The big parlor at Westmore House was lit with torchlight. Laughter spilled down the length of it, and Raphaella looked down the vast space, feeling uneasy.

Lady Westmore laughed somewhere at the center of the room, her pale hair bright in the lamplight, her face warmed by a smile. Raphaella saw that, and felt reassured. Lady Westmore and her husband were good friends of her family.

At least, she thought nervously, there is somebody I know.

Visits to Westmore House with her brother, Canmure, were always awkward for her, though she had never actually told her brother that before. Sweet-tempered, loving Canmure would have been upset, and might even have canceled them utterly, which would have meant hardly ever seeing his best friend.

We are so rarely in the countryside.

She and her brother had attended London Seasons every year since the death of their parents, when they were teenagers. They now spent almost all their time there, living in their amply-appointed townhouse. It was, she thought uncomfortably, much nicer than the ramshackle estate in the countryside.

She smoothed a hand down her dress – a floaty muslin gown in the latest fashion. It was a little showy for the more modest country fashions, a fact which made her feel even more self-conscious than otherwise. Her red curls were highlighted by the darker color of the fabric, and she thought her full bust showed a little too much at the neck.

She looked around, blinking her dark eyes, searching for familiar faces. She spotted a dark-haired lady she knew, though she thought instantly how changed she was. Raymonde Hunsford, the heiress to Maverly!

She felt joy as she noticed how Raymonde looked so at peace. She had her hair in an uncomplicated style, the dress she wore was simpler than the ones she’d favored in London. But her cheek was red-toned and her eyes sparkled and she seemed lit from inside.

She noticed a man appear briefly in the room, his arm cradling a sleeping infant. He talked briefly with Raymonde, took her hand lovingly, then left.

“That’s Lady Raymonde,” a lady informed her. “She married the Earl of Alford last year. Now, there’s a story!”

“I don’t really wish to hear it,” Raphaella said softly, though she did it with a smile. “I was never much of a one for talking about people. Tell me about that beautiful purse, instead. Where did you get it?”

The lady – perhaps five years younger than herself – blushed furiously and looked at her toes. “Thank you,” she said, smiling up at her. “I bought it in London, at the famous seamstress’s shop.”

“Oh! I know the one,” Raphaella smiled tenderly at the younger lady. “I live not far down from the place. Is it in Bond Street? Tatley’s, yes?”

“Yes! That’s it!” The lady nodded. She looked pleased. “I love their work! Though, it’s dreadfully expensive…I begged Mama to let me get just something from them, so I could be in style…”

“There’s no style like good taste,” Raymonde reminded her gently. “And, since you picked such a lovely bag to go with that dress, you have plenty of that.”

The lady blushed even deeper, and Raymonde tactfully turned the conversation to something neutral. As the girl wondered away in search of tea, looking clearly more confident than she had when Raphaella first started talking to her, she noticed Lady Westmore drifting across the floor towards her. She bobbed a curtsey and smiled.

“Emilia!” she greeted her, kissing her cheek as she took her hand. “How lovely to see you!”

“And to see you,” Emilia nodded. “How are you? It’s been ages since you and Canmure came down for a visit.”

“It has,” Raphaella agreed, tucking a stray curl of red hair behind her ear. She felt her own full lips stretch in a big smile, just seeing Emilia – she had always been very fond of her.

“Luke will be so pleased to see him,” Emilia agreed. “Where is your brother, by the way?” She scanned the hall, blue eyes gazing about searchingly.

“He’s outside, taking a walk through the gardens,” Raphaella said, smiling warmly at the thought of her brother. “He said he wanted to check if Luke has made any improvements to the place.”

Emilia laughed. “Luke is always adding things here and there,” she agreed. “If I left him to it, the place would be turned to Kew Gardens. I have to remind him that we need to maintain the house as well!” She grinned and Raphaella chuckled in warm agreement.

