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man; giving freely to those less fortunate, offering jobs, lending resources to those starting a new farm…and listening to anyone who had a problem. He’d never met a stranger, and social station meant nothing to him. He was well loved, and his funeral would be well attended.
    Tears sparkled in Mrs. Beatty’s eyes. “You are growing up to be a fine lady, Miss Lucinda. I’m proud of you, and I know your father would be, as well.”
    Lucinda hoped that was true.
    “Thank you, Mrs. Beatty.” With a teary smile, she hugged her old friend, and retreated across the hall to her father’s study, which was paneled to the ceiling with shelves of books. A shabby, blue oriental carpet covered the wooden floor beneath the polished, dark teak desk. She needed to find his address book.
    Her father had been meticulously organized, thanks to his many years in the Navy. When he’d retired from the service ten years ago, he had decided to pursue his love of war history, and had ended up becoming a part-time professor at Oxford. His naval career and then his teaching profession kept him away from Ravensbrook much of the time, and Lucinda had eagerly looked forward to the summer months when he was home full-time. She’d often joined him in this study, helping him dust and sort the old tomes. He’d shared his favorites with her, and because he loved history so much, she loved it, too.
    Now she sat at his desk and pulled out the top right drawer. The drawer slid smoothly, as she’d known it would. A dark leather book lay on top. A lump welled in her throat, thinking of the many times she’d seen him sitting here, just like this. “Lucinda,” he’d said once, “do you see that dark green volume on the top shelf? Fetch it for me, would you? Have you ever heard of the Boer War?” And that would be the start of an impromptu lesson.
    Lucinda brushe d at the tears trembling on her eyelashes. Her jaw ached from trying to hold in her grief. But she couldn’t fall apart here, not where the servants might see her. It would frighten them. At all costs, she must appear serene, and try to keep things running smoothly, as Father had done. It was the least she could do in his memory.
    The leather book held the addresses of his closest friends. The list was well over two hundred, she suspected. Tonight, she’d write up the most urgent notes, for the people who would actually be able to attend the funeral. Later, she’d hire the printer to engrave notices and send them to the others.
    She pulled out parchment and quill, but her fingers stilled over the letter paper. It had been her father’s desire that Riel Montclair be her protector. Could she deny her father’s last wish?
    While she did want to please her father, anxiety seeped into Lucinda’s heart when she considered submitting her life to the authority of the man in the next room. Fear punctuated the dark feeling. Everything within her recoiled at the thought. She pressed her hands to her face.
    “Father,” she whispered, “why did you do this to me? I know you thought this would be best for me, but he’s the wrong man for the job. Why didn’t you see that?”
    She imagined her father in the room, sitting at this very desk. What would he say? In a flash, she knew. With those intelligent gray eyes, hidden behind his glasses, he’d ask, “Why don’t you like him, Lucy? Is it because you know you won’t be able to goad him into behaving like you wish? That’s why I chose him, you know. Choosing a marriage partner is the most important decision you’ll ever make. I trust Riel to help you choose wisely. And I trust him to run Ravensbrook.”
    More tears wet her palms. “But I don’t like him, Father,” she gave a miserable sniff. “I don’t trust him. Why did you?”
    “Why don’t you trust me, Lucy?” Riel’s deep voice made her jump.
    Hastily, she wiped her eyes. “I did not invite you in, Mr. Montclair. Kindly take your leave.”
    “I will soon be running