unlight streamed in through the open windows and a breeze glided through the room, softly caressing Victoria’s face. Somewhere below, a horse’s hooves clattered on a paved drive, and two birds landed simultaneously on her windowsill, embarking on a noisy quarrel over territorial rights. Their irate chirping slowly penetrated Victoria’s slumber, stirring her from happy dreams of home.

Still half-asleep, she rolled over onto her stomach, burrowing her face into the pillow. Instead of the slightly rough fabric that covered her pillow at home and smelled of sunshine and soap, her cheek encountered smooth silk. Dimly aware that she was not in her own bed with her mother downstairs making breakfast, Victoria squeezed her eyes closed, trying to recapture her tranquil dreams, but it was already too late. Reluctantly, she turned her head and opened her eyes.

In the bright light of midmorning, she stared at the silver and blue draperies that surrounded her bed like a silken cocoon, and her mind abruptly cleared. She was at Wakefield Park. She had slept straight through the night.

Shoving her tousled hair out of her eyes, she pulled herself up into a sitting position and leaned back against the pillows.

“Good morning, miss,” Ruth said, standing at the opposite side of the bed.

Victoria stifled a scream of shock.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” the little maid apologized hastily, “but his grace is downstairs and he said to ask if you would join him for breakfast.”

Vastly encouraged by the news that her cousin the duke actually wished to see her, Victoria flung back the covers.

“I’ve pressed your gowns for you,” Ruth said, opening the armoire. “Which one would you like to wear?”

Victoria chose the best of the five—a soft black muslin with a low, square neckline, embellished with tiny white roses she’d carefully embroidered on the full sleeves and hem during the long voyage. Refusing Ruth’s offer to help her dress, Victoria pulled the gown on over her petticoats and tied the wide black sash about her slim waist.

While Ruth made the bed and tidied the spotless room, Victoria slid into the chair at the dressing table and brushed her hair. “I’m ready,” she told Ruth as she stood up, her eyes alight with hopeful anticipation and her cheeks blooming with healthy color. “Could you tell me where to find... ah... his grace?”

Victoria’s feet sank into the thick red carpet as Ruth led her down the curving marble staircase and across the foyer to where two footmen were standing guard beside a pair of richly carved mahogany doors. Before she had time to draw a steadying breath, the footmen swept the doors open with a soundless flourish, and Victoria found herself stepping into a room perhaps ninety feet in length, dominated by a long mahogany table centered beneath three gigantic chandeliers dripping with crystal. She thought the room was empty at first, as her gaze moved over the high-backed gold velvet chairs that marched along both sides of the endless table. And then she heard the rustle of paper coming from the chair at the near end of the table. Unable to see the occupant, she walked slowly around to the side and stopped. “Good morning,” she said softly.

Charles’s head snapped around and he stared at her, his face draining of color. “Almighty God!” he breathed, and slowly came to his feet, his gaze clinging to the exotic young beauty standing before him. He saw Katherine, exactly as she had looked so many years ago. How well, and how lovingly, he remembered that incredibly beautiful, fine-boned face with its gracefully winged eyebrows and long, thick lashes framing eyes the color of huge iridescent sapphires. He recognized that soft, smiling mouth, the elegant little nose, that tiny, enchanting dimple in her stubborn chin, and the glorious mass of red-gold hair that tumbled over her shoulders in riotous abandon.

Putting his left hand on the back of the chair to steady himself, he extended his shaking right hand to her. “Katherine—” he whispered.

Uncertainly, Victoria put her hand in his outstretched palm, and his long fingers closed tightly around hers. “Katherine,” he whispered again hoarsely, and Victoria saw the sparkle of tears in his eyes.

“My mother’s name was Katherine,” she said gently.

His grip on her hand tightened almost painfully. “Yes,” he whispered. He cleared his throat and his voice became more normal. “Yes, of course,” he said, and shook his head as if to clear it. He was surprisingly tall, Victoria noticed, and very thin, with hazel eyes that studied her features in minute detail. “So,” he said briskly, “you are Katherine’s daughter.”

Victoria nodded, not quite certain how to take him. “My name is Victoria.”

An odd tenderness glowed in his eyes. “Mine is Charles Victor Fielding.”

“I—I see,” she mumbled.

