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fortune and you will marry her for her good family and her dowry. What of passion?”
    The duke looked shocked. “Passion is an emotion of the lower orders. Ladies do not feel passion.”
    “Oh yes, they do,” said Miss Trumble quietly.
    The duke became angry. “Really, Aunt, it is surely your duty to instill more ladylike thoughts into the mind of your charge.”
    “Aunt?” Peter looked bewildered.
    “I regret to tell you that Miss Trumble is in fact my aunt, Lady Letitia Revine,” said the duke, “and I do order you to keep that fact to yourself. She has adopted the ridiculous name of Trumble and will be addressed as such until this farce is over.”
    “And when will that be?”
    “When Lizzie is married,” put in Miss Trumble.
    “Then that should not be very long,” said Peter. “Miss Lizzie’s looks and charm will break hearts.”
    Lizzie sent him a roguish, teasing look. “Why, you are a gallant!”
    Peter laughed. He had lost his careworn look. The thought that he would soon see his Sarah again bubbled through his veins like champagne.
    His gaiety was infectious. Lizzie chattered on, Miss Trumble smiled, and the duke felt an odd longing to be part of all this happiness.
    After lunch, Miss Trumble suggested they play cards. “No, no,” protested Lizzie. “The day is too fine for cards. Let’s play hide-and-seek.”
    The duke opened his mouth to wither such a suggestion. But Miss Trumble said, “Why not? Except anywhere upstairs is out of bounds in case we disturb Lady Beverley. I know. The garden.”
    “I should take my leave,” said the duke.
    “Is it a game you are not good at?” asked Lizzie sweetly.
    “It is a game I have not played since I was in short coats.”
    “Perhaps it is a trifle too young and energetic for you, Gervase,” said Miss Trumble, taking pity on him.
    In his mind’s eye, the duke suddenly saw that terrible reflection in the mirror at Mannerling. “I think it might amuse me,” he said languidly.
    They drew straws and the duke found he was the one to count to a hundred. They left him sitting at the table under the cedar-tree with his hands over his eyes while they all scattered away across the garden.
    Miss Trumble went straight to the tack-room, where she knew she would find Barry polishing the harness.
    “So the great duke has come on a visit,” said Barry. “You all sound very merry.”
    “I am supposed to be playing hide-and-seek,” said Miss Trumble, sitting down on a battered chair with a sigh of relief. “I am amazed Gervase elected to play. I cannot be bothered hiding.”
    “Has Miss Lizzie been rude to the duke?”
    “She mocks him.”
    “You must curb her tongue, miss!”
    “I think it does him good. Gervase needs to be shocked out of some of his arrogance. And yet, why does he stay? See, here he comes and I am sure he has glimpsed me through the tack-room window for the flowers on my bonnet are quite bright, and yet I know he will pass here and go in search of his real quarry, which is Lizzie. No, he is not enamoured of her by any means. He simply cannot bear to be mocked and to that end he will pursue her until he considers she has a fitting respect for his greatness.”
    The sun was very warm. The duke decided, as he had appeared to have forgotten the conventions this day, he may as well forget them further. He took off his blue swallow-tailed coat and hung it on a fence-post. A pleasant breeze ruffled the fine cambric sleeves of his shirt. Where would that minx Lizzie hide?
    As he approached the small stable and tack-room, he saw a bright flash of yellow at the tack-room window. Miss Trumble had yellow silk flowers on her hat. He veered away. He did not want to find Miss Trumble.
    He wandered through the gardens, looking to right and left. If I were a hoyden like Lizzie Beverley, where would I hide? He answered his own question. In a tree, of course.
    He began to look up in the branches of the trees. She was wearing a white muslin gown. At the