awoke feeling far from rested. Betsy had been all legs and arms in the night, and I was sure she had caused at least a few of the bruises I felt. She must have awakened before me, for she was not in the room, and I was tempted to fall back onto my pillow and sleep some more. But there were things that only I could take care of, and I couldn’t put them off any longer.

So I blinked against the bright morning sunlight, stretched, and sat up, groaning as I did. My body hurt everywhere. The door opened quietly and Betsy tiptoed in. When she saw me awake, though, she shut the door and hurried to plop down onto the bed beside me.

“Miss Marianne,” she cried, bumping into my sore shoulder. I winced. “I am so sorry I fell asleep before you last night, but there was nothing so shocking as shooting at that man, and I declare I do believe I hit him, although I am not entirely sure as it was so dark last night.” She paused to draw in a breath, and I quickly interrupted before she could start up again.

“No, Betsy, please don’t apologize for anything. Now, if you will please help me dress, I must see to James.”

“Oh, of course, miss, but you needn’t worry about James because a woman came here early this morning saying she was sent to offer her nursing services and she has taken over the sickroom as if she owned it.”

“A nurse?” I pulled my gown over my head. “But... who is she? I have not had a chance to speak to anyone about it. Did the doctor send for her?”

“Oh, no. He was here when she arrived and seemed quite as surprised as the rest of us.”

I dressed quickly, ignoring my protesting muscles, and walked across the hall to the room James had been in. The door stood open and a small, plump woman bent over the bed. She turned at the sound of my footsteps and hurried to the door.

“Ah, you must be the young lady he spoke of,” she said in a soft voice. “Much too young to be taking care of such things. I can see he was right, yes, he certainly was. Now, don’t worry about a thing, I have everything under control.”

I blinked in surprise. “Thank you, I am very grateful you have come...” I paused, waiting for her name.

“Oh, pardon me, I’ve forgotten my manners. I’m Mrs. Nutley.” She bobbed a curtsy, holding out her skirt with clean, small hands. Her round, rosy cheeks jiggled a little with the movement. Her brown hair was pulled into a neat bun. I liked her immensely.

“I am so happy to meet you,” I said, “and so grateful to have your help. But if I may ask—who engaged your services?”

She pursed her heart-shaped mouth and clasped her hands together. “No, no, I cannot tell, I promised I would not. And you mustn’t question me any further, my dear, for I do hate to be impolite, but I must keep my promise.”

I rocked back in surprise. “Well, then...” I was at a loss for words. I looked over her shoulder and saw James in bed, looking pale, his eyes closed. “How is the patient?”

She put her arm around me and nudged me out the door. “He is well, but resting right now. Go on downstairs, and please don’t worry about a thing. I have it all under control, and you will be able to say good-bye to him later.” She smiled, her red cheeks like apples beneath her merry eyes.

I felt no qualms about leaving James in her care. But as I went downstairs, the mystery of who had arranged for her service bothered me. It was like when Philip had refused to tell me his full name last night. That still bothered me as well, now that I thought about it.

I found the innkeeper in the taproom and asked if I might have my breakfast served to me in the parlor. I tried to sound nonchalant as I asked, “Do you know the name of the gentleman who dined with me last night?”

His expression was instantly guarded. “I don’t know who you mean, miss.”

Before I could respond, he made a hasty retreat into the kitchen. I looked after him, puzzled by his reaction. It appeared the mystery would continue a bit longer.

I made my way to the parlor, finding the room bright and sunny. In the center of the table stood a vase of fresh wildflowers, and propped up next to the vase was a letter with “Miss Marianne Daventry” written in a strong, elegant hand across the front. I picked it up and turned it over, examining the seal in the red wax on the back. It was a crest, but one I did not recognize. I broke the seal and opened the letter.

I stared at the letter in surprise. This was impossible! I had refused his assistance, and still he had persisted in giving it. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. To go to so much trouble to help me was very kind, I had to admit. But then there was his closing—your obedient servant. I could easily imagine him laughing as he wrote the words.

I was still flustered when the innkeeper’s wife entered with my breakfast. I looked up from the letter. “Do you know the name of the gentleman who stayed here last night?”

She shot me a strange look. “No gentleman stayed here last night.”

What was this? I held up the letter as proof that I had not imagined him. “There was a gentleman who dined with me. He caught me when I fainted?”

“He did not stay the night, miss.” She set the dishes on the table with a rough clatter. “He left close to midnight.”

That seemed strange. Why would he travel so late? Why not sleep here and start his journey in the morning?

The innkeeper’s wife turned to the door, and I called out.

“Wait. Do you know his name?”

“I’m not at liberty to say, miss, and I’ll not take any badgering, not after the night I had and the morning too.” She glared at me, as if daring me to argue with her, and then quickly left the room. I stared after her with wide eyes. This was the strangest inn I had ever known.

