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line was dead. Of course! He should have guessed that the snow would cut off all communication.
    Anyway, he thought impatiently, he was no longer on visiting terms with the local dignitaries.
    It would have sounded foolish in the extreme to suddenly enquire after a strange young woman he had only met for a few seconds in difficult circumstances!
    He shivered as a cold draught from the ancient ill-fitting casement window swept under the dark red velvet curtains. He realised the fire had long gone out and it was very late.
    The Earl picked up the papers and slipped them inside his thin black briefcase.
    For some reason he did not want to leave them in his study or even lock them in the safe.
    Their contents were crucial to the safety of several countries.
    If they fell into the wrong hands or were read by the wrong eyes, just anything could happen in that sensitive geographical area, the Balkans.
    He walked out into the cold echoing emptiness of the Great Hall.
    As always the Earl felt a surge of appreciation and deep love for his home.
    He ambled slowly through the Great Hall, admiring the beautiful tapestries, the collection of ancient spears and shields, the suits of armour his ancestors had worn in long ago battles, the stained and torn flags of the Regiment his family had given so many sons to over the centuries.
    He had always been destined for the Army and he had enjoyed his time in India, serving his Regiment with bravery and distinction.
    Then the blow had fallen.
    His father had not even been ill, but caught a nasty chill out hunting one bitter January morning. The chill had turned to pneumonia and within a week he had gone.
    He had received the astonishing and tragic news in India that he had inherited the castle and Somerton estates and fortune.
    Although he had hated doing so, he had been forced to give up his Commission and return to England.
    There he found the grieving Millicent, his father’s young ward and he had no idea how to handle the problem of being in charge of such a young woman.
    She had no relations and the castle was her home.
    Marrying her had seemed the right solution to so many problems.
    He knew in his heart of hearts that he had never loved her, but he had been very fond of the girl, although often exasperated by her light-hearted approach to life.
    The Earl sighed.
    He was well aware that he now had a responsibility to provide an heir to take on the castle and the estate.
    He had no brothers or sisters with families and if he should die, the whole estate would pass to a distant cousin, who was living in some outlandish place in the Outback of Australia!
    The future had seemed so easy and possible when Millicent had been alive.
    Now – he could see no future for the family line at all.
    He felt a surge of disgust at his predicament.
    What was he supposed to do?
    Marry some girl he did not know just to make her pregnant and produce an heir for the Somerton line?
    It was a disgraceful idea, although he was sure that some of his contemporaries would find nothing wrong with the plan.
    Indeed the Earl was only too well aware that shortly after Millicent’s death, the eligible daughters and sisters of friends had been paraded in front of him – as if they were in some sort of Arab bazaar and he was there bidding for a servant or slave-girl!
    And people were wondering why he had now shut himself away in the castle refusing to join in local Society!
    High above his head in the darkness, a long wooden gallery ran around all four sides of the Great Hall, linking the vast round turrets.
    The Earl found a candle and matches and holding the candlestick, he walked slowly up the polished stairs to the higher reaches of the castle.
    This part of his home was in fairly good repair, but he had noticed a few days ago that the wooden posts of the long gallery skirting the East Turret had rotted away and there was a dangerous gap.
    But luckily no one ever visited the East Turret and there was nothing