AMPSHIRE

STONY CROSS PARK

Hannah had never expected to have the opportunity to see Stony Cross Park. Invitations to Lord West-cliff's famed country estate were not easy to obtain. Located in the southern county of Hampshire, Stony Cross Park was reputed to have some of the finest acreage in England. The variety of flowering fields, fertile wet meadows, bogs and ancient forests made it a beautiful and sought-after place to visit. Generations of the same families had been invited to the same annual events and parties. To be excluded from the guest list would have resulted in the most inconsolable outrage.

"And just think," Natalie had mused on the long carriage ride from London. "If I marry Lord Westcliff's brother-in-law, I will be able to visit Stony Cross Park any time I wish!"

"All for the price of having Mr. Bowman as your husband," Hannah said dryly. Although she had not told Lord and Lady Blandford about the stolen kiss, she had made it clear that she did not believe Bowman would be a suitable partner for Natalie. The Blandfords, however, had counseled her to reserve judgment until they all became better acquainted with him.

Lady Blandford, as blond and lovely and ebullient as her daughter, caught her breath as Stony Cross Manor loomed in the distance. The house was European in design, built of honey-colored stone with four graceful towers so tall they seemed about to pierce holes in the early evening sky, which was washed with an orange and lavender sunset.

Set on a bluff by the Itchen River, Stony Cross Manor was fantastically landscaped with gardens and orchards, riding courses, and magnificent walking paths that led through massive tracts of forest and parkland. Owing to Hampshire's felicitous southern location, the climate was milder than the rest of England.

"Oh, Natalie," Lady Blandford exclaimed, "to think of being affiliated with such a family! And as a Bowman, you could have your own country manor, and a London house, and a villa on the Continent, not to mention your own carriage and team of four, and the most beautiful gowns and jewels..."

"Heavens, are the Bowmans that rich?" Natalie asked with a touch of surprise. "And will Mr. Bowman inherit the majority of the family business?"

"A handsome portion of it, to be sure," Lord Blandford replied, smiling at his daughter's bright-eyed interest. "He has his own wealth, and the promise of much more to come. Mr.Bowman the elder has indicated that upon your betrothal to his son, there will be rich rewards for both of you."

"I should think so," Natalie said pragmatically, "since it would be a comedown for me to marry a commoner when I could just as easily have a peer." There was no disparagement or arrogance intended in her statement. It was a fact that some doors would be open to a peer's wife that would never be open to the wife of an American manufacturer.

As the carriage stopped before the manor entrance, Hannah noticed that the estate was laid out in the French manner, with the stables located at the front of the house instead of being concealed to the side or behind it. The stables were housed in a building with huge arched doorways, forming one side of a stone-flagged entrance courtyard.

Footmen helped them from the carriage, and Westcliff's stablemen came to help with the horses. More servants hurried to collect the trunks and valises. An elderly butler admitted them into the massive entrance hall, where regiments were going back and forth; housemaids with baskets of linens, footmen with crates and boxes, and others engaged in cleaning, polishing, and sweeping.

"Lord and Lady Blandford!" Lillian came to them, looking radiant in a dark red gown, her sable hair neatly confined in a snood made of jeweled netting. With her brilliant smile and relaxed friendliness, she was so engaging that Hannah understood why the famously dignified earl of Westcliff had married her. Lillian bowed to them, and they responded in kind.

"Welcome to Stony Cross Park," Lillian said. "I hope your journey was comfortable? Please excuse the clamor and bustle, we're desperately trying to prepare for the hordes of guests who will pour in tomorrow. After you refresh yourselves, you must come to the main parlor. My parents are there, and of course my brother, and—" She broke off as she saw Natalie. "My dear Lady Natalie." Her voice softened. "I have so looked forward to meeting you. We will do everything possible to make certain you have a lovely holiday."

"Thank you, my lady," Natalie replied demurely. "I have no doubt it will be splendid." She smiled at Lillian. "My companion told me there will be a Christmas tree."

