After dismounting at the stables and turning the horses over to the care of grooms, they were shown into the house, and Anne’s breath was fairly taken away by the medieval splendor of it, with its intricately carved minstrel gallery, its huge stone fireplace and whitewashed walls covered with shields and banners, and the enormous oak banqueting table that stretched along its length.

But they were not left long to contemplate it. The duchess came hurrying into the hall only a minute or two after the butler had disappeared to announce their arrival. Both her arms were stretched out ahead of her.

“Lauren, Kit,” she said. “And Andrew and Sophie. What a delight! And Miss Jewell-it is you. And David. And Mr. Butler.” She laughed. “Oh, what is this? Do tell me.”

“Not Miss Jewell, your grace,” Sydnam said, “but Mrs. Butler.”

The duchess clasped her hands to her bosom and beamed from one to the other of them. But before she could say any more, the Duke of Bewcastle himself strolled into the hall, his eyebrows raised, his quizzing glass in his hand and halfway to his eye.

“Oh, Wulfric,” the duchess said, hurrying to his side and taking his arm with both hands, “here are Lauren and Kit and the children, and Mr. Butler has married Miss Jewell after all. We were right, you see, and you were wrong.”

“I beg your pardon, my love,” his grace said, making a slight bow that encompassed them all, “but I must protest in my own defense. I do not believe I ever said that either you or my brothers and sisters and their spouses were wrong. What I did say, if you will remember, is that matchmaking was an undignified and unnecessary activity when the two people concerned were quite capable of conducting their own courtship. It would seem, then, that I was right. And so you have taken leave of absence from your post in order to marry, have you, Sydnam? My felicitations. Ma’am?” He bowed again to Anne.

“And we are going to have a new baby,” David blurted happily.

The duchess’s hands flew to her mouth, though her eyes danced with merriment above them. Kit and Lauren were very quiet. The duke raised his quizzing glass all the way to his silver eye and directed it at David.

“Are you, indeed?” he said frostily. “But I would wager, my boy, that that was your mama’s secret to tell-or not tell. I doubt you would be delighted if she divulged one of your secrets.”

The duchess lowered her hands and stepped closer to hug David.

“But it is the most splendid secret in the world,” she said, “and belongs to your whole family, not just to your mama. But why are we standing here just as if there were no nursery for the children to play in and no morning room where there is a warm fire for the rest of us to take coffee? Mama and Eleanor are up there and will be delighted to welcome company.”

Anne felt somewhat as she had felt on her arrival at Alvesley. Why had she not thought of having a word with David before they came here? She glanced helplessly at Sydnam, who looked back, a twinkle in his eye. The wretch! He was actually enjoying this!

The duchess linked an arm through hers and led her in the direction of the staircase.

“I am so very happy for you, Mrs. Butler,” she said. “Is it not the most glorious feeling in the world to discover that one is with child? Both Wulfric and I believed when we married that we could not have children. James is our miracle, the little rascal. He kept his nurse up half of last night with his crying and then fell promptly asleep after his feed this morning when I wished to play with him.”

They had discussed a possible courtship between her and Sydnam, Anne was thinking-all the Bedwyns, that was, at Glandwr. They had tried to matchmake.

She had had no idea.

She would have died of embarrassment if she had.

She turned to catch Sydnam’s eye and surprised herself by exchanging a smile with him.

Had he known?

Had he minded?

Had he wanted to court her? When he had asked her to marry him at Ty Gwyn, had he meant it? Had he wanted her to say yes?

It would make all the difference in the world if he had.

But if he had, why had he asked in such a way?

If you wish, Anne, we will marry.

But she would have said no anyway, she supposed. Just as she ought to have said no in Bath. But how could she have refused then?

They were indeed going to have a new baby in their family, and that child was of far more importance than either she or Sydnam.

They did not stay long at Lindsey Hall though they were well received there. Indeed, the duchess was beside herself with delight. And even Bewcastle stayed in the morning room to take coffee with them.

They were back home in time for luncheon, and Sydnam felt that at last he could put into effect what he had made up his mind to yesterday. When he had told Anne out at the temple folly that they both needed to go back before they could move forward, he had not known just how that could apply to himself. He had thought it would mean merely allowing himself to remember-to look back upon what had excited him about painting and to try to remember exactly what it was he had tried to capture and accomplish with his brush. It would have been painful-for many years he had not allowed himself to remember.

But there was more than memories.

When they had been walking home after the rain stopped, largely in silence, he had said one thing as he made his way ahead of her through the woods and held back a branch that would have deluged her face with water as she passed, as it had just done to his.

“I wish,” he had said, “I could see just one of my old paintings. But they were all destroyed.”

“Oh, no, they were not,” she had said, taking the branch from his hand so that he could move ahead. “They were put up in the attic. Your mother told me.”

He had turned away without a word, and he had not spoken a word on the subject since. He had convinced himself when they arrived back at the house that it was too late in the day to see them properly. And this morning he had felt it necessary to make the visit to Lindsey Hall.

But now the time had come-and he would have grasped at any excuse that offered itself not to do what he must do, he thought.

Anne was sitting at the other side of the luncheon table, listening to his mother’s account of the duchess’s first visit to Alvesley, before it had dawned on any of them that Bewcastle was courting her.

“We had so given up all expectation that Bewcastle would marry,” she said, “and Christine was so very different from any bride we might have imagined him choosing that we did not dream of what was about to happen. But though he is as dour as ever, I do believe he is content with her.”

“Oh, more than content, Mother,” Lauren said. “He adores her.”

“I would have to agree,” Anne said. “One night when I was at Glandwr, I saw them from the window of my bedchamber strolling together toward the cliff top above the sea. He had his arm about her shoulders and she had hers about his waist.”

She turned her head to smile at him.

“I am going upstairs,” he told her when the meal was over, and they left the dining room together.

“To rest?” she asked him.

“No,” he said. “Not to our rooms.”

“To the nurs-” But there was sudden awareness in her eyes.

“No. Not there. You are going up to the attic, Sydnam?”

“Yes,” he said. “I think I will.”

She looked searchingly at him as they stood alone together at the foot of the stairs.

“Would you rather go alone?” she asked him. “Or may I go with you?”

He was not sure he had the courage to go alone, though that was what he had intended.

“Come with me?” he said. “Please?”

She took his hand in hers and they went up together, their fingers laced.