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scarcely reproach George even if I knew for sure that it had been him in the closet with Mrs Thorpe. I was entirely dependent on him and had no right to criticize his behaviour to his face whatever misgivings I might have in private.
    I began to long for the peace and quiet of Fairfield. Onlyone thing made me want to prolong our sojourn at Lovegrove. The Denbys, however, obviously intended our visit to be extended indefinitely; George seemed more than happy to stay on and Sophie was enjoying herself.
    The two young men were understandably more restless. Frank Lawrence announced that he had promised to stay with some friends in Derby for a few days, so off he went. A day later Rowland said he intended to visit a Cambridge friend in the next county who had a horse for sale. He would probably be gone for a day or two. I fancy his mother was rather annoyed by this as she saw it as an interruption to his courtship of Sophie but I heard him say in a loud whisper, ‘Don’t worry Mama, absence makes the heart grow fonder.’
    Without Frank and Rowland the atmosphere of the party changed subtly. Perhaps this was due to women now outnumbering men. Louisa Thorpe could continue her pursuit of George without the critical eye of her nephew. Sophie noticed it too and remarked that she disliked that Thorpe woman, who seemed far too interested in Papa.
    ‘She’d never succeed in marrying him, though – he’d never give me a stepmother I hated.’
    I was not so sure.
    It seemed to me that Sophie missed Rowland a little; she seemed restless and bored despite efforts to amuse her. One morning I borrowed the Denbys’ gig and drove her into Ashdale. We had, of course, been there before with Lady Denby but shops are always an attraction for girls and we had more time and freedom on our own.
    ‘Look!’ cried Sophie. ‘Isn’t that Rowland Webb at that cottage door?’
    A tall young man in a bright blue coat and buff breechesstood with his back to us on the other side of the street. It certainly looked like him from the rear. The door opened and he removed his hat, revealing fair hair cut in the most fashionable style.
    ‘Can it really be Rowland?’ said Sophie. ‘He’s supposed to be visiting a Cambridge friend near Nottingham.’
    ‘He could have come over here for some reason. Perhaps we can find out who lives there,’ I said.
    The opportunity arose when we visited a milliner’s shop only a few doors away from the cottage. Sophie bought a new straw bonnet and I engaged the shop’s proprietor in conversation.
    ‘We thought we saw a friend visiting one of the cottages a little further along from here – a green front door. Probably a charitable errand. Do you know who lives there?’
    ‘That would be Mrs Deane. She takes in lodgers. She’s only got one at the moment – a young woman, I believe.’
    Sophie looked up at me, shocked. ‘We could have been mistaken, of course.’
    ‘I’m sure we were.’ But I remembered Elinor’s strange behaviour at the Unicorn and wondered if there was any connection.

    Several days passed by and the weather settled again, though not as hot as before. For me the most enjoyable events of that time were my occasional meetings with Colonel Hartley. He came to dinner again, as he did regularly every week, and on another afternoon we drove over to dinner at his house. Shelbourne was less than a hundred years old and not particularly large or interesting compared with Lovegrove but I liked it far better. It was light and cheerfuland although portraits of Colonel Hartley’s dead wife and son reminded us of tragedy, the atmosphere was not overlaid with ancient gloom.
    ‘I could live here quite happily,’ I thought and hastily told myself I was thinking about the house and not its inhabitants.
    Frank returned and so, a day later, did Rowland. The latter was asked if he had bought the horse that interested him.
    ‘No – I tried riding him but he didn’t handle well. Not worth what Logan was