Latimer would have my hide if she discovered you here."

"I would not tell her."

The cook crossed her arms. "No, but she would find out all the same and then what would I say?"

"You would say that every young woman should know what goes on in a kitchen."

"Ah, but should she? That is what your mother has Mrs Crossley for, and you will have your own housekeeper to manage the kitchen when you are married."

Of course, Mrs Latimer assumed that they would have servants of their own one day. Like any mother, she only wanted the best for her children—including her husband's daughters—and Anabelle had never before questioned the life that had been planned for her. She had always imagined herself presiding over a household very similar to that of Woodside.

But now it appeared even that future would be denied her. For while she had not been brought up to be the wife of a steward, earning less than one hundred pounds a year, she could no more conceive of finding another man whose presence affected her as Mr. Fielding did.

~<>~<>~

Fielding studied his reflection in the mirror. He tugged the offending strip of white linen, first one way then the other, and shook his head, disgusted by his inability to complete a simple task to his satisfaction. Whatever he was paying that man of his, it was nothing like enough.

He had always prided himself on his independence, and steadfastly refused to be a mute canvas for his valet's art. He chose his own clothes and was more than capable of shaving himself when necessary. But when it came to folding and knotting his neck-cloth, he could only manage a rough approximation of the understated elegance that his man created with a deft flick of his wrist.

The cry of a raven drew his gaze to the window, yet his thoughts would not be constrained by mere panes of glass. Instead they ranged across the early morning landscape, over ploughed fields and hedgerows covered with haws and elderberries. He closed his eyes, the better to bring Anabelle Latimer's likeness into clearer focus.

It was said that absence diminished small passions and increased great ones, as the wind extinguishes candles and fans a fire. He could attest to the truth of that for a day without seeing her—without spending a moment in her presence—had left a burning sensation in his gut that no amount of Mountford's best brandy had been able to extinguish.

He had spent most of the previous day criss-crossing the landscape, searching for any sign of her among the lanes and paths she most often frequented between her home and Haltford. In the end it had taken a chance meeting with the young boy Joe, chopping firewood near his parent's home, to reveal the time and place when he would most likely find her.

But it had meant waiting through an interminable evening of solitude, when he would have welcomed even Mountford's incessant chatter if it had momentarily distracted him from the tick of the mantle clock; an infernal mechanism that seemed to mark time while still slowing its passage.

Yet the long night had finally passed and the light through the windows bore testament to that fact. He withdrew his pocket-watch and checked the time. It only wanted half an hour before he could order his horse prepared. Then he would ride out to find Anabelle.

When he reached the clearing by the old barn, Fielding saw a figure through the trees, sitting on the log where she usually taught Joe. Although the straw hat—secured under her chin with a broad green scarf—obscured much of her face, he recognised the basket by her feet. He dismounted from his horse and wrapped the reins loosely around a branch.

As he crossed the clearing he whispered her name and she turned at the sound. Her immediate smile of pleasure rekindled the smouldering fire somewhere within him.

She stood, brushing her skirt with her hands as he came towards her. "Mr. Fielding. I...I did not expect to see you today. I am waiting for Joe."

"Joe is unable to keep his appointment. I offered to let you know so you would not be concerned by his absence."

"That is very thoughtful of you, as I would have most certainly worried."

He indicated that she should resume her place on the log. "May I sit with you for a few moments?" When she nodded, he took Joe's usual place, crossing his long legs in front of him as he studied the bare branches of a distant birch. "It seemed strange for us not to meet yesterday."

He heard a slight quiver in her voice as she said, "I did not go out. I had a headache."

"I am sorry to hear that. I hope you are recovered today."

"Yes, it is much improved, thank you."

They sat in companionable silence, and Fielding embraced the feeling of peace he derived merely from being in her presence. The six inches separating them on the log seemed both infinitesimal and a canyon of vast proportions. "I understand there is to be some kind of entertainment in Haltford?"

"Yes. The Red Lion has a room on the second floor that is large enough for dancing. Mr. Gent arranges public dances there occasionally. The last one I attended was the harvest dance, and this time he has arranged for some musicians all the way from London. Everyone comes, even from Redburn, and the floor becomes quite crowded."

He smiled as he calculated the combined populations of Haltford and Redburn. The number of people who could afford the cost of a ticket would barely number fifty; a far cry from the masquerade ball his aunt had organised last season. Even with over three hundred guests crammed into her ballroom, she had considered it a sadly quiet affair.

