Thomas Latimer studied the visiting card that Mrs Crossley had given him. "Mr. Fielding? At this hour of the morning?"

"Yes, sir."

He pulled out his pocket watch, squinting at the dial. "Very well. Ask him to wait in my book room and I will be down as soon as I can."

When he opened the door less than fifteen minutes later Mr. Latimer found his visitor standing awkwardly in the centre of his modest library, twisting a pair of leather gloves between his hands.

There seemed to be something subtly different about the well-dressed young man, although he could not quite put his finger on what had changed. Perhaps it was the fashionable cut of his morning coat, the diamond pin nestling within the precise folds of his neck-cloth, or the manner in which he gripped his silver-topped cane.

Appearing as he did, none but a fool would mistake Mr. Fielding for a steward.

Mr. Latimer lowered himself into his usual seat behind the desk, leaning his crutches against the wall behind him. He then gestured to an overstuffed leather armchair; the worn patches on its arms hinting at countless years' service to the Latimer family. "Would you care to sit down? The chair is far more comfortable than it looks, and it would save me the inconvenience of a stiff neck later."

Mr. Fielding begged his pardon and perched on the edge of the deep cushion, appearing more uncomfortable than he had been while standing.

"May I offer you something to drink? I have a passable madeira that should not offend your palate."

"No, thank you."

Mr. Latimer sat back, lacing his fingers across his stomach. "Then may I ask to what I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

The younger man tugged at his cuff and cleared his throat. "I would like to speak to you about your daughter."

"As I have been blessed with a number of them I am afraid you will have to be more precise."

His visitor returned an impatient glare. "I refer, of course, to your eldest, Miss Anabelle Latimer."

Mr. Latimer smiled inwardly. He had forgotten how the pangs of newly-minted affection could inhibit a young man's sense of humour. "Yes, of course you do. I hope you are not here to demand I hire an extra maid to follow Belle around. I can tell you now she will not stand for being molly-coddled."

"That was not the reason for my visit." He slid further back in the chair and frowned as he sunk into its comfortable depths, forcing him to lean forward to compensate.

Although Mr. Latimer did not know Mr. Fielding well, he sensed an agitation in the young man's demeanour that had not been present during their last meeting. He wondered if it was in any way connected to his daughter's uncharacteristic manner the previous evening, when she had displayed an apathy and want of cheerfulness at odds with her usual self. This matchmaking business was more fatiguing than he had anticipated, and he would be glad to be done with it at the first possible opportunity.

After a moment of silence, Mr. Fielding decided to come to the point. "You will, I hope, excuse my blunt speech. I am desirous to know your objections against my marrying your daughter."

Mr. Latimer blinked, the question taking him quite by surprise. "Are you requesting my permission to address Anabelle? I understood the prevailing fashion leans towards the father being the last to know."

"No, I only ask whether you have any reason to withhold your consent."

"Given what you previously told me about your situation, and from everything I have since learned for myself, I could have no objection at all. Indeed, I should be delighted for you to marry Anabelle. While your position and wealth marks you above anything I could desire in a son-in-law, the most important thing is that my daughter holds a great respect for you, and I believe you would make her happy. In the end that is the best any father can hope for."

"And what of your wife?"

"Regrettably, my wife is already spoken for." Mr. Latimer waited for Mr. Fielding to smile, but the young man was not of a mood to humour his host. He cleared his throat. "I can vouch for my wife's response without the trouble of applying to her. I doubt we would encounter any reluctance on her part."

Rather than exhibiting the expected pleasure or gratitude, the young man's frown deepened. "If that is indeed the case, perhaps you could communicate your position on this subject to your daughter, for she believes otherwise."

It seemed they had now reached the crux of the problem. "Then you have already spoken to Anabelle?"

Mr. Fielding admitted that he had. "I would, of course, have accepted her refusal without question had it not been offered with the greatest of reluctance. She has convinced herself, and almost convinced me, that you would never accept the match."

This, at least, explained Anabelle's lack of spirits at dinner the night before, and why she had excused herself, complaining of a headache, without touching any of her favourite steamed pudding. "I cannot understand why she would assume so when I have never refused her anything it was in my power to give."

Having witnessed his daughter's partiality for Mr. Fielding first-hand, and seeing her blushes when his name had been mentioned, he was at a loss to understand her behaviour. Unless she still believed Mr. Fielding to be a steward? No, that could not be the reason. She said she had discovered the truth, and had been disappointed at the news of his leaving. He could not begin to guess what other cause she might have, but then the workings of the female mind—even one as sensible as Belle's—had long eluded him.

The young man before him sat in silence, seemingly with no more idea than he why Anabelle would have such a scatter-brained notion. At this point Mr. Latimer's opinion of Mr. Fielding rose considerably as he imagined how uncomfortable it must have been for a gentleman of Fielding's status to appear at Woodside with doubts hanging over his reception. "Perhaps you should leave the matter with me, Mr. Fielding. I will speak to Anabelle and see if I cannot clear up this confusion."