"Fourteen feet high," Lillian said enthusiastically. "We're having a devil of a... that is, a most difficult time decorating it, as the top branches are impossible to reach. But we have extending ladders and many tall footmen, so we will prevail." She turned to Hannah. "Miss Appleton. A pleasure to see you again."

"Thank you, my—" Hannah paused as she realized that Lillian had extended her hand. Bemusedly Hannah reached out to take it, and gave her a quizzical glance.

The countess winked at her, and Hannah realized she was being teased. She burst out laughing at the private joke, and returned the warm pressure of Lillian's fingers.

"In light of your remarkable tolerance for the Bowmans," Lillian told her, "you must come to the parlor too."

"Yes, my lady."

The housekeeper came to show them to their rooms, leading them across what seemed to be miles of flooring.

"Hannah, why did Lady Westcliff shake your hand?" Natalie whispered. "And why did you both seem to find it so amusing?"

NATALIE AND HANNAH WERE TO SHARE A ROOM, WITH NATALIE occupying the main bed and Hannah sleeping in a cozy antechamber. The room was beautifully appointed with flowered paper on the walls and mahogany furniture, and a bed with a lace canopy.

While Natalie washed her hands and face, Hannah found a clean day dress for her and shook it out. The dress was a becoming shade of blue, with a dropped shoulder line filled in with lace, and long slim-fitting sleeves. Smiling in anticipation of meeting the Bowmans, Natalie sat before the vanity mirror while Hannah brushed and repinned her coiffure. After making certain that Natalie's appearance was perfect, her nose lightly dusted with powder, her lips smoothed with rosewater salve, Hannah went to her own valise and began to rummage through it.

Lady Blandford appeared in the doorway, looking refreshed and poised. "Come, girls," she said serenely. "It is time for us to join the company downstairs."

"A few more minutes, Mama," Natalie said. "Hannah hasn't yet changed her dress or tidied her hair."

"We mustn't keep everyone waiting," Lady Blandford insisted. "Come as you are, Hannah. No one will notice."

"Yes, ma'am," Hannah said obediently, concealing a pang of dismay. Her traveling clothes were dusty, and her hair was threatening to fall from its pins. She did not want to face the Bowmans and the Westcliffs in this condition. "I would prefer to stay up here and help the maids to unpack the trunks—"

"No," Lady Blandford said with an impatient sigh. "Ordinarily I would agree, but the countess requested your presence. You must come as you are, Hannah, and try to be unassuming."

"Yes, ma'am." Hannah pushed the straggles of loose hair back from her face and dashed to the washstand to splash her face. Water spots made little dark patches on her traveling gown. Groaning inwardly, she followed Natalie and Lady Blandford from the room.

"I'm sorry," Natalie whispered to her, frowning. "We shouldn't have taken so much time getting me ready."

"Nonsense," Hannah murmured, reaching out to pat her arm. "You're the one everyone wants to see. Lady Blandford is right—no one will notice me."

The house was beautifully ornamented, the windows swathed in gold silk edged with dangling gold tinsel balls, the doorways surmounted by swags of beribboned evergreens and holly and ivy. Tables were loaded with candles and arrangements of everlasting flowers such as chrysanthemums and Christmas roses and camellias. And someone, slyly, had adorned several doorways with kissing balls hung with evergreen ropes.

Glancing at the bunches of mistletoe, Hannah felt a stab of nervousness as she thought of Rafe Bowman. Calm yourself, she thought with a self-deprecating grin, glancing down at her disheveled dress. He certainly won't try to kiss you now, not even beneath a cartload of mistletoe.

They entered the main parlor, a large and comfortably furnished room with a game table, and piles of books and periodicals, a pianoforte, a standing sewing hoop, and a small secretary desk.

The first person Hannah noticed was Marcus, Lord West-cliff, a man with an imposing and powerful presence that was unusual for a man still only in his thirties. As he stood to meet them, Hannah saw that the earl was only of medium height, but he was superbly fit and self-assured. Westcliff carried himself with the ease of a man who was entirely comfortable with his own authority.

While Lillian made the introductions, Hannah shrank back into the corner of the room, observing the scene. She stared discreetly at the Bowmans as they met the Blandfords.

