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had caused quite a scandal. The story that her father and aunt had circulated about her being a grieving widow already carrying her late husband’s posthumous child at the time of the kidnapping had been patently disbelieved. And then to have her disappear just when the talk was beginning to die down . . . ! Cathy’s lips quivered with sudden humor. How on earth had Lady Stanhope managed to explain that ?
    “My dear!” Cathy’s intention of going directly upstairs without seeing her aunt came to naught as the lady herself sailed into the foyer. Before Cathy knew quite what was happening, she was enfolded in a perfumed embrace. She returned it rather bemusedly. Whatever reception she had expected had certainly been nothing like this!
    “Hello, Aunt Elizabeth,” Cathy murmured politely when she was at last released, bestowing a gingerly peck on the rouged cheek that was presented for that purpose. “It’s good to see you.”
    “Oh, my dear!” Lady Stanhope’s voice was filled with emotion. Cathy blinked. Her aunt had always been reserved to the point of hauteur, a cold, majestic lady who cared for only two things: her son, Harold, who had acceded to the title of Lord Stanhope upon the death of his hapless father, and her position in society. Maybe she had been fonder of her only brother than Cathy had ever realized. Certainly that was the only thing Cathy could think of that might account for this bewildering volte-face.
    “I see you brought the child.” Lady Stanhope’s expression was odd as she seemed to see for the first time Martha holding the still sleeping Cray. Cathy’s chin went up at her tone. To Lady Stanhope and her son, Cray would always be nothing more or less than a disgrace. The thought made Cathy’s blood boil.
    “Certainly I brought my son! If it is not convenient, then we would be morethan happy to put up at an inn.” The words were icy. Lady Stanhope looked taken aback. This self-assured creature bore no resemblance to the meek young girl who had stayed beneath her roof once before!
    “No, no, I wouldn’t hear of it! You are very welcome! Besides, you must want to be near poor Thomas!”
    Cathy considered for a moment, then inclined her head. Lady Stanhope’s slight emphasis on “you” when she said they were welcome had not escaped her. But for the time being her father’s well-being must outweigh her pride.
    “Thank you, Aunt. Now, if you don’t mind, I should like to see my father. And if you would direct Sims to show Martha to a bedroom, I would be grateful. My son, as you can see, is already asleep.”
    “Oh, yes, my dear, of course,” Lady Stanhope agreed hastily. Then she seemed to hesitate. “There is a matter of some urgency that I must discuss with you, Cathy. Perhaps we can talk first, and then you can visit Thomas. After all, it is not as if there is anything you can do for him.”
    “I would rather see my father first, if you don’t mind, Aunt. Whatever it is can surely wait until after that.”
    “Yes, yes, I suppose it can,” Lady Stanhope murmured without much conviction. “But, Cathy, there is something that should be made known to you. . . .”
    “Later, Aunt, if you please,” Cathy said firmly, turning away and starting up the stairs. Martha followed with Cray, and Sims, after a questioning glance at his mistress, brought up the rear. Lady Stanhope was left to frown thoughtfully after them.
    “Miss Cathy! Oh, Miss Cathy, you came!” Mason, her father’s valet for many, many years, opened the door to the green bedroom in response to her summons. The dapper little man was beaming, his eyes suspiciously moist as he greeted the girl he had known from her cradle. “Sir Thomas will be so pleased, Miss Cathy!”
    Cathy, knowing that Masonwas genuinely devoted to Sir Thomas and more than fond of herself, felt an answering dampness in her own eyes as she returned his smile.
    “Did you think I wouldn’t come, Mason?” she inquired gently as he stood aside to