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Cornwall back from the brink of ruin, I have heard.”
    “It is making a decent profit again this year, sir,” Julian told him, “and will make even more next year. It has been hard work but worth every moment.”
    Mr. Dean gave him an affable nod. “Well, Philippa,” he said, “your mama is awaiting you inside.”
    “I must be on my way,” Julian told him, making a bow that encompassed both him and Philippa.
    He gazed hungrily at her, but only for a moment, and she gazed back before making him a slight curtsy and turning back to the house with her father.
    Julian watched them go for a few moments and then strode resolutely toward the stables.
    His heart was singing even while he urged caution upon it.

3
    Throughout the return journey from Gloucestershire to London, Philippa’s parents tried to console her for her disappointment, even though she assured them that she was not disappointed at all. She could not press the point too strongly, of course, lest they suspect that she had had a hand in the viscount fleeing.
    She felt guilty about that. Equally, she felt that he would not have gone simply because she agreed with everything he said.
    When they were not talking in the carriage, she dreamed.
    Julian had come to Middlebury Park. It had not even occurred to her that he might, but then Lord Darleigh’s butler had come to announce a visitor, and Mrs. Hunt, lifting the visiting card from his silver tray, had murmured his name.
    “The Honorable Mr. Julian Crabbe,” she had said. “And he has word of my son? Show him in.”
    And Philippa had known she was about to see him again—suddenly, with no warning at all.
    Ah, memory was a poor preserver of reality. Philippa had had vivid memories of Julian from those weeks in Bath, memories of a tall young man of pleasing, athletic build with a handsome, good-humored face. And a smile to make her breath catch in her throat and dark eyes that could turn her knees weak. And thick, dark, shining hair that made her fingers itch to run through it.
    But the present reality was so much more …  real . And so much more.
    A man, a stranger, had stridden into the morning room at Middlebury Park following the butler’s announcement. A confident gentleman with a commanding presence and a serious, intelligent face beneath dark, neatly styled hair. A man to be reckoned with. A man who looked virile and elegant even in riding breeches and top boots with a coat of expensive cut and a simply tied neckcloth.
    And yet not a stranger. For he was Julian, as he had become in two years, and her heart would have known him anywhere. Her whole body had yearned toward him with an awarenessshe had felt for no other man.
    He had made a good impression. He was the nephew and heir of the Duke of Stanbrook, who had taken in Lord Darleigh when he was carried back from the Peninsula both deaf and blind. And he had come, as was courteous and proper, to pay his respects—and had then behaved with consummate tact, withdrawing his person as soon as he decently could and escorting Philippa out into the garden for a few minutes so that she could recover from her near swoon.
    Even Philippa’s parents had been inclined to look kindly upon him and had commented upon how he had changed for the better since their last encounter with him.
    He was not mentioned during the journey back to London.
    But surely when they met him there again …
    Oh, surely .
    He did not come for five whole days. Of course, he would have felt obliged to stay away for a short while in order to make his story about visiting a friend in Gloucestershire believable.
    In the meanwhile, the busy round of social activities resumed. Philippa went out every evening, including a first visit to Almack’s, her mother having finally procured the coveted vouchers. She danced every set there except the waltz, for which she needed permission from one of the patronesses. She had three regular partners wherever she went, each of them both personable