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skirts high to avoid them dragging in the snow. It was only one hundred yards to the end of the lane, but by the time they reached it she was breathing heavily, her boots and the hem of her skirts caked in snow. Sir Lawrence, she noted, in his country jacket, York tan gloves and stylish beaver hat, looked as fresh as the moment he had stepped out of the house. He had not put on his greatcoat and his only concession to the cold was a muffler wrapped about his neck.
    She came to stand beside him and they gazed down upon an alien landscape, only the black outlines of the trees and bushes showing against the dazzling white of the lying snow.
    ‘Evans is right,’ said Sir Lawrence, shielding his eyes against the glare of sun on snow. ‘It would be hard going for you to push your way through those deep drifts.’
    ‘But how long must we wait for the packhorses to go through?’
    He shrugged. ‘A couple of days at the most.’
    ‘Oh, no!’
    He turned to smile down at her. ‘You need not worry; livelihoods depend upon the business. They will be on the move as soon as they can.’
    ‘Well, it cannot be soon enough for me.’
    ‘Ungrateful woman! Is my house so lacking in hospitality?’
    ‘Indeed it is,’ she retorted, ‘when I have been obliged to cook my food and to make my own bed!’
    ‘Neither of which was necessary. Mrs Brendon left plenty of cold food and my bed was made; I would happily have shared both with you.’
    Rose gasped.
    ‘How…how dare you!’ she stammered, her cheeks flaming.
    ‘Oh, easily.’ He grinned. ‘I am quite notorious, you know.’
    ‘Y-you are quite outrageous,’ she retorted, trying not to laugh. ‘You are trying to put me to the blush.’
    ‘And succeeding!’
    ‘Well, I wish you would not. It will make for a most uncomfortable time if I have to spend the rest of my stay in the kitchen with Evans.’
    ‘It will, indeed, and I would not have you do that for the world. Shall we go back?’
    The return journey was easier, for they had a beaten path to follow and Rose now found it possible to walk beside Sir Lawrence. His outrageous remarks had not disturbed her—quite the contrary, for there was understanding in his blue eyes and an invitation for her toshare the joke. He was obviously in good spirits and she was a little surprised therefore, at the serious tone of his next remark.
    ‘What you said to me last night,’ he said, gazing up at the sun, ‘do you think it true? That Annabelle never really wanted to marry me?’
    ‘Sir—’
    ‘No, tell me, if you please. I feel I have been surrounded by sycophants, people who only say what they think I want to hear.’
    ‘Whereas I will tell you the truth as I see it.’
    ‘Yes.’
    Rose drew her breath, awed at the responsibility he was placing on her shoulders.
    ‘I did not know your Annabelle. Perhaps she was a saint, content to wait, but if she truly loved you, I wonder that she did not remonstrate with you.’
    ‘She never did. Not one word. As I told you, she was an angel.’
    ‘However much you might grieve for her, it will not bring her back. She is gone and the best you can do for her now is to make something of your life.’
    He gave a mirthless bark of laughter.
    ‘And just what am I good for? Spending money, charming women…’
    She gripped his arm.
    ‘You are young and strong. And rich! At the very least you should work to improve the lot of those you employ. And even if your land is in good heart and supporting you and your people, there are others who need help. For example, those poor wretches who fought atWaterloo. Soldiers, proud men who are now cast off, unnecessary to the government. One sees them sometimes, even in this out-of-the-way place, starving at the roadsides. They should be honoured, protected. If you have the means to help them, then you should do so.’
    He stopped.
    ‘Aha, so you do think a man can change?’
    ‘No, sir.’ She returned his look. It was easy to be brave when the winter