I reread the letter as I ate breakfast, feeling more irritated with Philip with every passing moment. I convinced Betsy to take a walk with me to pass the time, and, later, I sat for a while at James’s bedside, until Mrs. Nutley shooed me away. Finally a knock sounded at the parlor door. It was the innkeeper, coming to tell me that a coach was here to collect me.

The coachman stood in the taproom. He doffed his hat when he saw me. “Pleased to be of service, miss.”

“Thank you. But before we go anywhere, I must ask you who engaged your services.” I was determined to discover Philip’s identity from someone. This was my last hope.

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, miss.”

I glared at him. “Do you mean to tell me that you are not at liberty to disclose the person’s identity?”

“Yes, miss.”

I huffed. “Very well. If you refuse to tell me, then I refuse to go with you.” I heard how childish I sounded, but I did not care. That Philip was too much, making everyone play along with his little mystery and making me the object of his game. I could imagine everyone here laughing at me behind my back.

The coachman cleared his throat. “I was warned that I might encounter such a response, in which case I am to forcibly put you in the carriage myself.”

I gasped. “He did not.”

“He did.” He allowed himself a very small smile.

My frustration turned to anger. Philip was a heavy-handed, impertinent, odious man! What right had he to meddle so much in my affairs? I turned on my heel and tried not to stomp my feet as I climbed the stairs. Betsy was just finishing packing our things. I said good-bye to James, who assured me he was perfectly content to stay right where he was for the time being.

The last thing I had to do was to settle our bill with the innkeeper. When I approached him with my reticule, however, he said, “No, miss, I’m not to take it. I’ve already been paid handsomely for your stay as well as for anything your coachman might need.”

I seethed. “I see the gentleman who was here last night thought of everything.”

The innkeeper hefted my trunk and gave me a big smile. “Aye, that’s right.”

I muttered insults about Philip under my breath as I climbed into the carriage with Betsy. As we drove away, I was glad to leave behind the strange inn and everyone I had met. In fact, I hoped I would never have to see these people again. Especially Philip. Though if I did, he would surely get an earful from me.

After stewing for a few miles, I decided that I would not let that man ruin the rest of my journey. My twin sister and a marvelous time were awaiting me, and I wanted to forget about everything that had happened yesterday. So I took a deep breath, pushed aside my frustration, and watched the countryside roll by.

This carriage was much more comfortable than Grandmother’s, and I did not feel half as ill as I had yesterday. Betsy spent a good part of the ride guessing what Edenbrooke would look like and what the Wyndhams would be like. I smiled indulgently, listening with half an ear to her prattle. Her conversation rarely required a response.

I sometimes wondered what it would be like to have a quiet maid who knew her place and who did not bother me with her constant chatter. But I could not imagine dismissing Betsy. When my father had arranged for me to go to Bath, Grandmother had insisted I come with a maid. Betsy, the daughter of one of my father’s tenant farmers, was chosen. It had been a great comfort to me to have somebody from home, even if she was often aggravating.

We traveled through the afternoon, until Betsy ran out of conversation and my sore body protested against the bumps in the road. When we finally pulled off the road onto a long drive leading through woods, I sat forward, eager to see our final destination. But the trees kept us from seeing much of anything until we crested a small hill.

“Oh, stop, please!” I called to the coachman. I climbed out of the carriage and stood looking down on what I was sure was Edenbrooke.

The house was impressively large, stately, and perfectly symmetrical, built out of cream-colored stone and surrounded by beautifully manicured gardens. Giant trees dotted the expanse of grass, the green so brilliant in the sunlight that I had to squint to look at it. A river ran through the estate, behind the house, and I saw a beautifully arched stone bridge spanning the water. Farmland spread out beyond it like a peacock’s tail, with neat fences and hedges and productive fields stretching as far as the eye could see.

“Oh,” I heard Betsy sigh with pleasure, and then she was silent. For Betsy to be silenced by beauty meant a great deal, and I smiled in agreement. Edenbrooke appeared to be everything one would want in an estate.

“It is a beauty, to be sure,” the coachman said. “Best farmland in the county.”

I thought of my own home in Surrey. It was very modest by comparison, with only two floors and eighteen rooms. My father owned a few hundred acres of land, which was worked by tenant farmers, but his holding looked like child’s play in comparison to the grand estate of Edenbrooke. It surely took a competent hand to manage all of this. My estimation of my host rose considerably. Cecily had certainly chosen well for herself. What a privilege to be able to stay here for any length of time.

I climbed back inside the carriage, even more eager to arrive. As we rode down the hill and approached the house, I experienced a sense of coming home after being gone for a long time. It was a nonsensical feeling, for this elegant place bore no resemblance to my home. But still, I felt as if I already loved every blade of grass, every tree, every neat hedge and wild rose.

