‘Lord Rayne,’ said Letitia, looking towards the silver ribbon of water and the blobs of white floating upon it, ‘I think we ought to return. I have nothing to gain and much to lose by taking a walk alone with you. Perhaps you should allow me to walk back on my own.’

‘I do not think you should be allowed to go anywhere on your own, Miss Boyce. Will you take my arm up this bank? We’ll go up towards the house.’

‘I’m not exactly blind, my lord.’

‘So defensive,’ he said, crooking his arm for her. ‘Come on. Mind that branch.’

She hesitated, unaware of any obstruction on the path. It was shadowed and dappled with greenery, and it would be unnecessarily foolish to ignore his offer of help, and she was defensive, and insecure, and a whole lot of other devices acquired during years of having to battle against convention, her mother, her desires, her poor eyesight and its disadvantages. Her hesitation was interpreted as obstinacy.

‘Can you not bring yourself to accept help of any kind?’

‘I can’t see any branch!’ she yelped.

Unable to stifle a chuckle of exasperation, he went behind her, bending to unlatch the skirt of her sage-green habit from a mossy twig projecting from a branch. ‘Now,’ he said, offering his arm again, ‘shall we go, or shall you fight the elements single-handed?’

Subdued, she took his arm and used his steely strength to negotiate the overgrown path up to the house, unsure how she had come to this point in a relationship that could not have begun in a worse manner. She understood that everyone had at least two sides to their characters, but so far she had allowed him to see only one of hers. It was her own bizarre twosidedness that concerned her most, for she was not sure which of the two was the real Lettie Boyce, nor did she approve of the deception she was being forced to present, especially to those close to her. For some reason she could not explain, it mattered to her that this man’s opinion should be placed on a firmer footing.

‘Lord Rayne,’ she ventured, not quite knowing what to say.

‘Miss Boyce?’

‘You may have…well, you see…I am not quite what you think.’

‘And you are about to tell me what I think, are you? I thought we had agreed on the absurdity of that, just now.’

‘I meant to say, if you will allow me, that I may have given you the impression that…well, you spoke earlier about my sharp tongue, and—’

‘And the fact that you might personally benefit from a little schooling? Yes, I remember, Miss Boyce. Are you taking up my offer, then?’

‘Lord Rayne, you are the most odious man of my acquaintance.’

‘Abominable,’ he agreed, smiling broadly.

Chapter Four

As a result of her meeting with Miss Austen Letitia came away with a feeling of relief that she had not revealed anything of her own writing. Yet with every sentence she wrote, she was reminded that, apart from one derisory kiss from the odious Lord Rayne, her heroine and her heroine’s creator were both still innocents with fervent imaginations. Although the kiss was very clear in her memory, it had not been given in the right circumstances and was therefore untypical.

Mr Waverley had told her that afternoon how much he was enjoying Waynethorpe Manor as much as, if not more than, the first novel. His mother, he told her, had begged to be the next to read it.

‘Is that wise?’ Letitia asked him before he left that evening.

‘She’s one of your most avid readers. Of course it’s wise.’

‘I hope she doesn’t suspect…’

He took her by the shoulders in brotherly fashion, laughing at her touchiness. ‘She doesn’t suspect anything, Lettie. She and Lake are well acquainted, and he’s told her that the author is a certain Lydia Barlowe, but no more than that.’

‘Perhaps I should have used different initials.’

‘Nonsense. No one is ever going to make the connection.’

Her friend’s approval of Waynethorpe Manor, however, satisfied her that the author’s lack of emotional experience had not in any way affected his enjoyment, though whether she could convince her readers for a third time remained to be seen.

‘What’s the new one about?’ he asked.

‘About a young lady called Em…er…Perdita, rather like one of my pupils, in some ways.’

‘Which pupil?’

‘Any one of them. Inexperienced. Looking for excitement.’

‘Looking for love, you mean.’

‘Yes, that, too,’ she said, giving herself away at each reply. Surely Bart would recognise the heroine?

‘You have only to look at the material right under your roof.’

‘What d’ye mean?’ she asked, rather too sharply.

‘I mean your seven young ladies, who else?’ They had reached the pavement where Mr Waverley’s horse was being held by the young groom. Taking the reins with a nod of thanks, he spoke to Letitia in a confidential whisper. ‘As a matter of fact, there is a young lady who might fit your Perdita’s description, up to a point. The lass from Scotland. One of the boarders.’

‘Edina Strachan? In what way?’

‘Nothing I can quite put my finger on, but you must have noticed how inattentive she’s become this new term. Her mind certainly isn’t on her household-management accounts, and I’d swear she’d been weeping before she came to the dinner table yesterday. She moons about like a lovesick calf.’

‘You don’t think she might be in love with you, do you, Bart?’

‘Good grief, no, I do not. She’s either still homesick or lovesick, I tell you. Perhaps something happened while she was at home at Easter. You might keep an eye on the situation.’

‘Yes, thank you for the warning. I will. I’ll ask Mrs Quayle what she knows about it.’

But Mrs Quayle, the widow in whose house next door the three boarders had rooms, had nothing to add to Mr Waverley’s observations. ‘Homesickness, my dear,’ she said that evening. ‘It’s only her second term away from home. We may have to work harder on her Scottish lilt, for if she cannot be understood, she’s not going to make much headway in the marriage mart, is she? Perhaps we could get Mr Thomas to give her an extra half-hour each week?’

‘So you don’t think she’s in love?’

‘Who knows? With all those young Hussars swarming about, it wouldn’t surprise me if all seven of them were. Don’t worry, I’ll keep a look out.’

‘Yes. Thank you.’

That same evening, Letitia sat with the attractive seventeen-year-old Edina, whose guardian grandparents lived at Guildford. After talking at length about her family, it seemed that Edina was relieved to be away from their strait-laced Presbyterian influence and more involved with the kind of social life she had previously been denied. The symptoms that Mr Waverley had identified could not be homesickness, Letitia decided, therefore it must be love.

That evening, Edina’s early signs were written into the notebook with some elaboration to make up for what Letitia had not personally observed.

* * *

The remainder of the week passed uneventfully except for the visit on Thursday of Miss Garnet and Miss Persephone Boyce in the company of Uncle Aspinall and Aunt Minnie, the latter requiring a tour of the house and redesigned gardens. Sir Penfold Aspinall, a bluff, good-natured giant who had done so much to help his sister’s eldest daughter to set up house, approved of everything he saw, partly because he trusted her good taste and partly because he liked the idea of being surrogate father to his remarkable niece. His wife, shrewish and disapproving, had come chiefly to take note and then to convey to Lady Boyce every detail to which they could mutually object.

The twins’ main purpose in visiting their sister seemed to be to catch sight of Lord Rayne, whose absence had been the cause of some concern. They asked if it was true that he was visiting her.

‘Visiting me? You must be bamming!’

‘Has he?’