The swooping trills and chirps of the morning chorus heralded the dawn as Fielding dressed with speed and efficiency. Chin held high, he allowed Parkes to finish arranging his neck cloth; fidgeting hands belying his otherwise calm demeanour.

While he did not doubt Anabelle would make every effort to keep their appointment, until he saw her there could be no certainties.

He eased open his chamber door and glanced down the corridor. The footfalls of servants going about their appointed tasks sounded below, but the heavy mantle of Hypnos still shrouded the bedrooms. Carrying his boots in one hand, Fielding padded along the hall carpet, heading towards the top of the main staircase. He was so focussed on his destination that he failed to notice he was no longer the only person up and about.

"Rather early for breakfast, even for you." Mountford, dressed in a Moroccan silk robe and slippers, lounged against his bedroom door frame.

"I could not sleep. I decided to go out for a stroll."

"That does not explain why you ordered your horse to be saddled, or so Briggs tells me."

Fielding silently cursed the valet's propensity for ferreting out information. "You have to walk to reach the stables. I thought a ride might clear my head."

"At dawn?" Mountford grabbed his sleeve and pulled him into the semi-darkened chamber, closing the door behind them. "Where are you going?"

Fielding crossed his arms, impatience sharpening his response. "That is none of your concern."

"The devil it isn't. My life is none of your business either, but that doesn't stop you from poking your nose in whenever you feel like it."

"The circumstances are entirely different."

"How so?"

"Because..." Because Fielding had only ever separated his friend from the most unsuitable of attachments; those ladies attracted by his friend's fortune rather than any genuine affection. Yet to begin a discussion on the differences between their circumstances would take time he could not spare.

Mountford dropped onto the end of his bed. He ran a hand through his hair and squinted at the clock with bleary eyes. "Is it not a touch early in the day to be meeting Miss Latimer?"

Fielding pursed his lips, knowing the less he spoke, the quicker Mountford would tire of his game and let him leave.

"Come now, do you think me blind? I am crushed you rate my powers of observation so low. How could I miss the way you looked at her across the dinner table? If your thoughts are travelling that particular road I would urge you to be cautious. Do you really know what you are letting yourself in for?"

"I believe I have a fair idea."

"I am not sure you do. After you ran away from Woodside the other night, I spent the remainder of the evening getting to know my esteemed neighbour. Mr. Latimer is rather an odd duck. More than once I caught him grinning to himself, as though he had told the most humorous joke. He reminded me of that professor we had at St. John's. You know...the one who wore a dandelion in his hatband, and called Piggy Philpott 'Lord Oink'."

"I do not see how this has—"

"As much as I hate to malign a neighbour, I am convinced that Mr. Latimer is completely deranged. I cannot for the life of me imagine that Anthony Fielding would risk his honourable name, or his family's reputation, by involving himself with a mad man's daughter. Why, it may even run in the family! Insanity often does, you know."

Fielding's fingers had curled into a fist before he forced himself to relax. "You would be wise to choose your words carefully, my friend," he said, keeping his voice deceptively calm.

Mountford rose to pace in front of the fireplace. "Your friends are the only ones you can rely on to provide impartial advice. Was that not what you once said to me?"

"And I meant every word, but the object of your interest then was, I believe, a tailor's daughter. Not an appropriate connection for a man of your fortune."

"Yet you are certain that a young woman who mistook you for my steward would make you a suitable wife?"

Fielding stamped his feet into his riding boots, using rather more force than necessary. "I appreciate, as my friend, that you may have the right to advise me. However, the final decision is mine to make, and in this particular circumstance I am resolved to act in a way that will best constitute my own happiness."

"Really, Fielding, I was only—"

"Enough! I have neither the time nor the desire to discuss this with you. There is nothing you could possibly say that will dissuade me."

As he opened the door he heard Mountford chuckle. "Well, you cannot say I didn't try to make you see sense!"