I shook my head in an effort to clear it. I was, no doubt, still suffering from shock due to the horrific events of last night. My mind was coming unhinged because of fatigue. I was only imagining this sense of homecoming—this urgency to be here at last.

The large front door opened as the coach pulled through the curving drive and came to a halt. A footman emerged from the house and opened the carriage door, offering a gloved hand to help me descend. I had no sooner touched ground than I heard a feminine voice greet me. I looked up, expecting to see Cecily’s golden hair and bright blue eyes. But the lady approaching me with outstretched hands could be no one but Lady Caroline. She was tall and slim. Her brown hair was lightly shadowed with gray, and her eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled at me.

“I should have invited you long ago,” she said. “I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’ve come. May I call you Marianne?”

“Y-yes, of course you may,” I stammered, surprised by her familiar air. But then, she and my mother had been close friends for much of their lives—almost like sisters. I felt, in her request, that she was inviting me not just into her home, but into her family. I found that I liked the idea very well.

“I have been so anxious about your safety since learning of your mishap last night. I could hardly believe it!” She put an arm around my shoulders and walked me toward the door. “A highwayman, in this area? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

So Philip had evidently written more in his letter than simply my expected time of arrival. This seemed the perfect opportunity to ask his identity, but it struck me that it would seem very strange to admit that I had dined alone with a man last night without even knowing who he was. I hesitated, afraid Lady Caroline might think less of me if she found out, and then I lost my opportunity, for we entered the house.

As soon as I stepped inside, I had to stop and stare. The entryway was three stories high, light and airy, with windows letting in slants of sunlight that fell on white marble floors. I tipped my head back to take in the paintings that stretched up to the high ceiling. A butler and a housekeeper stood at attention, and several footmen lined up before the grand staircase.

I gulped, feeling quite small and inexperienced in the midst of all this stately grandeur.

Lady Caroline led me upstairs to a bedchamber on the second floor. The room was decorated in blue, with a large bed, a writing desk by the window, and an overstuffed chair by the fireplace. Through the window I could see a beautiful view of the river and the bridge that I had seen from the coach. The room was both elegant and comfortable, and I felt an immediate desire to call this place home.

I suddenly remembered who did plan on calling this place home. “I should have asked earlier,” I said, “but where might I find Cecily?”

“There was a masquerade ball that she and Louisa could not bear the thought of missing. My son William and his wife, Rachel, live in London, and the girls are staying with them. They’ll bring them here within the week.”

“Oh.” How awkward to be here a week before Cecily. “I hope I’m not imposing.”

“Of course not. We are happy to have you.” She seemed sincere, but I still felt embarrassed by the circumstances. It would be so much more comfortable to have Cecily here with me. Then Lady Caroline added, “My sister and her husband are also staying here while they have some work done on their house. So you will not be the only guest.”

I relaxed a little at the news. After making sure the room was just as it should be, Lady Caroline suggested I rest from my journey and then invited me to join them in the drawing room before dinner, which would be in one hour.

Lady Caroline left the room, but I did not think I could rest if I wanted to. Betsy was unpacking my clothing and prattling on about how beautiful and grand everything was. I only gave her half my attention, the other half intent on seeing as much from my bedroom window as I could. The grounds looked so inviting, and I really only needed a half hour to change for dinner.

I quickly made up my mind. “I’m going to explore the gardens. I’ll return shortly,” I told Betsy as I rushed from the room. I heard her call after me, but I ignored her and hurried down the stairs. I did not have time to search for a door leading into the back of the estate, so I slipped quietly out the front door and walked around the side of the house. I was determined to see the river and that lovely bridge.

It was farther from the house than I had expected, but it was well worth the effort. The water ran clear over a rocky bed, and I saw a few fish swim by. I turned to the bridge, which was made of old stone with tall Grecian arches supporting the roof overhead. I sighed as I ran my hand over the stones. Even the bridges here were beautiful.

I looked back at the house, trying to gauge how long I had been gone. Probably ten minutes. Which meant I had another few minutes to explore. I crossed the bridge, my footsteps ringing on the stones. The land on the other side of the bridge was wilder, not as smooth or neatly manicured, which suited my tastes just fine.

Oh, how I had missed living in the country! I walked along the riverbank a short ways, but knew I had to turn back soon. I told myself I would have plenty of time—an entire summer—to explore and enjoy this paradise. For that was exactly what it seemed to me. After more than a year in a cobblestoned city, I felt like a bird that had just been released from a cage. To finally be free and in the country again!

In my rapture, I closed my eyes, tipped my head back, and twirled with my arms outstretched, wanting to take in everything, with every sense. It was so glorious! It was so divine! It was so... muddy!

My eyes flew open as my feet slipped out from beneath me. I cried out as I hit the ground, my momentum sending me rolling down the embankment. I landed with a splash in the cold water.