Thomas Bowman was stout, short, and ruddy, his mouth overhung with a large walruslike mustache. And his shining head was adorned with a toupee that seemed ready to jump off his scalp and flee the room.

His wife Mercedes, on the other hand, was whippet-thin and brittle, with hard eyes and a smile that fractured her face like cracks in a frozen pond. The only thing the pair seemed to have in common was a sense of dissatisfaction with life and each other, as if it were a blanket they both huddled under.

The Bowman children resembled each other far more than either parent, both of them tall and irreverent and relaxed. It seemed they had been formed by some magical combination of just the right features from both parents.

Hannah watched covertly as Lillian introduced Rafe Bowman to Natalie. She could not see Natalie's expression, but she had an excellent view of Bowman. His strapping form was clad in a perfectly fitted dark coat, and gray trousers, and a crisp white shirt with a neatly knotted black cravat. He bowed to Natalie and murmured something that elicited a breathless laugh. There was no denying it—with his unvarnished masculinity and bold dark eyes, Rafe Bowman was, to put it in a popular slang term, a stunner.

Hannah wondered what he thought of her cousin. Bowman's face was unreadable, but she was certain that he could find no fault with Natalie.

As everyone in the room made small talk, Hannah inched toward the door. If at all possible, she was going to slip from the room unnoticed. The open threshold beckoned invitingly, promising freedom. Oh, it would be lovely to escape to her room, and change into clean clothes and brush out her hair in privacy. But just as she reached the doorway, she heard Rafe Bowman's deep voice.

"Miss Appleton. Surely you won't deprive us of your charming company."

Hannah stopped abruptly and turned to find the collective gaze on her, just at the moment she least wanted attention. She longed to glare at Bowman. No, she longed to kill him. Instead, she adopted a neutral expression and murmured, "Good afternoon, Mr. Bowman."

Lillian called to her immediately. "Miss Appleton, do come forward. I want to introduce you to my husband."

Repressing a heavy sigh, Hannah pushed back the locks that dangled over her face and came forward.

"Westcliff," Lillian said to her husband. "This is Lady Natalie's companion, Miss Hannah Appleton."

Hannah bowed and glanced apprehensively at the earl. His features were dark and austere, perhaps a bit forbidding. But as his gaze rested on her face, she saw that his eyes were kind. He spoke in a gravel-in-velvet voice that fell pleasantly on her ears. "Welcome, Miss Appleton."

"Thank you, my lord," she said. "And many thanks for allowing me to spend the holiday here."

"The countess enjoyed your company at tea last week," Westcliff replied, smiling briefly at Lillian. "Anyone who pleases her also pleases me." The smile transformed him, warming his face.

Lillian spoke to her husband with breezy casualness, as if he were a mere mortal man instead of England's most distinguished peer. "Westcliff, I think you will want to talk to Miss Appleton about her work with Mr. Samuel Clark." She glanced at Hannah as she added, "The earl has read some of his writings, and quite enjoyed them."

"Oh, I do not work with Mr. Clark," Hannah said hastily, "but rather for him, in a secretarial capacity." She gave the earl a cautious smile. "I am a bit surprised that you would have read anything by Mr. Clark, my lord."

"I am acquainted with many progressive theorists of London," Westcliff said. "What is Mr. Clark working on now?"

"Currently he is writing a speculative book on what natural laws might govern the development of the human mind."

"I would like to hear more about that during supper."

"Yes, my lord."

Lillian proceeded to introduce Hannah to her parents, who responded with pleasant nods. It was clear, however, that they had already dismissed Hannah as a person of no consequence.

"Rafe," the countess suggested to her brother, "perhaps you might take Lady Blandford and Lady Natalie on a walk round the house before supper."

"Oh, yes," Natalie said at once. "May we, Mama?"

"That sounds lovely," Lady Blandford said.

Bowman smiled at them both. "It would be my pleasure." He turned to Hannah. "Will you come also, Miss Appleton?"

"No," she said quickly, and then realized her refusal had been a shade too forceful. She softened her tone. "I will tour the manor later, thank you."

His gaze swept over her and returned to her face. "My services may not be available then."