~<>~<>~

The sun hung a mere quarter of an inch above the horizon when Anabelle slipped out of the house, before her mother had risen from her bed, and while her still sleeping sisters were dreaming about the upcoming dance. She made her way over field and stile until she reached the remains of the old barn, and the familiar clearing beyond. It was empty. As she paced across the grass, the anticipation twisted her stomach into knots.

Accompanying her step-mother to Blackwood Hall had been every bit as uncomfortable as she had feared, but during their short conversation in the library Mr. Fielding made his feelings clear enough. Or had he? Lying in bed she had churned the memory around in her head, disturbing the silt at the bottom until his meanings were opaque and confused.

Even if he did repeat his offer of marriage, to accept him now would surely smack of the most grasping avarice. She could not wonder if he questioned her motives for accepting him, for she might easily have suspected herself, had she not experienced the odd twinges in her heart, the loss of breath and the strange bursts of pleasure whenever she was in his presence. Yet his status, fine house and his fortune meant nothing to her. All she desired from this life was his respect and love.

The rhythmic beats of hooves on turf caught her ear before Mr. Fielding rode into the clearing. He sat tall on the back of the animal, and Anabelle took a moment to admire his seat before he swung himself out of the saddle and slid to the ground. This morning he was once again formally attired, as befitted a gentleman; the snowy white linen nestled beneath a striped waistcoat and buckskin breeches. His blue coat was mostly hidden beneath a long drab riding coat, which swirled around his ankles as he walked towards her.

Although Anabelle had dreamed of him taking her into his arms, as he once had in this very spot, the Mr. Fielding of reality was neither so obliging nor so impulsive. He stopped five feet from her, as though unsure of his welcome. "You came," he said, in a voice tinged with surprise.

"Did you think I might not?"

"The possibility had crossed my mind."

"And what would you have done if I was not waiting here when you arrived?"

He paused to consider his response. "I would have come to Woodside to reassure myself that you had not been delayed by something untoward. I was not in a humour this morning to put off our conversation."

"I hardly dare ask what you thought of me, after learning that I was responsible for everyone believing you to be...well, something less than you are."

He took in a breath, releasing it slowly, as though his feelings on the subject were still raw. "I cannot deny I was angry. I am not used to being regarded in such a light. Even as a child I was treated with all the respect and deference owed to my father's eldest son and heir. It never occurred to me that anyone would see me otherwise."

The guilt stung Anabelle anew, but she masked it with a deprecating laugh as she sat down. "Only I could be foolish enough to mistake you for a poor steward." She laid her hand on the log to her side. He sat beside her, accepting her unspoken invitation. As he turned to face her his knee brushed against her leg, sending butterflies dancing in her stomach.

"Not all stewards can be described as poor. The position may attract a reasonable salary and even a good sized house if the responsibilities warrant it. My own steward is an excellent man, whom I trust to manage my interests, and I pay him accordingly. However, on a smaller estate such as Blackwood, it is true that the remuneration on offer would be insufficient to keep one of Mr. Latimer's daughters in the style to which you are accustomed. That is why you believed your parents would not accept me, is it not?"

Anabelle nodded. "Yes, that was my concern. I could not imagine disobliging my father."

"And you did not think to ask your poor steward whether he had any future expectations that might improve his prospects?"

His question, softly spoken with a hint of a smile on his lips, made her melt a little inside. "How could I raise a subject that had the power to cause embarrassment, and you did not say a word about your situation."

"I have never before needed to. It has long ceased to surprise me how my family circumstances are known wherever I go. I imagine many of your neighbours knew Mountford's financial situation before we arrived. Do you not wonder how everyone is aware of his worth without him saying anything on the subject?"

Anabelle laughed. "That is not difficult to guess. My uncle was attorney to Sir George, and was well aware of his nephew's situation. He had only to mention the circumstances to his wife in passing and you can guarantee the whole of the parish knew every particular by the following Sunday."

