Anabelle reached the top of the staircase just as the musicians began to tune their instruments. She cast her eyes around the ballroom, recognising many of her neighbours among the guests, but although she craned her neck and stood on tip-toe there was no sign of Mr. Fielding, or the party from Blackwood Hall.

Mr. Latimer studied his surroundings with a marked lack of enthusiasm. "Well, is this not delightful?"

Selina smiled at her father's wry tone. "It is not too late to ask John to take you home, if you are too tired."

"Certainly not. I have been stuck in the house long enough. I may not be able to dance but I can pass a few hours with my neighbours. They will be more tolerable for having played least-in-sight these past weeks. I can rest in that chair over there, next to Mrs Orton and Mrs Fisher."

As Mr. Latimer hobbled towards the chaperones Selina grabbed Anabelle's hand and lowered her voice. "Why would papa choose to sit with Aunt Orton? He can barely tolerate her."

"Perhaps he has been starved of company while his leg mended. Did we neglect him during his convalescence, do you think?"

"I thought not but see him now, conversing so comfortably with Mrs Fisher." Selina gave her a sideways glance. "I suspect he is telling them of your engagement."

Anabelle did not doubt it. Everyone in Woodside had heard about her betrothal before she had reached her chamber that morning. Selina had been the least surprised of them all—except, perhaps, for their father—for she'd had some inkling about the direction of her sister's thoughts of late.

Mrs Latimer had wasted no time since their arrival, and was already half way around the room, chatting with her neighbours and sharing their news. As she mingled Anabelle marked her step-mother's progress by observing the gold-tipped ostrich feather that erupted almost a foot above her crape evening cap. The feather seemed to be dancing to a tune only it could hear as Mrs Latimer nodded and curtsied, acknowledging friends and whispering secrets in the most deserving ears.

A familiar voice sounded behind her. "My dear Anabelle, why are you not dancing?"

She turned to greet her friend. "Charlotte! I am pleased to see you safely returned in time for the ball. Did you find your aunt well?"

"Yes, she is much improved. I—"

Anabelle reached for her hand. "I have something I must tell you."

"The news is true, then?"

The odd tone in her voice made Anabelle pause. "Well, I suppose that all depends on what you have heard."

"Your mother told mine, not moments ago, that Mr. Fielding is not a steward as you told us, but a gentleman. I never imagined you to be so deceitful, Belle. I thought we were friends!"

"We are friends, and I did not purposely mislead anyone. I honestly believed it was so at the time. I only recently learned of my error."

"If we had known he was a man of means, mother would have extended him an invitation to dine, and she would never have taken me to Dunstable. I feel awful thinking that he spent all that time at Blackwood on his own."

"Being alone did not appear to bother him."

"Still, Mr. Fielding must have thought us all very rag-mannered to ignore him while Sir Henry was away in London."

Anabelle suddenly found herself propelled forwards, almost colliding with Charlotte. She assumed the press of bodies had caused her to be accidentally jostled by one of those participating in the dancing, until a cold voice behind her said:

"From what I heard, Miss Latimer did everything but ignore Mr. Fielding. Why else would he feel compelled to marry her after so short an acquaintance? I am only surprised she dares to show her face in public."

Charlotte's eyes met Anabelle's, and there was a momentary shock within them. Then her fan snapped open as Charlotte faced the newcomer with an exaggerated sigh. "I often find that the biggest disadvantage with the subscription balls is the company one is forced to endure, would you not agree, Miss Latimer?"

Anabelle stepped forward, studying the thin, angular young woman who had scurrilously challenged her. "Most certainly, Miss Harrison." Although Martha Fisher's dress was as elegant as any in the room, it was hardly surprising that the daughter of a linen draper should be so well attired when her father could purchase the best silks at wholesale prices.

Charlotte took Anabelle's arm, guiding her through the crowd as they moved away from Miss Fisher to the other side of the room. "What an unpleasant girl she is. But are you truly engaged to Mr. Fielding? You are full of surprises tonight. When did this occur?"

Shame flooded through Anabelle. That someone she considered a friend should discover her momentous news in such an unfavourable manner was distressing indeed. "It was agreed only this morning. I have hardly had time to accustom myself to the idea, let alone reveal it to anyone else. If circumstances had permitted me a choice, outside of my own family you would have been the first to know."

"I should hope so," Charlotte said. "It seems we both have much to tell each other, but it shall have to wait. I see the Blackwood party has just arrived. I recognise Sir Henry from the time he called on my father, but who are those ladies with him?"

Anabelle looked towards the entrance, straining for a sight of her husband-to-be. Although she did not see him, she could at least provide some useful intelligence to her friend as she identified Sir Henry's sisters by name.

"Miss Mountford's evening dress looks very elegant, but where is your Mr. Fielding?"

"I do not see him yet. There are also two other gentlemen there I do not recognise." She turned to clasp Charlotte's hands between her own. "I hope you will forgive me. I did not intentionally keep you or anyone else in the dark about Mr. Fielding."

Charlotte smiled. "A man of his standing must have plenty of friends. If I cannot catch Sir Henry's eye, you may be able to introduce me to some other interesting gentlemen once you are married."

Anabelle felt a weight lift from her shoulders, as she realised at least one of her neighbours bore her no ill will. "My dear Charlotte, you can be certain of it."

~<>~<>~

As they travelled towards the assembly that evening, Fielding took the opportunity to enlighten his companions. "I must trouble you both for your congratulations. Miss Latimer has agreed to be my wife."

Mountford stuck a finger in his ear and waggled it. "You know, I must be going deaf. For a moment there it sounded as though you said you were getting married."