“No,” he said. “You don’t see.” He smiled, a gentle smile that took decades off his age. “You don’t see at all.” And then, without warning, he enfolded her in a tight embrace. “Welcome home, child,” he said in an emotion-choked voice as he patted her back and hugged her close. “Welcome.” And Victoria felt oddly as if she might truly be home.

He let her go with a sheepish smile and pulled out a chair for her. “You must be starved. O’Malley!” he said to the footman who was stationed at a sideboard laden with covered silver dishes. “We’re both famished.”

“Yes, your grace,” the footman said, turning aside and beginning to nil two plates.

“I apologize most sincerely for not having a coach waiting for you when you arrived,” Charles said. “I never dreamed you would arrive early—the packets from America are routinely late, I was told. Now, then, did you have a pleasant voyage?” he asked her as the footman placed a plate filled with eggs, potatoes, kidneys, ham, and crusty French rolls before her.

Victoria glanced at the array of ornate gold flatware on either side of her plate and breathed a prayer of gratitude to her mother for teaching Dorothy and her the proper uses for each piece. “Yes, a very pleasant voyage,” she answered with a smile, then added with awkward shyness,“—your grace.”

“Good heavens,” Charles said, chuckling, “I hardly think we need stand on such ceremony. If we do, then I shall have to call you Countess Langston or Lady Victoria. I shan’t like that a bit, you know—I’d much prefer ‘Uncle Charles’ for myself and ’Victoria‘ for you. What do you say?”

Victoria found herself responding to his warmth with an affection that was already taking root deep in her heart. “I’d like that very much. I’m sure I’d never remember to answer to Countess Langston—whoever that is—and Lady Victoria doesn’t sound at all like me either.”

Charles gave her an odd look as he placed his napkin on his lap. “But you are both of those people. Your mother was the only child of the Earl and Countess of Langston. They died when she was a young girl, but their title was of Scottish origin and it passed to her. You are her eldest child; therefore the title is now yours.”

Victoria’s blue eyes twinkled with amusement. “And what am I to do with it?”

“Do what we all do,” he said, and chuckled. “Flaunt it.” He paused while O’Malley deftly slid a plate in front of him. “Actually, I think there’s a small estate in Scotland that might go with the title. Perhaps not. What did your mother tell you?”

“Nothing. Mama never spoke of England or her life here. Dorothy and I always assumed she was... well, an ordinary person.”

“There was nothing ‘ordinary’ about your mama,” he said softly. Victoria heard the thread of emotion in his voice and wondered about it, but when she started to question him about her mother’s life in England, he shook his head and said lightly, “Someday I shall tell you all about... everything. But not yet. For now, let’s get to know each other.”

An hour passed with unbelievable swiftness as Victoria answered Charles’s pleasantly worded questions. By the time breakfast was over, she realized, he had smoothly gleaned from her an exact picture of her life, right up to the time of her arrival at his door with an armful of squealing piglet. She’d told him about the villagers at home, about her father, and about Andrew. For some reason, hearing about the last two seemed to severely dampen his spirits, yet those were the two people he seemed to be most interested in. About her mother, he carefully avoided inquiring.

“I confess I’m confused about the matter of your betrothal to this fellow Andrew Bainbridge,” he said when she was finished, his forehead etched with a deep frown. “The letter I received from your friend Dr. Morrison made no mention of it. Quite the opposite—he said you and your sister were alone in the world. Did your father give his blessing to this betrothal?”

“Yes and no,” Victoria said, wondering why he looked so distressed about it. “You see, Andrew and I have known each other forever, but Papa always insisted that I must be eighteen before I became formally betrothed. He felt it was too serious a commitment for a younger female to make.”

“Very wise of him,” Charles agreed. “However, you became eighteen before your father passed away, and yet you still are not formally betrothed to Bainbridge, is that correct?”

“Well, yes.”

“Because your father still withheld his consent?”

“Not exactly. Shortly before my birthday, Mrs. Bainbridge—Andrew’s widowed mama—proposed to my father that Andrew should take a shortened version of the Grand Tour to test our commitment to each other, and to give him what she called a ‘last fling.’ Andrew thought the idea was nonsensical, but my papa was fully in agreement with Mrs. Bainbridge.”

