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distresses me that ladies of delicacy and refinement”—he bowed first to Lady Hayes and then to Moira—“should have been left alone to suffer the consequences of such villainy. But that time is past. I am here now to both protect and rescue you. Although I will never besmirch my mother’s ears with this story of villainy, I feel confident in asserting that if she knew, she would advise me to the course of action that I shall take. I shall call upon the Earl of Haverford this afternoon, as planned, and I shall apologize most sincerely for my forebear’s actions and for his neglecting to humble himself and his family before the present earl’s forebear by taking himself away and living out his life in quiet obscurity.”
    Moira was feeling a strange mingling of embarrassment, outrage, humor—and anxiety.
    “My dear Cousin Edwin,” Lady Hayes said faintly, one hand over her mouth.
    But Sir Edwin raised a staying hand. “You need not thank me, ma’am,” he said. “As the present baronet of Penwith Manor, I have inherited not only a title and property, but also responsibility for the actions of all the baronets who have gone before me. And for the protection of their womenfolk.” He bowed to Lady Hayes. “I shall attempt to effect a reconciliation in this matter, ma’am, and I feel confident that his lordship will honor me for my humility and for my assumption of all the blame for what happened long ago.”
    Moira stared at him in silent incredulity. There was no longer anything funny about this. What would the Earl of Haverford
think
of them? And she despised herself for caring.
    “Contrary to general belief,” Sir Edwin continued, “pride need not be lost in humility. I shall lose no pride in making my apologies to his lordship. You must not fear it, ladies. You will accompany me, Miss Hayes.”
    “I beg you will excuse me, sir,” she said hastily. “It would perhaps be more proper for you to call alone since the Earl of Haverford is himself alone at Dunbarton.”
    “It is said,” Lady Hayes added, “that the countess, his mother, is also coming to Dunbarton with other houseguests for Christmas, but I have not heard of their having arrived yet, sir.” It was surprising what one heard in a country neighborhood even when everyone was careful to avoid certain topics in one’s hearing. “He is undoubtedly alone at Dunbarton. Moira was to accompany me to tea in Tawmouth this afternoon.”
    But Sir Edwin was not to be deterred. “It will be entirely proper for Miss Hayes to accompany me,” he said, “as my newlybetrothed. It will be seen as a superior mark of courtesy in me to present you first in that capacity, Miss Hayes, to his lordship since he is, beyond any doubt, the social leader of this community. And it is entirely appropriate that you be present for the reconciliation of your family with his lordship’s. You will be able to lift your head high, Miss Hayes, after having had to keep it bowed in shame throughout your life. It would appear that some good angel has brought me here at this particular time. I can only conclude that my mother has aided and abetted that angel by insisting that I travel here rather than stay home to comfort her through the trial of her slight chill.”
    Lady Hayes said no more. She only glanced at her daughter with a helpless, half-apologetic look. Her mother, Moira remembered, had once been a vocal advocate of ending a feud that had begun so long ago. She had come from Ireland to marry Moira’s father and had expected that she would live a full and happy social life. She had not enjoyed finding that she must avoid all entertainments that were to include the Countess of Haverford and her family. But that had been before the feud had been updated, of course. Perhaps, Moira thought belatedly, she should have mentioned those facts to Sir Edwin too. Undoubtedly she should have.
    But she said nothing more. She did not argue further. Sir Edwin Baillie, Moira suspected