Anabelle teased the fringe of her shawl between her fingers. "Are you... Will Sir Henry return in time?"

"I expect him any day."

"You would both be very welcome at the dance, for we are always short of gentlemen. I am sure you would find it a pleasant evening."

"I will answer for it being pleasant if I may have the honour of dancing with you."

"I...I suppose one dance would not hurt."

Fielding took heart from the colour that had grown upon her cheek. He cleared his throat, wondering how she would react to the news he had yet to impart. "I am afraid I may have been the means of you losing your student."

"Oh?"

"I offered young Joe a position in the stables at home."

A moment of silence followed his pronouncement before she said, "You would be taking him with you to Yorkshire?"

"Yes, if he accepts. There is room for advancement if he works hard. Joe could become head coachman one day, or his experience would help him obtain a position on one of the mail coaches if that was still his wish. He will also be able to attend our local Sunday school and learn as much as he chooses."

While he appreciated Joe's desire to improve himself, he had made the offer primarily because he thought it would please Anabelle. He was therefore surprised when he heard her sniff. She had angled herself away from him, a handkerchief pressed to the corner of her eye. "Miss Latimer, what is the matter?"

She sniffed again and took a breath before she spoke. "It is of no importance. I was merely surprised by your news. I did not imagine Joe would be leaving as well."

The smouldering embers within him flared into life. Dare he hope that she regretted his leaving more than the boy's? "Yorkshire is not so far away. He will be able to visit his parents from time to time. It is less than one hundred and seventy miles."

"No great distance, then."

"No," he agreed. "No more than three days travel in good weather."

At this Anabelle's tears were renewed ten-fold and she turned her back to him as her shoulders shook. Fielding could only look on helplessly as she bravely attempted to master her emotions, but whenever he thought her tears would subside, she became once more overwhelmed by sadness and the tears would flow freely again.

The sight of her so distraught pushed Fielding beyond endurance. Had they been anywhere else he would have controlled himself better, but they were some distance from the nearest house, with no servants to intrude.

He reached out, turning her gently to face him before enfolding her within the comfort of his arms. "I cannot bear to see you unhappy, Anabelle. Please do not cry."

She made a token effort to withdraw from his embrace but when he resisted she subsided into gentle sobs as she lay her head against his chest; allowing him to enjoy—if only for a moment—the warmth of their close contact.

Although Fielding had been brought up to safeguard what was his, this was the first time he had felt such an overwhelming compunction to comfort and protect someone outside the responsibility of his estate or family. He knew then that he had not mistaken his growing feelings for the young woman in his arms, and he would do anything in his power to restore her spirits.

As he held her close he consigned her hat to the devil, for it once more hid her face from him. Nor was he able to determine whether she had calmed enough for him to speak his mind. Instead, he said, "Joe would be distressed indeed that the thought of his leaving would be the cause of such grief."

The brim of her hat rose until their gaze met. Although her profusion of tears had muted the brilliance of her eyes, he could not look away. He felt that he was drowning in them, but he did not fight the sensation. Indeed, he welcomed it, particularly when he heard Anabelle's whispered reply.

"It is not only Joe's departure I will grieve for."

With his arm holding her close against his body he could feel every breath she took, every sigh, and he knew those sighs were for him alone. The delicate blush on her cheek contrasted with the darker rose of her lips...lips he wanted to kiss as he had never wanted anything before.

As the silence stretched between them, the pull towards her grew stronger. The wind dropped and the birds in the trees fell silent. Anabelle, meeting his gaze, offered him neither encouragement nor discouragement, instead remaining perfectly still.

Despite his upbringing, and all his good intentions, he could hold himself back no longer. He lowered his mouth to hers, keeping the pressure light and gentle to avoid frightening her with the strength of his feelings. As she melted into his embrace he offered a silent vow to uphold the trust she had shown in him.

After a blissful moment Fielding drew back and Anabelle raised her fingers to her lips, stifling a gasp as her eyes grew wide. He felt a primitive satisfaction that he had been the first man to kiss her, even as the impropriety of his ungentlemanlike behaviour gnawed at his conscience.

Did he really think he could stand by and watch as Mr. Latimer paraded his daughter around the assembly rooms of Cheltenham or Bath? Or see her married to some bluff country squire, who cared more for his hounds than his wife?

Anabelle dipped her head—her face once more obscured by the confounded hat—but she made no attempt to withdraw from his arms, and until she did he had no intention of letting her go.