“It sounds to me as if your father was extremely reluctant to have you marry the young man. After all, you’ve known each other for years, so there was no real need to test your commitment to each other. That sounds very much like an excuse, not a reason. For that matter, it seems to me that Andrew’s mother is also opposed to the match.”

The duke sounded as if he were firmly setting his mind against Andrew, which left Victoria no choice but to explain the whole, embarrassing truth. “Papa had no reservations about Andrew making me an excellent husband. He had serious reservations about my life with my future mother-in-law, however. She is a widow, you see, and very attached to Andrew. Besides that, she is prone to all sorts of illnesses that make her somewhat ill-tempered.”

“Ah,” said the duke in an understanding way. “And how serious are these illnesses of hers?”

Victoria’s cheeks warmed. “According to what my father told her on one occasion when I was present, her illnesses are feigned. When she was very young, she did have a certain weakness of the heart, but Papa said that getting out of bed would help her far more than staying in it and wallowing in self-pity. They—they didn’t like each other very well, you see.”

“Yes, and I can understand why!” The duke chuckled. “Your papa was entirely right to throw obstructions in the way of your marriage, my dear. Your life would have been very unhappy.”

“It won’t be unhappy at all,” Victoria said firmly, determined to marry Andrew with or without the duke’s approval. “Andrew realizes that his mother uses her illnesses to try to manipulate him, and he doesn’t let it stop him from doing what he wishes to do. He only agreed to go on this tour because my father insisted he should.”

“Have you received many letters from him?”

“Only one, but you see, Andrew left for Europe only a fortnight before my parents’ accident three months ago, and it takes almost that long to get letters to and from Europe. I wrote to him, telling him what happened, and I wrote to him again, just before I sailed for England, to give him my direction here. I expect he’s on his way home right now, thinking he is coming to my rescue. I wanted to stay in New York and wait for him to return, which would have been much simpler for everyone, but Dr. Morrison wouldn’t hear of it. He was convinced for some reason that Andrew’s feelings would not withstand the test of time. No doubt Mrs. Bainbridge told him something like that, which is the sort of thing she would do, I suppose.”

Victoria sighed and glanced out the windows. “She would much prefer Andrew to marry someone of more importance than the daughter of a penniless physician.”

“Or better yet, that he marry no one at all and remain tied to her bedside?” the duke ventured, his brows raised. “A widow who feigns illnesses sounds like a very possessive, domineering sort to me.”

Victoria couldn’t deny it, so rather than condemn her future mother-in-law, she remained charitably silent on that subject. “Some of the families in the village offered to let me remain with them until Andrew returned, but that solution wasn’t a very good one. Among other things, if Andrew returned and found me staying with them, well, he would have been furious.”

“With you?” his grace asked, frowning in annoyance at poor Andrew.

“No, with his mother, for not insisting that I stay with her instead.”

“Oh,” he said, but even though her explanation completely vindicated Andrew of any possible blame, Charles seemed somewhat depressed by it. “The man sounds like a countrified paragon of virtue,” he muttered.

“You will like him very much,” Victoria predicted, smiling. “He will come here to bring me home, you’ll see.”

Charles patted her hand. “Let’s forget about Andrew and be glad you’re here in England. Now, tell me how you like it thus far...”

Victoria told him she liked what she had seen very much, and Charles responded by describing the life he had planned for her here. To begin with, he wanted her to have a new wardrobe and a trained lady’s maid to assist her. Victoria was about to refuse when she caught sight of the dark, forbidding figure striding toward the table with the silent sureness of a dangerous savage, his buckskin breeches molding his muscular legs and thighs, his white shirt open at his tanned throat. This morning, he seemed even taller than she’d thought yesterday, lean and superbly fit. His thick black hair was slightly curly, his nose straight, his stern mouth finely chiseled. In fact, if it weren’t for the arrogant authority stamped in his rugged jawline and the cynicism in his cold green eyes, Victoria would have thought him almost breathtakingly handsome.

“Jason!” Charles said heartily. “Allow me to properly present you to Victoria. Jason is my nephew,” he added to Victoria.

Nephew! She’d hoped he might only be a visitor, but he was a relative who probably lived with Charles, she realized now. The knowledge made Victoria feel slightly ill at the same time that her pride forced her to lift her chin and calmly meet Jason’s ruthless stare. Acknowledging the brief introduction with a curt nod, he seated himself across from her and looked at O’Malley. “Is it too much to hope that there is any food left?”

