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bring him biscuits, too?”
    Fiona nodded, repressing a smile. “Don’t pester him, Madelaine.”
    “He doesn’t mind.”
    Which was probably true. As best she could judge the matter, Lord Ashdown found her daughter . . . entertaining. She forgave him for this, since he was undoubtedly bored lying in a strange bedroom all day, and Madelaine was, if anything, a continual breath of fresh air. The girl had scoured the cottage bookshelves for their guest, and came up with Le Morte d’ Arthur and Chapman’s Iliad , which he proclaimed more than adequate. She also rooted out a packet of playing cards, and had convinced ‘Colin’ and the doctor to teach her three-handed loo.
    Dee had suggested that Fiona join them. She had demurred.
     

Chapter 7: Sir Irwin Makes a Call
     
    A tray with tea and biscuits arrived as usual in the mid-morning, carried by Madelaine. The girl had proved to be excellent company and he found himself looking forward to her conversation, her discoveries from the rock pools, and their frequent games of piquet. The marquess was accustomed to a life of considerable activity. Remaining bedridden for the better part of a fortnight would have driven him mad, if not for Madelaine’s continued attempts to amuse him.
    “Why were you climbing down the cliff?” the girl asked, helping herself to one of the biscuits.
    “I was rescuing a damsel in distress,” Colin told her.
    “A damsel! What damsel?”
    “You.”
    Maddie laughed in delight, and then turned serious. “Don’t be silly. I didn’t need to be rescued.”
    “Well, I know that now, don’t I?”
    “You should,” said Madelaine.
      * * * *
    The wind had come up, rattling the shutters and the doors of the cottage. ’Twas not enough to be called a true winter storm, but Fiona spent some of the morning checking what Hobbs called the cottage’s ‘seaworthiness’—making sure that all the hardware was in place and that the shutters would close if needed, and that the pump handle for the well was protected, and unlikely to go flying off in a real blow.
    She was outside, then, when Sir Irwin came to call. He arrived in a carriage, as usual, a small gig driven by one of the villagers. Dee said that the baronet was the worst horseman in the county, and could not be trusted to stay on his mount.
    “Mrs. Marwick.”
    Fiona, having finished with the shutters, was in the garden, looking for any stray onions that may have escaped Hobbs’ careful eye. She straightened up and saw the baronet walking toward her, smiling his tight, false smile. She inclined her head slightly. Fiona refused to curtsey to the man, and he had so far chosen to overlook this omission.
    “Sir Irwin.”
    “You are looking lovely today, Fiona.”
    Her hands were dirty from the garden, and her apron not precisely clean. Fiona ran her hand through her hair, which was even now escaping from its mare’s tail, and tried not to laugh. She hated that he felt free to use her first name but, like the missing curtsey, it was left unremarked, part of an ongoing game played between them.
    Fiona despised this game.
    “What brings you to Tern’s Rest?” she said, bluntly. She had no time for Irwin Ampthill today.
    “I hear we have a visitor.”
      * * * *
    Colin could see Mrs. Marwick’s garden from the guest room window, which was immediately next to his bed. He had spent many hours gazing out that window during the past few days. He could see the well-tended boxwood and gravel paths of the immediate yard, the lawn which sloped slightly down toward the seacliffs, and the corner of the stables. He knew a bit of the routine of the household, now, and found himself looking forward to its various activities. Particularly those involving Fiona.
    She’d come to the bedroom only a few minutes earlier, knocking on the door—
    “Lord Ashdown?”
    “Please,” he told her. “My name is Colin.”
    Mrs. Marwick tilted her head and looked at him from under her eyelashes. She was