She stiffened at the feather-soft jeer in his voice, but she couldn't seem to break their shared gaze. In the warm parlor light, his eyes held glints of gold and cinnamon-brown. "Then somehow I will have to make do without you, Mr. Bowman," she replied tartly, and he grinned.

"YOU DIDN'T TELL ME THAT MR. BOWMAN WAS SO HANDSOME," Natalie said after supper. The hour was late, and the long journey from London, followed by a lengthy repast, had left both girls exhausted. They had retired to their room while the company downstairs lingered over tea and port.

Although the menu had been exquisite, featuring dishes such as roasted capon stuffed with truffles, and herb-crusted standing ribs of beef, supper had been an uncomfortable affair for Hannah. She was well aware of her own disheveled appearance, having found barely enough time to wash and change into a fresh gown before she'd had to dash to the dining hall. To her dismay, Lord Westcliff had persisted in asking her questions about Samuel Clark's work, which had drawn more unwanted attention to her. And all the while Rafe Bowman had kept glancing at her with a kind of audacious, unsettling interest that she could only interpret as mockery.

Forcing her thoughts back to the present, Hannah watched as Natalie sat before the vanity and pulled the combs and pins from her hair. "I suppose Mr. Bowman could be considered attractive," Hannah said reluctantly. "If one likes that sort of man."

"You mean the tall, dark-haired, dazzling sort?"

"He's not dazzling," Hannah protested.

Natalie laughed. "Mr. Bowman is one of the most splendidly formed men I have ever encountered. What flaw could you possibly find in his appearance?"

"His posture," Hannah muttered.

"What about it?"

"He slouches."

"He's an American. They all slouch. The weight of their wallets drags them over."

Hannah couldn't prevent a laugh. "Natalie, are you more attracted by the man himself or the size of his wallet?"

"He has many personal attractions, to be sure. A full head of hair... those lovely dark eyes... not to mention the impressive physique." Natalie picked up a brush and drew it slowly through her hair. "But I wouldn't want him if he was poor."

"Is there any man you would want if he was poor?" Hannah asked.

"Well, if I had to be poor, I'd rather be married to a peer. That's far better than being a nobody."

"I doubt Mr. Bowman will ever be poor," Hannah said. "He seems to have acquitted himself quite well in his financial dealings. He is a successful man, though I fear not an honorable one."

"Oh, he's a rascal, to be sure," Natalie agreed with a light laugh.

Tensing, Hannah met her cousin's gaze in the mirror. "Why do you say that? Has he said or done anything inappropriate?"

"No, and I don't expect him to, with the betrothal still on the table. But he has a sort of perpetual irreverence... one wonders if he could ever be sincere about anything at all."

"Perhaps it's a façade," Hannah suggested without conviction. "Perhaps he's a different man inside."

"Most people don't have façades," Natalie said dryly. "Oh, everyone thinks they do, but when you dig past the façade, there's only more façade."

"Some people are genuine."

"And those people are the dullest ones of all."

"I'm genuine," Hannah protested.

"Yes. You'll have to work on that, dear. When you're genuine, there's no mystery. And above all men like mystery in a woman."

Hannah smiled and shook her head. "Duly noted. I'm off to bed now." After changing into a white ruffled nightgown, she went into the little antechamber and crawled into the clean soft bed. After a moment, she heard Natalie murmur, "Good night, dear," and the lamp was extinguished.

Tucking one arm beneath her pillow, Hannah lay on her side and pondered Natalie's words.

There was no doubt that Natalie was right—Hannah had nothing close to an air of mystery.

She also had no noble blood, no dowry, no great beauty, no skill or abilities that might distinguish her. And aside from the Blandfords, she had no notable connections. But she had a warm heart and a good mind, and decent looks. And she had dreams, attainable ones, of having a home and family of her own someday.

It had not escaped Hannah that in Natalie's privileged world, people expected to find happiness and love outside of marriage. But her fondest wish for Natalie was that she would end up with a husband with whom she could share some likeness of mind and heart.

And at this point, it was still highly questionable as to whether Rafe Bowman even had a heart.