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made her feel young again. In the early days, when Saskia’s father had arrogantly assumed she would return home defeated, Aunt Serena had been a tower of strength. Robust, aggressive and protective, she stoically rebuffed her brother’s attempts to snatch the ailing Saskia away by force.
    When Aunt Serena had subsequently been reduced to taking in paying guests, Saskia thought to improve their income and reduce her feelings of guilt by taking on their guests’ laundry and mending, meaning to attend to those duties herself. But that was not to be, either. Aunt Serena seized upon the mending, saying it was just the occupation she’d been seeking. How clever of Saskia to think of it; she could sit quite comfortably in the window embrasure and not be the least put out.
    The woman was a saint!
    And then there was the question of the twins. Yet another wave of guilt swept through Saskia, as she contemplated the advantages she deprived her children of by not returning to her father’s household. Josh could be enrolled at a good school, and Amy would benefit from the attentions of a governess. Saskia didn’t doubt for a moment that her father would provide unstintingly for her children’s education. Was she being fair to deprive them in such a way? In her father’s house they would be assured of good clothing and…and what else?
    Saskia continued to ponder the question as she worked, her swift, economical movements punctuated by a lithe grace. The twins had schooling now, of sorts, quite sufficient for them at their age. And surely it was better for them not to be separated when they were still so young? And as for clothing, well, Aunt Serena’s needle was never idle. She was constantly making pretty new pinafores and petticoats for Amy, waistcoats and shirts for Josh. And in Aunt Serena’s house Saskia was secure in the knowledge that her children were surrounded by an abundance of love and the freedom to grow, without the threat of someone else’s will being imposed upon them.
    Heartened by the knowledge that all the money in the world could never replace such comforts, and resolving anew not to permit her father to win, Saskia knocked together a new batch of scones and was wearily removing them from the stove when the kitchen door flew open. The twins came bursting through it like a whirlwind, arms and legs flailing at seemingly impossible angles, disorderly red hair flying loose around Amy’s shoulders. Hoskins, their wiry little terrier dog, leapt at their heels.
    “What are you two doing in here?” Saskia asked, hands on hips, trying to sound severe, but knowing that her face had softened at the sight of her adored children. “I thought I asked you to pick the beans in the kitchen garden?”
    “Oh, you did, Mama,” Josh said, “but you see…”
    “We heard the front door, and of course Mr. Graham isn’t here today and…”
    “And so we went to see who it was.”
    “And?” Saskia was well used to her children speaking at the same time and finishing one another’s sentences.
    “It’s a gentleman,” Amy said importantly.
    “And he requires a room.”
    “We said you would go and see him.”
    “His name’s Mr. Beauchamp.”
    “No, Josh, it was Mr. Beaumont.”
    “Well anyway,” they finished together, “he’s waiting to see you. We showed him into the breakfast room, just as you said we should whenever someone calls.”
    “Take the scones into the drawing room for me.” Saskia removed her apron and smoothed down her gown, grinning ruefully at its less than pristine state. “And the cream and jam too. Carefully!” she screamed after their swiftly retreating figures.
    As she moved toward the breakfast room, Saskia was aware that she must look hot and flustered and that, as usual, long red curls were escaping from what was supposed to be an elegant chignon. She sighed, resigned to the fact that there was little she could do to improve her appearance in the short time available, and trusting to