Fielding sighed, regretting that he had not spoken earlier that afternoon. Mountford was too excited over the prospect of dancing to be entirely serious on the subject. "You heard me well enough."

Langdale clapped a hand on Fielding's shoulder. "Forgive Henry's pitiful attempt at humour. I suspect he is giddy with relief that it was you, rather than he, who fell into the trap."

"Not so, Ned. After I caught Fielding creeping out so early this morning, I hoped he would do the decent thing. It only remains for me to offer you my hearty felicitations. I wish you both very happy, and I am sure Margaret and Sally will be equally entranced by the news of your upcoming nuptials."

Fielding knew that Sally would not be surprised and he had no thought to spare for anyone else, as they would arrive at their destination at any moment.

Conflicting feelings stirred in his breast. On one hand, he was eager to see Anabelle, but even her presence could not entirely outweigh his misgivings for the evening to come.

Tonight he would enter a room where some of the occupants would still believe him to be a steward, rather than the gentleman he was. Until his last visit to Woodside he had not appreciated just how vital it was for him to secure and maintain the respect of those who came within his orbit. The only bright spot on an otherwise stormy horizon was the fact that he would have Anabelle by his side. Thinking about his beloved rekindled the memory of how it had felt to finally have her in his arms, knowing she would be his wife.

For him their wedding could not come soon enough.

When the chaise pulled up outside the inn, Fielding fidgeted while the groom let down the steps. He looked up to the first floor, where large windows cast a warm, welcoming beacon into the night sky, and imagined Anabelle waiting for him. Fielding took a step towards the door before a firm grip clasped around his arm.

"I know you are eager to see your betrothed," Henry said, "but should we not wait for Fournier and the ladies?" He nodded towards the second carriage, where the Frenchman was assisting Henry's sisters to alight.

Margaret Mountford surveyed the red-brick building with a sneer. "How quaint." Her laughter cut through the night air with all the charm of a blunt razor. "Do you think we will be quite safe here, Mr Fielding?"

"I do not see why not," he replied as they began to climb the stairs. "Your brother's neighbours are quite unexceptional."

The assembly room was smaller than he had expected; the crush made worse as the guests had withdrawn to each side of the room, clearing a space in the middle. Those couples already on the floor seemed to be dancing a lively version of the Gooseberry Bush, accompanied by a quartet whose enthusiasm made up for any lack of skill.

He spotted Mr. Latimer at one end, chatting to a clutch of older ladies with all the animation of a flock of starlings. The image of Anabelle's father swapping gossip with the oldest tabbies in town did not match with anything Fielding knew of him, but had given up trying to decipher the reasoning behind his mercurial behaviour.

Mr. Harrison waylaid their party soon after they entered the room. Once he had been introduced to Mountford's other guests, the older man offered Fielding a welcome tinged with only the slightest discomfort. "I understand we have been labouring under a grave misapprehension, giving you the feathers of a dunnock rather than of those of a noble hawk. Although I cannot imagine anyone meeting you tonight could mistake your quality, sir."

Fielding had instructed his man to attend to the smallest detail, ensuring that no one with working eyes could question his status. His navy evening coat and breeches were made from the finest broadcloth, while the Marseilles waistcoat from Weston had been an extravagant purchase only a week before leaving town. Even Margaret Mountford had commented on his ensemble, wondering why he should go to so much trouble for a motley group of country nobodies.

Of course, his efforts were not for their benefit. He wanted to look his best for Anabelle.

As Mr. Harrison led Mountford into the room, offering introductions for anyone he had not yet met, Sally laid a finger on Fielding's arm. "What was that man speaking of with his birds and feathers? How very odd he is."

"Not odd, but slightly embarrassed perhaps. I imagine it was his way of saying that he no longer believed I am a steward." From where he stood Fielding could just make out the top of Mr. Latimer's head as he whispered in the ear of an elderly lady in an ancient grey wig. "And I have an idea how Mr. Harrison heard the news."

"And where is your Miss Latimer?"

Fielding's height gave him an advantage as he studied the mingling crowd. "Over there, on the left."

"Well? Do you intend to stand here all evening, or are you going to speak to her?"

Smothering a grin, he feigned an indifference he was far from feeling. "Do you think I ought?"

His innocent question was enough to spark a reaction in his old friend. "For pity's sake, Tony, must I propose on your behalf as well?"

He brushed an invisible speck from his coat sleeve, wondering whether he should reveal his news to Sally now. No, it would not hurt her to wait. "I do not believe that will be necessary."

"Then go to her!"

Fielding required no further encouragement. "It will be as you command." With a bow to Sally he circled behind the crush of guests, determined to reach his beloved in as shorter time as possible.

Anabelle had missed his approach, her attention distracted by a sudden flurry of new arrivals. Her gaze was fixed upon the main door as he moved to stand behind her, touching his fingers to her back as he leant close to her ear. "Good evening, Miss Latimer."

He heard her gasp and she turned, her radiant smile relighting those ever-present embers that burned for only her. "Mr. Fielding!"

"I trust I find you well."

"Very well, thank you." She then turned to her companion. "May I introduce you to Mr. Fielding? This is my friend Miss Harrison."

The plain girl with mousy-brown hair could be of only marginal interest to him in her own right, but as a friend of Anabelle's she received his full attention, and they exchanged the usual vacuous pleasantries until Miss Harrison's presence was required elsewhere.

Once the young woman had left them, Anabelle drew him into a relatively quiet corner. "I hope you have no second thoughts over your morning's work, for my mother now knows all. And what my mother knows will be common knowledge soon enough, if it is not already."

"I may live to regret many things, but marrying you will never be one of them." He offered his arm. "Will you walk with me, Miss Latimer?"

"I would be delighted, Mr. Fielding."