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to check on his sister in spite of what she’d said. Apparently it was not enough for the Barringtons to own her father’s manor house; now they were intent on trespassing in her own small cottage. Well, she would not tolerate that, even if it meant the end of the greater part of her very limited income. She would open a village school before she would allow the Earl of Kinsford to dictate to her what he intended to do in her own house.
    When another knock came at the door, she was strongly disposed to tell Meg to ignore it. She was not in the mood to handle any more Barringtons. But it was only a neighbor bringing calves’ foot jelly for the invalid, someone who wished only to be helpful. When the woman had gone, Clarissa wandered to the sitting room and found Aria indeed sound asleep.
    The girl looked quite beautiful lying there with her hand tucked up under her cheek. The swelling on her head had come down considerably. No danger now of having to shave an area to rub in Dr. Lawrence’s lotion. Clarissa tucked the covers gently around the resting child and decided she’d best take her constitutional now before anyone else arrived.
    Giving strict instructions to Meg that no one was to disturb the girl while she slept, Clarissa donned her blue pelisse and cottage bonnet. If she’d had to give up riding when the manor was sold, she had discovered the pleasures of walking to compensate. On a bright spring day such as this she could walk for hours.
     

Chapter Six
     
    Steven Traling was three-and-twenty, and usually full of boyish enthusiasm and spirits. His brown eyes frequently danced and his black hair did not always fall perfectly into the prevailing Brutus style. He was not above average height and he rode well, if not brilliantly. It was his habit to come to Pennwick every two weeks or so, but as he had not had a chance to be private with Miss Driscoll the previous day, he returned to Pennwick. He was riding his horse along the main street (if such the rutted lane could be called) of the village when he spied Miss Driscoll striding off across the fields at the end of town.
    He thought her a magnificent figure of a woman. Though he was aware that she walked constantly for her own amusement (he had had to wait on numerous occasions for her return), he had not actually watched her stride across a field with that air of certainty with which she did everything. Unlike his wife, who was a beautiful but timid woman.
    Mr. Traling rode his horse to the end of the lane, dismounted and tied him to a tree. He was able to overtake Miss Driscoll in a matter of minutes, despite her ambitious pace. “Good morning, Miss Driscoll,” he called with engaging formality when he was close enough.
    Surprised, Clarissa swung around to confront him. “Mr. Traling. What are you doing in Pennwick today?”
    “Yesterday was hardly a satisfactory visit, was it?” he asked. “Never saw so many people in such a small space in my life. Hope the girl’s mending all right.”
    “She seems to be. She’s staying with me for a few days, as it would have been risky to transfer her to the Hall in her condition.”
    Traling grinned. “I imagine the family loved that!”
    “Not in the least,” Clarissa admitted. “But they had little choice.” She returned to her former pace and he matched his stride with hers. “How did you manage to elude your in-laws two days in a row?”
    “It wasn’t easy. Mrs. Wilton decided to take Jane shopping for swaddling gowns or some such thing, but Mr. Wilton wished me to accompany him to the Pump Room. Odious place. Bath is so full of quizzes and they simply cannot wait to get their hands on a bit of gossip. I told Mr. Wilton the newest rumor was that Wellington was emigrating to the United States and it made him so mad he refused to go.”
    Clarissa couldn’t restrain a gurgle of laughter. “Wellington in America! You have the most fertile imagination, Steven.”
    “I wish he would go!” the young man