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down the lane towards the village, her light footsteps soon inaudible.
        Perplexed by this encounter, Eleanor carried on more slowly down the path towards the lake. From the odd rumour that had reached her ears in Town, she knew it was perfectly possible that Lord Sallinger could be keeping a mistress in the village that neighboured his great house. Such an action would be outrageously indiscreet, of course. But it was said that Sallinger had grown in arrogance since inheriting the title and fortune on his father’s death, as well as becoming a bit of a hermit, rarely to be seen in company except as his sister’s companion.
        However, even his arrogance as lord of the manor could not excuse keeping a married woman as his mistress so openly. For if he was bringing this woman and her children gifts on his visits to the house, their illicit relationship could hardly remain a secret. Not in such a tiny village, where even the slightest misbehaviour by a married woman would be noted and commented upon.
        Eleanor shrugged and quickened her pace, lifting a flushed face to the air. It did not matter to her one jot what Lord Nathaniel Sallinger chose to do. The infuriating man had not changed since the day she left, staring at her last night with those dark piercing eyes, leaving her prickling with unexpected heat and confusion.
        And the way he had turned away from her so rudely, so abruptly - no, it was clear that he still hated her.
        Besides, if that pretty little girl was his illegitimate daughter, she must have been born several years before Eleanor’s own arrival from Jamaica. It was well-known that Sallinger had been an intensely private young man in his youth but could he really have kept such a secret from her?
        And yet, why not?
        Her own father had kept the existence of his mistress a secret from his family all his life, and had even mischievously arranged for Mrs Lovett to chaperone Eleanor on her arrival from Jamaica – though he must have known how polite society would whisper. It was only much later, learning the ways of the world she had joined, that Eleanor had realised what their relationship must have been.
        She joined the main drive, pushing both her father and Nathaniel firmly out of her mind. No good would come of dwelling on the past; that was one of the rules she had lived by these past five years.
        How easy it was to remember her way about the estate! Ahead, a rough, muddy track branched off from the drive and continued down in the direction of the lake. Just before the turn-off, she came across a leather-clad man beside a cart piled high with earth and stones.
        The man, who had been shovelling this earth into one of the gaping potholes in the drive, paused to touch his forehead as she passed and mutter something unintelligible.
        So her first order on her arrival – for the dreadful potholes on the drive to be filled in – was already in hand.
        Bidding the workman a cheery ‘Good day’, Eleanor turned down the narrow track towards the lake, striding out confidently.
        Once out of his sight, she was forced to slow her pace considerably. The track was not only over-grown with brambles and branches from over-hanging trees, but had become a quagmire. The mud came up to her ankles in places, and although her boots protected her from the worst of it, the hem of her poor gown was soon a sight to behold.
        With hindsight, the man above might even have been muttering ‘Mind the mud, Miss,’ as she passed him so blithely.
        It was too late to turn back now. To avoid looking a complete fright, her boots and homely pink gown caked in mud, she would now have to take a more discreet route back to the house, the secret path that ran behind a sprawling bank of ancient beech trees.
        But she refused to return to the house until she had revisited the lake.
        Eleanor reached the lakeside eventually, picking her