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I think perhaps he’s having you on.”
    Antigone shook her head. The dreadful
dreadlocks bounced over her shoulders. “He’s doing it at school.
Starts the kids going on their woodwork project and leaves them to
get on with it, unless they want to ask him something. Uses the
classroom computer. He’s got the manuscript on a flash drive in his
briefcase.”
    “ News to me dear. He’s
never mentioned it. And he’s no use when my computer plays up here.
With you on the other side of the world I have to ring up Meg’s boy
to help sort things out if I really mess up. Young Ben. He’s very
helpful.”
    “ Dad stays on after school,
too.”
    “ No dear—that’s preparation
time. School teachers work horrendous hours these days. For no
extra money, I might point out.”
    “ Preparation time?
For woodwork ? Get
off the grass, Mom.”
    “ Are you sure Johnno’s not
teasing you? Trying to impress his little girl because her Mommy
writes?”

    Tigger pressed her lips together. Her
mother always wanted to be the star. How had her father put up with
Eloise all these years?
    She shrugged. “Is it all right if I
bring my stuff today?” she asked again, deciding she couldn’t be
bothered with a full-scale argument.
    “ Lovely, darling.
Wonderful.” The hint of frost was not quite hidden by the honeyed
words. “Have you something prettier to wear?”
    Tigger regarded herself in the long
mirror her father had fixed to the back of the kitchen door. Eloise
liked to practice her lines whenever inspiration struck. There were
mirrors all over the house so she could preen and posture,
declaiming vigorously.
    Prettier than what? Jeans and a
somewhat faded black and white zebra-zig-zagged T-shirt? She was
rather fond of it.
    “ Not really,” she said. “I
need to do some washing. But you look very nice, Mom.” Long practice had taught her
that turning the topic back toward her mother tended to pay
dividends.
    “ Kind of you to notice,
darling. Yes—I think this has a certain je
ne sais quoi .”
    Eloise twirled in the mirror, admiring
her long rust and gold peasant skirt and top with the complacent
gaze of a contented cat. Tigger hid a smile behind her hand, and
watched as her mother’s gaze took on that strange blankness
indicating she’d gone far away.

    The Duchess fluttered her
fan, eyeing their host’s niece with displeasure. How radiant her
skin. How lustrous her hair. How bright her eyes. Youth was
undeniably wasted on the young. They had no social strategy, no
conversation, and no sense of their own mortality. It would do this
smooth skinned maid good to learn what a speck of dust she was in
the scheme of things.
    “ Miss Woodsedge,” the
lavender scented Duchess rasped. “I have a message for you from
Wainsborough. Though I scarcely feel it proper to pass it
on.”
    The younger woman was
instantly all attention.
    “ But, if it please you,
Your Grace?” she begged. She bowed her head in hopeful supplication
and then resumed her blue-eyed plea.
    The Duchess relented a
little.
    “‘ Tis most irregular, to
be sure,” she muttered. “But should you decide to take the air by
Castleton Bridge around sunset, then a certain person is desirous
of speaking with you.” She snapped her fan shut and turned
away.
    Castleton
Bridge , Chloe murmured.
    She’d be thrilled to see
the Earl of Wainsborough again. She’d caught sight of him twice now
at musical gatherings, and been intrigued and impressed by the tall
fair nobleman.
    But what a rum way to
arrange a meeting. No chaperone. No politely penned note in his own
hand, delivered by his faithful close-mouthed servant.
    Desire warred with caution
in Chloe’s eager heart.

    The late afternoon sun
kissed her shoulders as she strolled around the grounds of the
great estate, stooping to capture deep red roses and immersing her
face in their heavenly fragrance...wandering into the little byways
of the garden until she was out of sight of the other guests and
the huge