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black and bold, right in front of his personal life. "I believe you have had enough excitement for one evening, madame. If you need anything further, the staff can assist you. I bid you good-night."
    He gave her another formal bow, for which he was again surrounded by her sweet laughter. "All right, James," she said when she finally regained control of herself. "I suppose I've harassed you enough for one night. But, believe me,"—she shook her head—"in all my lives, I've never met a man who needed a good woman more than you do."
    Her laughter followed him through the door as he departed, its echo haunting him even as he sauntered to the library and his nightly brandy. It was only later, as he opened his favorite volume of Horace, that he realized he was grinning.

Chapter Three
    Carolly woke to a beautiful morning and a body well on its way back to complete health. Not that she would be able to convince anyone else of that. People saw and believed what they wanted, no matter the facts. She'd figured that out during her first reincarnation.
    She folded her hands over her stomach and began her morning recitations: "Carolly . . . Carolly H . . . Carolly Ha . . ." She sighed and decided to skip that part. "Born 1978. Died 2000. Sister named Janice. I died in a car crash that was my own stupid fault. I was selfish and arrogant. Next came 1902, New York. Everyone thought I was a sickly Karen somebody . . ."
    She went on, carefully cataloguing everything she could recall about her different lives. She did it in the mornings when she was most likely to remember. It was her way of recollecting who and what she was—and most especially, why she was here: to help people, to be selfless and good and to atone for her sins. When she had done enough, she would become an angel and this whole nightmare would be over. She hoped.
    Twisting her head, she looked out the window. It was a little after dawn and she was already awake—something unheard of in her original life. Still, it felt good to greet the new day, and she scrambled out of bed to throw open the window.
    James was up, too. She saw him below, standing in the stable yard next to a magnificent jet stallion who snorted in the slightly chilled air. He looked resplendent in dark riding clothes, and he faced a smaller person while a groomsman held his horse.
    Carolly narrowed her eyes, trying to distinguish his companion. It was a child—a red-faced girl in a light brown dress. She was probably the child of some servant. Carolly thought the girl was speaking to James, but perhaps she was mistaken because James walked away without even a nod. He swung onto his stallion and rode away, chasing the dawn.
    Carolly followed the magnificent sight with her eyes, watching hungrily as man and beast thundered across the open fields. She longed to go with them. She'd taken some riding lessons as a child, and though not a great horsewoman, she wouldn't disgrace herself. Then her eyes drifted back to the stable, and Carolly saw the little girl kick unhappily at the dirt and slink away. Poor kid. Like Carolly, she'd probably wanted to go riding.
    Well, they couldn't. Carolly had promised to stay in bed another day, and the kid apparently wasn't of a status to enjoy the privileges of James's estate. Heck, he hadn't even answered her request, if Carolly interpreted correctly what had happened. Poor kid, she thought again.
    With a dispirited sigh, Carolly pretended she was James, mentally riding with him, feeling his magnificent stallion beneath her, the wind streaming through her hair, the sun bright and warm on her face. What a glorious morning! A wonderful day to be alive!
    Her fantasy ended abruptly. She wasn't outside; she wasn't having a great morning ride, and she most certainly wasn't alive. Taking herself to task, she turned toward the bed, but couldn't stomach getting back under the sheets. At last she dragged the chair to the window and perched there, wrapping one of the bedcovers around