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previous knowledge, Angelina spread her fan across her lips and whispered. “I wager the spider will not reach the top before the testimonial is over and I’m obliged to leave the church.”
     James’  lips twitched . “How much?” 
     “A guinea in the poor box.” 
     “You have a guinea on you?”
     The eyes she turned his way danced with mischief. “No doubt you can provide me with one should I need it.”
    His eyebrow lifted a fraction. “Then I’m the loser either way.” 
    “The money will go to a good cause, James.” She tried not to laugh when he took her hand, gently squeezing it in assent.
    The tribute to Alexandra Pakenham finished just as the spider reached the top of the pulpit. One of its legs delicately tested the air before moving over the edge. Angelina held her breath, releasing it with an audible sigh when the spider slipped back a little.
    The Reverend White beamed genially at the congregation as the spider made up lost ground again. Stepping from the pulpit he made his obeisance to the altar, then turned towards the aisle. The spider managed to get a second leg over the edge. She held her breath again.
     The reverend nodded to her as he walked towards the door. Time she joined him outside the church to receive the condolences. Reluctant to abandon the wager, she squeezed James’ hand when the parson’s wife rose to her feet. Propriety would keep the congregation in the pews until she left.  
    The bible slapped against the pulpit, the loud explosion enough to make people jump in the quiet church. She cast a triumphant glance at James, who was gazing at the woman in disbelief. A wry grimace on his face, the bemused James dropped a guinea in the poor box on the way through the door. 
    Fifteen minutes into the condolences and the congregation had thinned.”Thank you, Mrs Pendergast...Mr Pendergast. My late aunt would be most gratified.”
    “Lady Alexandra was a good woman.” A kiss brushed against her cheek, another set of curious eyes lit upon James.
    “My brother and guardian, Viscount Romsey.” 
    No one had the ill grace to question the sudden appearance of a brother, though the curiosity displayed in the glances aimed at James was undisguised.
    She repeated the same response time and time again until finally, an aging  gentleman supporting himself on his stick appeared in front of them.
    “May I present, The Marquis of Flaverley, James. My aunt’s good friend and adviser.” She curtsied. “Viscount Romsey, My Lord. My brother and guardian.”
    “Your servant,” James murmured, and found himself being thoroughly examined by hooded grey eyes.
    Lord Flaverley’s rank afforded certain privileges, and his loud interrogation brought ears and eyes turning in their direction.
    “You must be heir to Thomas Wrey. I haven’t seen the earl in London for some time. How is he? Well, I hope.”
     “My father’s in robust health, My Lord.”
    “Good, good.” The marquis lifted his wig to scratch his head, exposing a glimpse of gleaming bald pate before setting it back upon his head. Hearing Angelina catch in her breath, James prayed she wouldn’t laugh. 
    “Rum business eh?” The marquis said. “I didn’t know Lady Alexandra was related to the Wrey family. Peculiar arrangement, what, having her bring up the girl here?” 
    He pinched Angelina’s cheek familiarly between a finger and thumb. “Doesn’t do to pry too much into family, eh?  Too many skeletons?  Count on my complete discretion, my dear child...ahem. Condolences, what?  G’day to you, sir. Lady Angelina? Give my regards to your father when next you meet. He won’t know you after all these years.”  
    “Thank you, My Lord.” Angelina curtsied to the Marchioness, who hovered behind her husband like a pale grey wraith.
    “Dearest, child.” The Marchioness gave him a vague smile, then kissed the air by Angelina’s ear as she drifted away in a cloud of lavender water. 
    How good Angelina is at