Fielding had often wondered how Henry's sisters could be so dissimilar. Where Sarah was a slim, statuesque blonde, Margaret was her opposite in every respect. The shortest of the three Mountfords, her fondness for sweet things was reflected in her figure, while her natural curls were darker than either of her siblings.

Yet it was her personality that showed the most marked contrast. Mountford had an easy-going charm, and Sally's acerbic wit hid a big heart beneath. Yet in all the years he had known the siblings he had not found one endearing quality in their younger sister. She was, by turns, sycophantic, vitriolic or sulky, and rarely pleased by her company.

He was only polite to her for Mountford's sake.

That evening, as the new arrivals enjoyed their first meal at Blackwood, Margaret Mountford lost no time revealing her disappointment with the house.

"I swear there must be a dozen holes in the bed-hangings. When I shook the curtains I counted three moths disturbed from their feasting. The rug in front of the fire has a charred patch, and there is mould growing on the wallpaper. I could not bring my friends here. Blackwood is an embarrassment!"

Mountford snorted. "It is fortunate, then, that they are not invited. It is bad enough when they invade Hill Street."

Sally only shook her head. "You knew before we arrived that Uncle George would never spend a pound when a penny would do. What were you expecting?"

"Something more like Meltham Park." Margaret's bright, eager smile across the dinner table made Fielding feel nauseous. "Your house is so very perfect and so beautifully decorated. The gardens are tranquil havens, and the library is beyond compare. Meltham is the epitome of country living, and a property any woman would be proud to call home."

Fielding sat back in his chair. "You forget that it has taken a considerable amount of time and money to reach the condition you see today. Blackwood has been in your family for a much shorter period, and has regrettably suffered many years of neglect. These things will take time to put right."

"I agree with Fielding," Langdale said as he reached for his glass. "Even in its current state Blackwood is quite charming."

Sally's gaze slid momentarily towards the two footmen waiting to clear the dessert plates, before she cast a warning look towards her sister. "Since Uncle George died Mrs North has done an exceptional job, under very trying circumstances. The fact you have a bed to sleep in at all is entirely down to her hard work."

"We were more comfortable in town."

"Of course we were, but it cannot be helped. Do you doubt my ability to bring Blackwood up to scratch?"

"No, but I fail to see why such an impossible task should rest upon your shoulders. When Henry marries it will be his wife's responsibility, and God help her, whoever she is."

"Why would any woman want to take on Henry when she knows there are moths in the bed hangings, and cinder burns on the rugs? Keeping house for Henry suits me, and gives me a purpose for as long as he needs my help. Besides, even when the house is finished I am not sure Blackwood would be enough of a temptation for someone to marry him."

"I am sitting right here," Henry reminded them from the head of the table.

Sally smiled. "Of course you are, dear. All I meant was, despite your physical charms, some females actually look beyond a pretty façade to the substance beneath, and you have slightly less substance than Blackwood has good linen."

Henry sat straighter in his chair and puffed out his chest. "I have been reliably informed that the number of unmarried young ladies in the neighbourhood outnumber the gentlemen by a considerable margin. When I am of a mind to marry I can choose the lady that suits me best. It's not as though they have any more appealing options."

Margaret shook her head. "No...no, you have to find a wife in town; someone with grace, beauty and good breeding. Considering the state of Blackwood, a respectable fortune would not hurt either." She waved a spoon at her brother. "I must be able to introduce any future Lady Mountford without risk of embarrassment, and I do not want an ignorant, unfashionable country miss for a sister."

"Given your recent behaviour I am not entirely sure who I should be more embarrassed to introduce; the country miss or your good self."

Colour grew on Margaret Mountford's face. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it with a snap and threw her napkin on the table. "I will not sit here and be abused."

Henry offered her his most angelic smile. "If you would rather we continue our conversation in the drawing room, I would be more than happy to oblige."

Margaret huffed as she pushed her chair back from the table.

Fournier jumped out of his seat to assist her, a moment too late as she was already heading towards the door. He paused to offer a brief bow to the room. "Please excuse... Mademoiselle, Messieurs." His long, spindly legs soon took him into the hall, following in Margaret's wake.

"Oh, Henry. Do you have to be so tiresome?"

"It is all very well for you, Sally. I was the one travelling with her today. Three long hours in Margaret's company is more than enough for any man."

As the Mountford siblings continued to bicker, Fielding stared at the quivering flame of a candle set on the table. He ran a finger beneath his neck cloth, loosening the constriction around his throat. Although he had welcomed the unexpected return of his valet, he found that the more formal arrangement of the stock and starched linen cravat now made him feel like a trussed goose.

A scraping sound distracted him as Langdale pushed his chair from the table, mumbling an offer of cards in the drawing room. Sally joined him, leaving only Mountford and Fielding at the table.

Fielding could stomach no more of Margaret's company tonight. Her fawning praise of Meltham and all its beauties came close to giving him indigestion. Although her behaviour was no different from many of her peers in town, tonight it had only served to highlight Anabelle's superiority.

"I'd offer a penny for your thoughts, although I imagine you value them a great deal higher."

He turned to glare at Mountford, but seeing the concern in his friend's features he softened his expression. Regardless of how he felt about Margaret Mountford she was still Henry's sister. "On the contrary, they are barely worth a farthing."

"Well, something has made you thoughtful. You were quiet during dinner and that is not like you at all. Maybe I was wrong to leave you without company for so long. I knew it! I am a terrible host."

Fielding smiled. "Indeed, no. Besides, my time here was well-spent. I have obtained for you the services of an admirable man with a great deal of experience. I have no doubt you will be pleased with my choice."

