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of Lord Weston, been inveigled into a false engagement
and all before luncheon.
    No one could say that life at
Headingly was dull. She shuffled back on the warm stone bench so she was hidden
in the arbour of sweetly scented honeysuckle. She tilted her face to the sun,
closing her eyes, feeling the tension slowly trickle away. She found it hard to
credit his story, but she could vaguely recall a group of smartly dressed young
bucks standing within earshot of her carriage.
    Was it possible one of them had
decided to abduct her and force her into marriage in order to gain access to
her fortune? After all she had reached her majority in March and now had full
control of her inheritance.
    Why should a fortune hunter
believe the loss of her good name would force her to relinquish control of her
wealth? Perhaps a young lady with a more delicate disposition would believe
death was a better option than disgrace? In those circumstances marriage might
appear a reasonable option. But she was made of sterner stuff; it would take
more than ruin to force her into an unwanted marriage.
    Her lips curved as she recalled
the conversation in the library. It might be amusing to play the part of
besotted bride-to-be and pretend to hang on his every word knowing he would
have no option but to respond in kind.
    There was the sound of male
footsteps approaching and her pulse quickened. Had he come to seek her out so
soon? She decided to feign sleep and await events.
    ‘Miss Coombs,
how delightful. A picture of loveliness and it’s I who have been
fortunate enough to see it.’
    ‘Mr Weston, I had thought I was
alone here.’ Her tone reflected her irritation.
    ‘I beg your pardon, Miss Coombs.
I had no wish to disturb you. Please forgive me for speaking so….’ The young
man, his face a study of embarrassment, prepared to back away, realizing he had
unwittingly annoyed her.
    ‘No, it’s I who must apologize. I
spoke too sharply. I’m afraid I was lost in a dream and reluctant to return so
suddenly.’ She smiled up at him not wishing him to think ill of her. ‘Would you care to join me for a stroll around the garden? I’m quite
ready to continue my walk.’
    His delight at her unexpected
invitation was endearing. Gallantly he offered his hand and drew her to her
feet. ‘Have you visited the maze, Miss Coombs? It’s said to be one of the
finest in the country.’
    ‘This is my first time here, Mr
Weston, so I’ve seen very little of these magnificent grounds. I should love to
see the maze for I’ve never had the opportunity before.’
    He crooked his arm and willingly
she slipped hers through it. He was a pleasant young man and it was no hardship
to walk at his side.

 
    Ned was in the barn supervising
the belated arrival of the motley crew that made up the balloon party. There
were three laden carts pulled by sturdy farm horses and one closed carriage in
which he expected to find the pilots. He studied the assortment of roughly
dressed men as they scrambled down from the carts. Was the man he sought
amongst them?
    He strode forward waiting
impatiently for the carriage door to open. He had spoken to the pilot yesterday
and he was no more than he appeared. He had met Monsieur Ducray several times
over the past few years and was certain the man was innocent of any wrongdoing.
He was a genuine émigré and skilled
at his trade.
    The traitor, if there was one,
would be masquerading as a helper. Ducray always had a smattering of fellow
countrymen working for him and he must look for clues amongst them. It was a
damned nuisance he was now also obliged to also search out and apprehend the
man behind the attempted abduction of the delectable Miss Coombs.
    He dragged his attention back to
the matter in hand. It wouldn’t do to let his concentration falter. His very
life might depend on his vigilance. ‘Welcome, Ducray. I hope you find
everything here that you want.’ He nodded but didn’t offer his hand.
    The small, neatly