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Those dreadful nights had been worth enduring since they had given her the twins.
    Sleepy-eyed, they went off. Fastening round her neck the gold locket with a curl of Papa’s hair inside, Letty went downstairs.
    The dinner party went very well. For all her unaccustomed fidgets, Mama was accustomed to entertaining, for Papa had been a sociable man. Sir Gideon was a superb host, affable, solicitous of his guests’ comfort without fussiness, readily taking his place among the gentry and not toadying to the Rosebays. And Harry moved from group to group, conversing with young and old, dividing his attention equally between plain and pretty…
    Letty caught up her thoughts. It mattered not a jot to her, whether Harry Talgarth spent his time chatting to the Master of Foxhounds about the local hunt or to the Master’s flirtatious daughter about the next Assembly.
    To her surprise, she enjoyed the occasion. She had known most of those present all her life. Contented though she had been at the Dower House, she had missed the social intercourse more than she had realised. When the front door closed behind the last guest, her spirits were still too high to think of seeking her bed.
    “I shall not go up with you now, Mama,” she said. “I am too restless to sleep. I believe I shall play the pianoforte for a little while. Tell Betsy not to wait up for me.”
    “Do not stay up too late, my love, if you wish to bid the gentlemen goodbye in the morning. You mean to leave early, do you not, Sir Gideon?”
    “Yes, but not for the world would I drag you from your well-deserved slumber. I don’t know how to thank you, Lady Catriona. You have established my credit for hospitality without the least effort on my part.” He raised her hand to his lips.
    Letty was astonished to see a blush on her mother’s face—or perhaps it was a trick of the light, for the servants were moving about the hall snuffing candles. The colour ebbed as quickly as it had appeared. She must have imagined it, she decided, as Mama and Sir Gideon said good night and went their separate ways.
    She returned to the drawing room. She and one or two others had played after dinner, so the pianoforte was open. Searching out the slow movement of a Mozart sonata, she began to play. As she had expected, the music soothed her, and by the time she played the last chord, she was ready to retire.
    “Bravo!”
    The quiet voice startled her. “Mr Talgarth! I had no notion you were there.”
    He lounged by the fire, his long legs stretched before him, a glass in his hand. The rich red of claret shimmered as he raised it to her. “A last drop of wine for a nightcap. I beg your pardon for not warning you of my presence, but I did not wish to interrupt. You play well.”
    The simple compliment pleased her inordinately. To conceal her pleasure, she said, “I should play better if I practised more often. I am going up now. Shall I leave these candles for you?”
    “No, I am done.”
    Setting down the half-full glass, he extinguished the candles on the mantel while she did the same for those by the pianoforte. Together they went out into the hall. Their bedside candles awaited them on the table at the foot of the stairs.
    At the lamp that stayed alight all night in the hall, he ignited a spill. He lit one of the candles, waited until the flame burnt steady, then turned to hand it to Letty. As she reached for it, he abruptly set it down again, fumbling behind him, and pulled her into his arms.
    His lips were on hers, warm, gentle, yet insistent. His hand caressed the nape of her neck, sending tremors down her spine. Then he pulled off her cap, scattering her pins so that her hair cascaded about her shoulders.
    He raised his head long enough to murmur, “Glorious!” His eyes burned into hers, and then his mouth met hers again and her bones melted.
    Time stood still.
    “Letty. Laetitia. Gladness.”
    Was it his passionate whisper that brought her to her senses? She wrenched herself