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ground.”
    â€œOh, it is not that bad, I assure you. She will not lack for food and shelter. But I must find a governess, for a young lady should be properly guided before she makes her bow to Society, do you not agree, ma’am?”
    â€œI most certainly do. How good you are, Sir Peter. Do you mean to keep her with you, then?”
    â€œFor the time, at least. And only listen to me boring on about my troubles.” Rising, he asked in his courteous way if Rebecca wished to go back inside. “There is a new summer house I had hoped to show you, but perhaps…”
    She lost no time in asserting that she would love to see the new summer house, and they walked slowly along the path that wound through flower beds and little clumps of trees and shrubs towards the centre of the garden. Sir Peter did not again refer to his family, and the conversation turned gradually to politics and the recent tragic conflict. “How sad it is,” he observed, “that so many fine fellows should have flocked to the banner of that pretty princeling, with never a thought for the consequences to themselves or their loved ones. Such gullibility is very well for callow youth, but for mature men to have taken up the Jacobite Cause shows a sad want of steadiness, do not you agree? For myself, I can but deplore the irresponsibility of those who plunged into so sadly lost a Cause, and must now pay so frightful a price for their folly.”
    This view was not one that Rebecca shared, but despite her admiration of the gentleman beside her, her own thoughts were much taken up with other issues. As he expounded on the subject she made few comments other than to murmur an occasional acquiescence, so that he judged her a very comformable girl, this strengthening his good impression of her.
    It was not until they were leaving a rose arbour to come out onto the hedge-lined path leading to the little summer house that either of them realized the structure was occupied. A sudden burst of feminine giggles was followed by a squeak, the sound of a slap, and the abrupt emergence of The Monahan. Laughing softly but hilariously and concentrating upon lifting her paniers so as to negotiate the three shallow steps down to the pathway, the statuesque beauty did not at once see the approaching pair, but fled towards them, still looking back and calling, “No, really, Treve! You would not dare—”
    A shout from her amused pursuer alerted her too late. Rebecca had made a belated effort to step aside, but was trapped by the hedge. Glancing around at the last instant, The Monahan swung in the same direction. For two ladies wearing the wide-hooped paniers and voluminous skirts of full evening dress, a collision could only be disastrous. Caught off balance, Rebecca staggered backwards. The Monahan stumbled over Rebecca’s foot; Rebecca was undone by the hedge, and down they both went.
    Paniers had been designed for dramatic effect. They had never been intended for reclining. Scarlet with mortification, Rebecca saw her skirts shoot into the air. Her efforts to contain them were as fruitless as her attempt to get back on her feet. Not only was she revealing a shocking expanse of her chemise, but her romantic interlude with Sir Peter was quite ruined, for how could he do anything but laugh at so clumsy a finish to their walk? Her humiliation was magnified as she heard a smothered male chuckle. That wretched de Villars! Of all the men she would least prefer to be rescued by!
    His strong hands gripped her upstretched ones. His mocking countenance bent above her. “Oh, dear! Oh, dear!” he chortled. “What a contretemps! Poor Little Parrish!” He slipped an arm about her waist, steadying her as she stood, and breathed into her ear, “We did spoil things for you. But it would not have worked, you know. Did you hurt yourself?”
    Pulling away and glaring at him ferociously, she hissed, “You are horrid! Did you know