"Exactly my point. News like that spreads, particularly in a small community, and that is why I never imagined anyone could mistake me for a steward."

"When you spoke of your home in Yorkshire I had no idea it would be so grand. I owe all I know of it to my father. The description of the library alone had a strong effect upon him."

She felt him stiffen. "One day Mr. Latimer might get chance to view it personally, but it may be some time before I can entirely forgive his uncharitable performance at dinner." He frowned then, staring at the grass beneath his feet. "What did your father say to you that made you so unhappy?"

"It was not what he said, but more what he failed to say. He could have told me what he knew of you much sooner than he did, and that would have saved me from making such a fool of myself, and...and refusing an offer I might have otherwise accepted."

His shoulders relaxed and he seemed to release the firm grip he had on himself as his gaze rose to meet hers. "Despite the revelations of that evening, my affection and my desires remain constant and unchanging. We both know your parents will make no objection. Anabelle, please say you will marry me."

The thought of being Mr. Fielding's wife filled her with a longing so strong she felt it in her bones, but given all she now knew of him how could she consent without appearing capricious or grasping? "Are you not at all concerned that I might accept you for the wrong reasons, now I know you to be a man of property and consequence?"

He reached for her hand, holding it in a firm clasp. "If I was not confident that your feelings were genuine I would never have spoken to your father. You loved me even when you thought me a steward. You need not fear that I might think you a fortune-hunter."

"The one thing I have learned through all this is that I know almost nothing about you. Everything I believed was true has been proven wrong."

"In essentials I am not so very different from the man you believed me to be. I love you as much as I ever did. What else do you wish to know?"

"Tell me something of your family. You said you had sisters. Are you close to them?"

"Not as close as I would like. Matilda married a neighbour two years ago. Amelia recently turned seventeen and resides with my aunt and uncle. Lord Ipstone was my mother's eldest brother, and when my father died he welcomed them into his home."

"There are only the three of you?"

"I had two brothers and one sister who died in childhood, but that was many years ago."

"It must be strange to be separated from your siblings. Do you miss them?"

"Indeed, I am fond of them both, but when my father died and I inherited Meltham Park I was in no position to look after two younger sisters, or administer to their needs. Besides, I had no desire to chaperone Tilly to parties and dances. They needed a mother figure, and my aunt provided them with her valuable sponsorship, and the company of my cousins."

"Are you sure your aunt and uncle will not object to you marrying into a family with no great connections?"

"As much as I esteem my uncle he really has nothing to say on the subject. He is my sister's guardian, but not mine. He may proffer his opinion, but I have never found him to be an unreasonable man. I feel certain that my aunt and sisters would be very happy to hear of me being happily settled. Lady Ipstone is as eager to see the Meltham nursery put to use as my mother would have been."

"I hope you would not wed just to please your family, or to provide yourself with an heir."

He laughed at that. "Not at all. My sisters will take great delight in telling you how adamant I was against marriage. Indeed, I came to Blackwood in part to avoid those mothers who are so eager to secure husbands for their daughters. I had no idea that during my stay I would stumble upon the one woman whose company and conversation I preferred above all others."

A drop of rain fell on the sleeve of Anabelle's spencer, followed soon after by another. "It seems the weather is making its own opinions known. Perhaps I should return home, before it begins in earnest."

He held her hand in a tighter grip. "Then I will take you up on my horse and we shall ride to Woodside together. We still have much to discuss and I am not willing to let you go so soon."

She glanced up at the sky, and the grey clouds scudding in from the west. "It is too late, the storm is already upon us and even upon your horse we would be soaked through before we could travel five hundred yards. We must take shelter until it passes."

"Where?"

Anabelle led him around the end of the barn until they reached an open section where a door had once stood. As they passed through the gap in the stone she picked her way through a narrow weed-choked track between the fallen rubble until they found the inside of the back wall, beneath what remained of the roof.

Moments later, the heavens opened.