The footman quailed visibly. “I—no, my lord. There isn’t. That is, there’s enough to eat, but it may not be quite warm enough. I’ll go down to the kitchens at once and have cook fix something fresh and hot.” He rushed out.

“Jason,” Charles said, “I’ve just been suggesting to Victoria that she ought to have a suitable lady’s maid and a wardrobe more appropriate to—”

“No,” Jason said flatly.

Victoria’s urge to flee promptly overpowered every other instinct. “If you’ll excuse me, Uncle Charles,” she said, “I—I have some things to do.”

Charles shot her a grateful, apologetic look and politely stood up as she arose, but his obnoxious nephew merely lounged back in his chair, observing her retreat with bored distaste.

“None of this is Victoria’s fault,” Charles began as the footmen started to close the doors behind Victoria. “You must understand that.”

“Really?” Jason drawled sarcastically. “And does that whining little beggar understand that this is my house and I don’t want her here?”

The doors closed behind her, but Victoria had already heard enough. A beggar! A whining beggar! Humiliation washed over her in sickening waves as she fled blindly down the hall. Apparently, Charles had invited her here without his nephew’s consent.

Victoria’s face was pale but set as she walked into her room and opened her trunk.

Back in the dining room, Charles was pleading with the hardened cynic across from him. “Jason, you don’t understand—”

“You brought her to England,” Jason snapped. “Since you want her here so badly, take her to London to live with you.”

“I can’t do that!” Charles argued vehemently. “She’s not ready to face the ton yet. There’s much to be done before she can make her debut in London. Among other things, we’ll need an older woman to stay with her as a chaperone for the sake of appearances.”

Jason nodded impatiently at the footman who was hovering at his elbow with the silver coffeepot, waiting for permission to pour, and when he had finished dismissed him from the room. Then he turned to Charles and said harshly, “I want her out of here tomorrow—is that clear? Take her to London or send her home, but get her out! I’m not going to spend a cent on her. If you want to give her a London season, then you’ll have to find some other way to pay for it.”

Charles wearily rubbed his temples. “Jason, I know you aren’t as heartless and unfeeling as you sound right now. At least let me tell you about her.”

Leaning back in his chair, Jason regarded him with icy boredom while Charles plowed doggedly ahead. “Her parents were killed a few months ago in an accident. In one tragic day Victoria lost her mother, her father, her home, her security—everything.” When Jason remained silent and unmoved, Charles ran out of patience. “Dammit! Have you forgotten how you felt when you lost Jamie? Victoria has lost all three of the people she loved, including the young man she was halfway betrothed to. She’s foolish enough to believe the fellow will come running to her rescue in the next few weeks, but his mother’s against the match. You mark my words, he’ll yield to his mama’s wishes now that Victoria is an ocean away. Her sister is now the ward of the Duchess of Claremont, so even her sister’s companionship is denied Victoria now. Think how she feels, Jason! You’re not unacquainted with death and loss—or have you forgotten the pain?”

Charles’s words hit home with enough force to make Jason wince. Charles saw it and he pressed his advantage. “She’s as innocent and lost as a child, Jason. She has no one left in the world except me—and you, whether you like it or not. Think of her as you would think of Jamie in these same circumstances. But Victoria has courage, and pride. For instance, even though she laughed about it, I could tell that her reception here yesterday humiliated her terribly. If she thinks she isn’t wanted, she’ll find some way to leave here. And if that happens,” Charles finished tautly, “I’ll never forgive you. I swear I won’t!”

Jason abruptly pushed his chair back and stood up, his expression closed and hard. “By any chance, is she another one of your by-blows?”

Charles’s face whitened. “Good God, no!” When Jason still looked skeptical, Charles added desperately, “Think what you’re saying! Would I have announced your betrothal to her, if she were my daughter?”

Instead of pacifying Jason, that assurance merely called to mind the betrothal that had so enraged him. “If your little angel is so damned innocent and so courageous, why did she agree to barter her body for marriage to me?”