She listened as Emilia shared the latest news, along with information about her child, now three years old. Raphaella felt her heart melt – she had always loved children. She was twenty-five now, and she worried that she might never have any. All the suitors she met had disinterested her so far, though she would have found it impossible to envy Emilia her joy.

“And Luke seems to have raised another one as interested in gardening as he is,” Emilia was chuckling. “The two of them are always wandering around in the grounds together, smelling leaves and picking flowers. I declare! We might as well throw caution to the winds and turn the whole place into a botanical garden now.”

“Why not?” Raphaella giggled. “The best one outside London!”

“Indeed!” Emilia agreed. “But, don’t tell Luke that…he’ll do it. Just tell me he won’t.”

Raphaella laughed, and just as she was about to reply, she was interrupted by Luke arriving, a grin on his slim, lively face. He greeted his wife lovingly, resting a hand on her arm, and then turned to Raphaella, bowing low.

“Lady Raphaella,” he greeted her respectfully. “How lovely! How are you?”

“Very well, thank you.” She smiled up at him, bobbing her knees in a polite gesture. She was about to mention the whereabouts of her brother, when she almost stopped breathing.

“Luke,” the tall, dark-haired gentleman with the gaunt, handsome face said. “Might you introduce me to your acquaintances?”

“Logan!” Luke grinned. “Of course. Lady Raphaella, may I present Lord Inverly, a good friend. It seems hard to believe you two never met.” He turned to the handsome man. “Logan, this is Lady Raphaella, a dear friend and sister of Lord Canmure. Are you sure you never got introduced?”

Raphaella bent at the knee, dropping a slight curtsey. She felt her heart thudding and she felt almost sure it was loud enough to be heard. She noticed that the gentleman was not looking at Luke, or paying attention. His gaze – dark and smoldering – was focused on her.

“Pleased to meet you,” she whispered. “Lord Inverly,” she added.

“You’re certain you didn’t meet?” Luke said, looking at Logan with a strange, slightly confused expression on his face.

“I am certain,” Lord Inverly replied, turning to Luke. “I would have remembered a lady as beautiful Lady Raphaella.”

Raphaella felt her cheeks flush with heat, and she raised her dark eyes to Lord Inverly’s face. He turned back to her at once, with a smile.

“My Lord,” she said, finding her voice. “You are not often in the countryside?”

“No,” he said, grinning again. He was shier than she had thought, she realized as he turned to her again, his eyes somewhat hesitant, his smile also. “I don’t come nearly often-enough. My solicitor and steward keep me busy in London. Perdition take them!” He grinned.

“You like the country, then?” Raphaella asked, smiling at him.

“Oh, yes!” Lord Inverly nodded. “I love the country – it’s free out here. One can stretch one’s legs, and take real rides. And, up here, the world is so beautiful!”

“You like the Downs?” she asked, referring to the Yorkshire Downs, the rolling, beautiful countryside.

“I do, yes!” He grinned. “There’s nothing more beautiful, to my mind. I feel free, here.”

“Yes.” Raphaella nodded, feeling a tingle in her own heart. She had never thought to meet somebody who thought about Yorkshire exactly the same way she did! She had fallen in love with it on the first visit, an impression which had lasted ever since.

“It seems we share some views, then,” he said, lifting a glass of cordial in salute.

“Yes,” Raphaella agreed. She had never felt like this before – never felt so instantly close to somebody, like she could talk to him for hours and they would only find more to talk about, not less.

When she looked up again, she noticed Luke and Emilia had moved, and also that Canmure had come back into the room. He was looking over at them with an anger she’d never known that he felt.

She shivered, and hoped that he did not disapprove of Lord Inverly. That would be very upsetting.

“We do seem to share many views, My Lord,” she agreed, taking a sip of her own glass of cordial. It was blackcurrant, a favorite of hers.

“Yes,” he repeated, smiling. “We do.”

She glanced back across the room, and was relieved to notice that Canmure had gone.

She put her glass down, feeling a mix of relief and worry. She wished she knew what was bothering Canmure. She also hoped, more than anything, that she would see Lord Inverly again, and soon.

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