A crease appeared between his friend's brows as he contemplated the refractory properties of his port. "Mrs North said something deuced odd this afternoon. She asked me when you would be moving into the steward's rooms."

"Why would that bird-witted woman think I would relinquish my comfortable bed for those dingy apartments?"

"Maybe she thought you were a steward?"

"That is utterly ridiculous. Any fool would know better."

His friend could only shrug, his interest in the subject already waning. "This is why you never hear of a female steward. They just don't have the brains for the work."

"Ah, Mountford, you are too harsh on the fairer sex. It may be rare to find a woman who would be capable of fulfilling the role, but by no means impossible."

"If that is your notion of an accomplished woman, 'tis no surprise you're so damned difficult to please."

Fielding made no reply, but as his thoughts turned once more to the perfection that was Anabelle he could not suppress a smile.

The following morning, Fielding ordered his horse to be readied while he breakfasted. Had it been up to him he would have left immediately to call on Mr. Latimer, but he doubted such an early visit would endear him to Anabelle's father, or gain the approval he so desired.

As a man of wealth and position, he had never considered for one moment that his choice of wife would be denied him. He had assumed that being a Fielding of Meltham was enough to make him a pleasing prospect to any family, which only made Anabelle's conviction otherwise all the more confusing. He had property, income, the esteem of his peers and the goodwill of his tenants and staff.

But would it be enough to secure Mr. Latimer's permission to wed his daughter?

It was this question that kept him awake for half the night, as insidious doubts had crept through the darkness, dampening his assurance and leaving him questioning whether he had mistaken her affection.

During his previous visit to Woodside he had come to realise that Anabelle held a special place in her father's heart. There had been a subtle softening around those grey eyes whenever she had been the subject of their discussion. Despite the questionable decisions Mr. Latimer had made regarding her safety, Fielding had found him, on the whole, to be a man he could respect; someone he would not be embarrassed to call his father-in-law. All that remained was to convince Mr. Latimer that Anthony Fielding was a desirable husband for his eldest child.

He only wished he felt more confident of the outcome.

Voices in the hallway wrenched Fielding from his reflections. He had grown accustomed to breakfasting in solitude at Blackwood Hall, and the thought of having to engage in polite conversation with Mountford's guests at this early hour irked him. He relaxed when Henry entered alone.

His friend settled himself at the table, piling his plate with slices of cold beef and freshly baked bread. "There is nothing I like more than waking up in the countryside, with the birds chirping merrily outside my window. Much better than the clatter one awakes to in town."

Fielding acknowledged his thoughts with a nod. Mountford preferred the sound of his own voice above a silent room, but he would be damned before he encouraged him.

"I thought we might try our luck with the birds this morning. As you yourself said, the charms of Blackwood come from its well-stocked covey, and after spending so much time with Margaret in my chaise yesterday my finger itches to shoot something."

"You must give me leave to defer such delights until later. I have a call to make."

Mountford's eyebrows rose. "May I ask upon whom you are calling?"

"Mr. Latimer at Woodside."

"Was he the...oh yes, I remember! Our neighbour with the pretty daughters. Do you think they will be attending the dance?"

"I believe they will."

"In that case perhaps I will join you." Mountford leaned forward, his eyes alight with curiosity. "Are the ladies as attractive as reports suggest?"

"I think you would agree Miss Selina is handsome. Miss Latimer is..." Fielding ran his finger around the rim of his coffee cup, at a loss to describe her in a manner that would not reveal his strong partiality.

"Oh dear. Is she that bad?"

Fielding sighed as a vision of Anabelle sprang unbidden from his memory. "No, no. She is quite lovely."

Mountford froze, a fork loaded with beef midway to his mouth. "Is that so? Then I hope the ladies are at home when we call."

At any other time he would have been pleased to include his friend. Mountford had a happy knack of rarely being lost for words and settling himself with ease into any social situation—and when Mountford chose to make himself pleasing, it saved Fielding the trouble of having to do so. But Mountford's untimely arrival had already hindered his opportunity to speak to Mr. Latimer once, and he would not be diverted from his intended course a second time.

His friend examined the generous portion still on his plate. "I will have to change first, as I am not dressed for visiting. Shall we meet in the hall in, say, three quarters of an hour?"

Fielding glanced at the mantle clock as he pushed his chair away from the table. "As you wish, but I may be delayed. There is a task I need to take care of first, if you will excuse me." Leaving the dining room he tarried only long enough to don his riding coat and hat before heading towards the stables.

He would, of course, apologise later, and accept whatever censure he deserved for leaving Mountford behind.

After a short ride, Fielding arrived alone at the gates of Woodside House. As he walked his horse down the drive, he scanned the gardens for any sign of Anabelle, but saw none. The groom's welcoming smile and acknowledging nod as he surrendered the reins did nothing to calm the odd tangle of nerves in his stomach as the memory of Anabelle's words tolled like a tenor bell in his head:

"They would never allow me to marry you."

"Preposterous!" he muttered, shaking his head. He was Anthony Fielding of Meltham Park. Any parent would fall over themselves to secure a man like him for their daughter.

Yet memories of the previous day intruded painfully upon his consciousness. He had offered Anabelle his hand and his heart, and had been in no doubt of her acceptance. Now, he stood before the Latimer residence, aged seven and twenty, feeling as nervous as when he had been a young boy awaiting his father's appraisal of his studies.

Taking a deep breath he presented his card at the large black door and asked to speak with the master of the house.