“Oh, that!” Charles waved his hand in dismissal. “I made that announcement without her knowledge; she knows nothing of it. Call it over-enthusiasm on my part,” he said smoothly. “I assure you, she has no wish to marry you.” Jason’s glacial expression began to thaw and Charles hastened to heap on more reassurance. “I doubt Victoria would have you, even if you wanted her. You’re much too cynical and hard and jaded for a gently bred, idealistic girl like her. She admired her father and she told me openly that she wanted to marry a man like him—a sensitive, gentle, idealistic man. Why, you’re nothing like that,” he continued, so carried away with near-victory that he didn’t realize his speech bordered on insult. “I daresay if Victoria knew she was supposedly betrothed to you, she’d swoon dead away! She’d take her own life before—”

“I think I have the picture,” Jason interrupted mildly.

“Good,” Charles said with a swift smile. “Then may I suggest we keep that little betrothal announcement a secret from her? I’ll think of some way to rescind it without causing embarrassment to either of you, but we can’t do it immediately.” When Jason’s eyes narrowed on his smile, Charles quickly sobered. “She is a child, Jason—a brave, proud girl who is trying to make the best of things in a cruel world she isn’t equipped to face. If we revoke the betrothal too soon after her arrival here, she’ll be a laughingstock in London. They’ll say you took one look at her and cried off.”

A vision of dark-lashed, glowing blue eyes and a face too beautiful to be real drifted through Jason’s mind. He remembered the entrancing smile that had touched her soft lips a few minutes ago, before she became aware of his presence in the dining room. In retrospect, she did seem rather like a vulnerable child.

“Go talk to her, please,” Charles implored.

“I’ll talk to her,” Jason agreed shortly.

“But will you make her feel welcome?”

“That depends on how she behaves when I find her.”

In her room, Victoria snatched another armload of clothes from the armoire while Jason Fielding’s words hammered painfully in her brain. Whining little BEGGAR... I don’t want her here.... Whining little BEGGAR... She hadn’t found a new home at all, she thought hysterically. Fate had merely been playing a vicious joke on her. She stuffed the clothes into her trunk. Standing up again she turned toward the armoire and let out a gasp of fright. “You!” she choked, glaring at the tall, forbidding figure lounging just inside the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. Angry with herself for letting him see her fright, she put her chin up, absolutely determined not to let him intimidate her again. “Someone should have taught you to knock before you enter a room.”

“Knock?” he repeated with dry mockery. “When the door is already open?” He shifted his attention to her open trunk and raised his eyebrows. “Are you leaving?”

“Obviously,” Victoria replied.

“Why?”

“Why?” she burst out in disbelief. “Because I am not a whining little beggar, and for your information, I hate being a burden to anyone.”

Instead of looking guilty because she’d overheard his cutting remarks, he looked slightly amused. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to eavesdrop?”

“I was not eavesdropping,” Victoria retorted. “You were assassinating my character in a voice that could be heard all the way to London.”

“Where are you planning to go?” he asked, ignoring her criticism.

“That’s none of your business.”

“Humor me!” he snapped, his manner suddenly turning cold and commanding.

Victoria shot him a mutinous, measuring look. Leaning in the doorway, he looked dangerous and invincible. His shoulders were wide, his chest deep, and his white shirt-sleeves were rolled up, displaying darkly tanned, very muscular forearms whose strength she had already experienced when he carried her upstairs yesterday. She also knew he had a vile temper, and judging from the ominous look in his hard jade eyes, he was even now considering shaking the answer out of her. Rather than give him that satisfaction, Victoria said frigidly, “I have a little money. I’ll find a place to live in the village.”

“Really?” he drawled sarcastically. “Just out of curiosity, when your ‘little money’ runs out, how will you live?”

“I’ll work!” Victoria informed him, trying to shatter his infuriating composure.

His dark brows shot up in sardonic amusement. “What a novel idea—a woman who actually wants to work. Tell me, what sort of work can you do?” His question snapped out like a whip. “Can you push a plow?”

“No—”

“Can you drive a nail?”

“No.”

“Can you milk a cow?”

“No!”

“Then you’re useless to yourself and to anyone else, aren’t you?” he pointed out mercilessly.

“I most certainly am not!” she denied with angry pride. “I can do all sorts of things, I can sew and cook and—”

“And set all the villagers gossiping about what monsters the Fieldings are for turning you out? Forget it,” he said arrogantly. “I won’t permit it.”

“I do not remember asking for your permission,” Victoria retorted defiantly.