Mr. Fielding rose with unexpected grace from the chair's hidden depths. "I would be grateful if you could, sir."

As he considered how he might best effect a satisfactory resolution, an idea came to him. "I believe you have not yet met Mrs Latimer."

"No, sir, I have not yet been granted that pleasure."

Mr. Latimer stared at the man, looking for signs of sarcasm, but he found none. "I wonder if you would you be able to join us for dinner tonight?"

Mr. Fielding paused, then said, "I would be honoured."

"Is Sir Henry Mountford still in London?"

"He arrived at Blackwood late yesterday."

"Ah, even better. In that case you might also bring Sir Henry with you, if he is willing."

"I am certain he will be more than happy to accompany me. He has already expressed an interest in visiting Woodside and making your acquaintance."

"Good. I often find it useful to provide my wife with a distraction at the dinner table, and your friend should serve our purpose admirably."

Once he had seen his visitor out, Mr. Latimer summoned Anabelle to the library. The large hand on the mantle clock had travelled a quarter of its customary path before the maid returned, wringing her hands.

Miss Anabelle was indisposed and begged leave to be excused.

Dismissing the girl with an impatient wave of his hand, Thomas Latimer cursed under his breath. Even his favourite child could be a silly, flighty creature when she chose. He eased himself down the hall upon his crutches, halting outside the parlour. Mrs Latimer's voice cut through the wood like a rusty saw as she castigated one of their younger offspring.

When he opened the door, he found his wife and daughters disposed around the room, occupying their time with useful endeavours. Selina sat in the window seat, sewing. Marianne was sorting through a basket of tangled lace and ribbon with Jane. Diana did no more than glance up at him before she buried her head back in her book.

"I wonder, my dear, whether you have ordered us a good dinner today?"

"I dare say it will be as good as any you might find in Haltford. You have always been complimentary of cook's way with roast beef."

"That is excellent news, for I have invited Sir Henry and Mr. Fielding to eat with us."

Mrs Latimer dropped her embroidery hoop into her lap. "I shall be extremely happy to meet our new neighbour, but why did you not tell me that you called upon him?"

"I did not tell you because I never made any such call. Indeed, how could I when our neighbour has been in town until yesterday? As it happens you will be indebted to Mr. Fielding for providing the necessary introductions when he brings Sir Henry here as his guest."

"I wish you had told me sooner. Oh my! Diana, my love, ring the bell for Mrs Crossley. She must tell Mrs Smith there will be two more for dinner."

Mr. Latimer made a quick exit, closing the door behind him. He sighed as Mrs Latimer's expressions of delight penetrated the oak, warring with her concern that the haunch of beef she had ordered would be insufficient to satisfy the appetites of two young gentlemen.

After fifteen years of marriage he was not blind to Mrs Latimer's faults, and he could only hope that Mr. Fielding's avowed feelings for his daughter were of sufficient depth and strength to withstand an evening in the company of his wife.

Yet before that trial could take place, he needed to speak to his daughter on a most delicate matter.

Mr. Latimer was contemplating the top of the staircase with some trepidation when John came looking for him. "I hope you were not thinking of attempting the stairs by yourself, sir?"

He lifted his brows and looked over the rim of his spectacles. "And if I was?"

"Well, I'm sure you'd want me to be honest with Mr. Jones when he comes a'calling, asking me whether you've kept to his orders."

"You are meant to be on my side," Mr. Latimer reminded him as he accepted his man's support.

John apologised, but they had been together —master and servant—too long for him to be fooled. This was borne out a few seconds later when he added, "I just thought you'd be keen to see that leg healed. It wouldn't be half as easy walking Miss Anabelle down that long aisle at St. Lawrence's with them crutches."

"And what makes you think I will need to perform such a task any time soon?"

The retainer shrugged, sniffed and looked down at his scuffed boots. "Maybe it were the way that young gentleman from Blackwood looked back at the house as he left. He reminded me of that old pointer bitch you used to have. You know...the one that would stare up at you, all mournful like, when she wanted a bone; as if she hadn't been fed in a fortnight and was well-nigh starved."

Mr. Latimer remained silent as he eased himself towards the top of the staircase, leaning heavily upon John's arm.

"It's an odd thing," John mused, as though to himself. "That Mr. Fielding was riding a neat chestnut mare; perfect in every point. I reckon she had some Arabian blood in her, and must have cost a pretty penny. I'd wager her worth not a farthing less than a hundred and fifty guineas. He didn't pay for an animal like that on a steward's wages."

As they reached the top of the stairs Mr. Latimer took a moment to recover his breath, for the journey had not been without some effort. He then continued down the hallway until he reached the door of Anabelle's room. Releasing John's arm, he said, "Did Mr. Fielding strike you as a man who would take no for an answer?"

The retainer shook his head. "No, sir. He most certainly did not."

Mr. Latimer nodded, gratified to hear his own suspicions echoed as he rapped upon the oak with the end of his crutch.