Caught off guard, Jason stared hard at her. Grown men rarely dared to challenge him, yet here was this slip of a girl doing exactly that. If his annoyance hadn’t matched his surprise, he would have chucked her under the chin and grinned at her courage. Suppressing the unprecedented urge to gentle his words, he said curtly, “If you’re so eager to earn your keep, which I doubt, you can do it here.”

“I’m very sorry,” the defiant young beauty announced coolly, “but that won’t do.”

“Why not?”

“Because I simply cannot imagine myself bowing and scraping and quaking with fear each time you pass, like the rest of your servants are expected to do. Why, that poor man with the sore tooth nearly collapsed this morning when you—”

“Who?” Jason demanded, his ire momentarily replaced by stupefaction.

“Mr. O’Malley.”

“Who the hell is Mr. O’Malley?” he bit out, controlling his temper with a supreme effort.

Victoria rolled her eyes in disgust. “You don’t even know his name, do you? Mr. O’Malley is the footman who went for your breakfast, and his jaw is so swollen—”

Jason turned on his heel. “Charles wants you to stay here, and that’s the end of it.” In the doorway, he stopped and turned, his threatening gaze pinning her to the spot. “If you’re thinking of leaving despite my orders, I’d advise you not to do it. You’ll put me to the trouble of coming after you, and you won’t like what happens when I find you, believe me.”

“I am not frightened of you or your threats,” Victoria lied proudly, rapidly trying to sort through her alternatives. She didn’t want to hurt Charles by leaving, but neither would her pride permit her to be a “beggar” in Jason’s home. Ignoring the ominous glitter in his green eyes, she said, “I’ll stay, but I intend to work for my food and lodging here.”

“Fine,” Jason snapped, feeling as if she was somehow emerging the victor in this conflict. He turned to leave, but her businesslike voice stopped him.

“May I ask what my wages will be?”

Jason sucked in a furious breath. “Are you trying to irritate me?”

“Not at all. I merely wish to know what my wages will be, so I can plan for the day when I...” Her voice trailed off as Jason rudely stalked out.

Uncle Charles sent up word asking her to join him for lunch, which turned out to be a very enjoyable meal, since Jason wasn’t present. However, the rest of the afternoon dragged and, in a fit of restlessness, Victoria decided to stroll outside. The butler saw her coming downstairs and swept open the front door for her. Trying to show him she harbored no ill will about yesterday, Victoria smiled at him. “Thank you very much, ah—?”

“Northrup,” he provided, his manner polite, his expression carefully blank.

“Northrup?” Victoria repeated, hoping to draw him into conversation. “Is that your given name or your surname?”

His gaze slid to hers, then away. “Er—my surname, miss.”

“I see,” she continued politely. “And how long have you worked here?”

Northrup clasped his hands behind his back and rocked forward on the balls of his feet, looking solemn. “For nine generations, my family has been born and has died in service to the Fieldings, miss. I expect to carry on that proud tradition.”

“Oh,” Victoria said, carefully suppressing a chuckle at his profound pride in holding a job that seemed to entail nothing more important than opening and closing doors for people.

As if he read her thoughts, he added stiffly, “If you have any problems with the staff, miss, bring them to me. As head of the household, I will endeavor to see that they are rectified immediately.”

“I’m certain I won’t need to do that. Everyone here is very efficient,” Victoria said kindly. Too efficient, she thought as she wandered into the sunshine.

She walked across the front lawns, then shifted direction and went around the side of the house, intending to visit the stables to see the horses. With a half-formed idea of using apples to befriend them, Victoria went round to the back and asked directions to the kitchen.

The gigantic kitchen was filled with frantically busy people who were rolling out dough on wooden tables, stirring kettles, and chopping vegetables. In the center of the bedlam, an enormously fat man in a spotless white apron the size of a tablecloth stood like a frenzied monarch, waving a long-handled spoon and shouting instructions in French and English. “Excuse me,” Victoria said to the woman at the nearest table. “May I have two apples and two carrots if you can spare them?”

The woman glanced uncertainly at the man in the white apron, who was glowering at Victoria; then she disappeared into another room adjoining the kitchen, returning a minute later with the apples and carrots. “Thank you, ah—?” Victoria said.

“Mrs. Northrup, miss,” the woman said uneasily.

“How nice,” Victoria replied with a sweet smile. “I’ve already met your husband, the butler, but he didn’t tell me you worked here, also.”

“Mr. Northrup is my brother-in-law,” she corrected.

“Oh, I see,” Victoria said, sensing the woman’s reluctance to talk in front of the moody fat man, who seemed to be in charge. “Well, good day, Mrs. Northrup.”

A flagstone path bordered by woods on the right led to the stables. Victoria walked along, admiring the splendid vista of rolling, clipped lawns and lavish gardens on her left, when a sudden movement a few yards away on her right made her stop short and stare. At the perimeter of the woods, a huge gray animal was foraging about in what appeared to be a small compost pile. The animal caught her scent and raised its head, its feral gaze locking with hers, and Victoria’s blood froze. Wolf! her mind screamed.

Paralyzed with terror, she stood rooted to the spot, afraid to move or make a sound, while her benumbed brain registered haphazard facts about the terrifying beast. The wolf’s heavy gray coat was mangy-looking and thick, but not thick enough to hide its protruding ribs; it had terribly large jaws; its eyes were fierce.... Judging from the animal’s grotesque gauntness, it appeared to be nearly starved to death. Which meant it would attack and eat anything it could catch— including herself. Victoria took a tiny, cautious step backward toward the safety of the house.

The animal snarled, its upper lip curling back, baring a set of huge white fangs to her view. Victoria reacted automatically, hurling her apples and carrots to him in a desperate effort to distract him from his obvious intention of eating her. Instead of pouncing on the missiles she’d thrown at him, as she expected him to, the animal jerked away from its garden feast and bolted into the woods with its tail between its legs. Victoria spun on her heel and raced into the house via the nearest back door, then ran to a window and peeked out at the woods. The wolf was standing just inside the perimeter of the trees, hungrily staring at the compost pile.

“Is something wrong, miss?” a footman asked, coming up behind her on his way toward the kitchen.

“I saw an animal,” Victoria said breathlessly. “I think it was a—” She watched as the gray beast trotted stealthily back to the garden and gobbled the apples and carrots; then it ran back into the woods, its bushy tail still between its legs. The animal was frightened! she realized. And starved. “Do you have any dogs around here?” she asked, suddenly wondering if she’d been about to make a mistake that would make her appear exceedingly foolish.

“Yes, miss—several of ‘em.”

“Are any of them big, thin, and black and gray in color?”

“That’d be his lordship’s old dog, Willie,” he said. “He’s always around here, beggin‘ fer somethin’ to eat. He ain’t mean, if that’s worryin‘ you. Did you see him?”

“Yes,” Victoria said, growing angry as she remembered how the starved creature had been gobbling spoiled vegetables from the compost pile as if they were beefsteaks. “And he’s nearly starved. Someone ought to feed the poor thing.”

“Willie always acts like he’s starved,” the footman replied with complete indifference. “His lordship says if he eats any more, he’ll be too fat to walk.”

“If he eats any less, he’ll be too weak to live,” Victoria retorted angrily. She could perfectly imagine that heartless man starving his own dog. How pathetic the animal looked with his ribs sticking out like that—how gruesome! She went back to the kitchen and requested another apple, some carrots, and a plate of table scraps.

Despite her sympathy, Victoria had to fight down her fear of the animal as she neared the compost pile and spotted him watching her from his hiding place just inside the woods. It was a dog, not a wolf, she could see that now. Remembering the footman’s assurance that the dog wasn’t vicious, Victoria walked as close to him as she dared and held out the plate of scraps. “Here, Willie,” she said softly. “I’ve brought you some good food.” Timidly, she took another step forward. Willie laid his ears back and bared his ivory fangs at her, and Victoria lost her courage. She put the plate down and fled toward the stables.

She dined with Charles that night, and since Jason was again absent, the meal was delightful; but when it was over and Charles retired, she again found herself with time on her hands. Other than her trip to the stables and her adventure with Willie, she had done nothing today except wander aimlessly around with nothing to do. Tomorrow, she decided happily, she would go to work. She was used to being busy and she desperately needed something more to fill her empty hours. She hadn’t mentioned to Charles her intention of earning her keep, but she was certain that when he found out, he would be relieved that she was carrying her own weight and sparing him future tongue-lashings from his ill-tempered nephew.

She went up to her room and spent the rest of the evening trying to write a cheerful, optimistic letter to Dorothy.