“Yes, it has been so dreary,” Mrs. Marshall agreed.

“The farmers are at their wits' end about the harvest. How long is your leave from the Peninsula, Lord St. Simon?”

“I have some negotiations to conduct on Wellington’s behalf at Westminster,” Julian said. “And the duke is also anxious that Tamsyn is well settled in her new country before I return. He was also acquainted with her father. I'm hoping that when the Season begins, I can prevail upon Lucy to sponsor Tamsyn.”

This was news to Tamsyn. “Perdon?” she said.

“Please… nocomprendo.”

By the time I've finished with you, buttercup, you're not going to understand the time of day, Julian swore silently. “My sister,” he reminded her, without a trace of emotion.

“Ah, si.” She leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs, smiling sunnily.

Lady Pendragon stared in shocked disbelief, but Julian moved swiftly, crossing in front of Tamsyn to refill the vicar's glass. As he did so, he kicked her ankle sharply, and Tamsyn hastily sat up straight, clasping her hands in her lap.

“Where were you educated, Senorita Baron?” Lady Pendragon asked slowly.

Tamsyn blinked and frowned, as if trying to understand. Then she nodded and beamed as if finally comprehending the question. She rattled off a stream of Spanish, nodding and smiling, gesturing eloquently while her audience stared uncomprehendingly until she'd fallen silent, when six heads turned as one to the colonel, who was now leaning against the mantelshelf, arms folded, an expression of sardonic resignation in the bright-blue eyes.

“In a mountain convent, ma'am,” he said. “A very strict order in a convent perched on a mountain peak. It could only be reached by mule, so the pupils saw very few people other than the sisters. Tamsyn's mother died when she was ten, and she was sent there after her death. Then, when she was eighteen, her father sent for her to Madrid. She was to be presented at court.”

Tamsyn nodded, twisting her hands in her lap, her violet eyes· brimming with emotion throughout this translation.

“Unfortunately, Senor Baron died very suddenly and consigned his daughter to the care of his good friends the Duke of Wellington and myself”

“Si… Si,” Tamsyn said, now smiling radiantly at Julian before rattling off another stream of Spanish.

“It was thought best she should come to England, at least until the war in Spain is over,” Julian translated without a flicker of emotion. Despite his annoyance with this playacting, he had to admit that Tamsyn was providing an immaculate background cover.

“Quite so,” Lady Pendragon said faintly. “How very unfortunate for you, Miss Baron.”

“Forgive me, my dear, but have you been ill?” Mrs. Thornton asked, leaning forward to pat Tamsyn's knee with her mittened hand.

Tamsyn looked blank for a minute, then responded cheerfully; nodding at Julian to provide translation.

“She says she is never ill, ma' am,” he responded obediently.

“I just wondered… her hair… most unusual.”

Now, how was she going to explain that one? He threw her the question.

“Oh, that was the convent,” Tamsyn invented without missing a beat. “The sisters insisted we have our hair cut very short… to prevent the sin of vanity, you understand.”

“Very commendable,” Mrs. Thornton said with a nod at her husband as Lord St. Simon finished translating, his voice devoid of expression, his face a mask. “We have often commented at the vicarage how young girls these days think too much of their appearances. Not Hester, of course.” She smiled at Mrs. Marshall and her daughter. “Hester is a paragon… so helpful around the parish.”

“Lady Fortescue will sponsor Senorita Baron at court, Lord St. Simon?” Mrs. Marshall inquired, accepting the compliment for her daughter with a complacent nod.

“I trust so,” he said dryly, sipping his wine. “I'm anxious to return to the Peninsula, as you might imagine.”

“What's your feeling about the way it's going, St. Simon?” Lord Pendragon asked, and the men drew apart, becoming involved in war talk.

Tamsyn sat demurely in her chair while the, ladies chatted among themselves, nodding at her occasionally so she shouldn't feel completely excluded from a conversation that was as incomprehensible to her as if she really. didn't speak English. They talked about recipes for calfs-foot jelly, blonde lace for trimming a gown, and the intransigence of parlor maids, while Tamsyn strained to hear the men's conversation, constantly biting her tongue to keep from contributing to a discussion that touched her much more nearly.

“I trust your… your ward… will accompany you to church on Sunday.” Mrs. Thornton drew on her gloves as the visitors finally rose to leave.

“Tamsyn will worship in our church for want of her own,” Julian said coolly. “Won't you, nina?”

“Perdon?” Tamsyn said sweetly, fluttering her luxuriant eyelashes as she gazed up at him in innocent inquiry. His responding glare scorched a warning, and she fell back discreetly as he escorted his visitors to their various carriages.

“Does the child have a duenna?” Mrs. Marshall asked as Julian handed her into her barouche.

“Oh, yes, a most fearsome Spanish lady,” Julian assured her solemnly. “And if she isn't enough, Tamsyn's also accompanied by a bodyguard-a veritable giant of a Scotsman, whose task, it seems, is to keep all strangers at bay until they've been duly vetted. I'm sure the village will be talking about him soon enough. Gabriel's a hard man to miss.”

Mrs. Marshall considered this for a minute, then nodded as if satisfied. Her daughter stepped up and took her place beside her.

“Good-bye, senorita.” Hester leaned over, holding her hand out to Tamsyn. “We must have that ride soon.”

“Yes,” Tamsyn said bravely, taking her hand rather more gently this time. “And please… please call me Tamsyn. It is muy bien, more pleasant, si?”

“Tamsyn,” Hester said, smiling. “Such a pretty Cornish name. Lord St. Simon said your mother's family came from these parts many, many years ago. You must call me Hester. I know we shall be good friends.”

The carriages rolled down the driveway, with Tamsyn waving energetically at Lord St. Simon's side.

“All right, you, inside!” Julian turned on Tamsyn once the carriages were out of earshot. His arm went around her waist, and he swept her into the house. “Just what the devil was all that about?”

“It seemed the perfect solution,” Tamsyn protested in wide-eyed innocence as he propelled her back to the library and the door shivered on its hinges under his vigorous slam. “I was afraid I would say something accidentally indiscreet or perhaps offend them, because I don't know anything about English society, so I thought if I didn't say anything very much, then it would be safe, and you wouldn't have cause to be vexed.” She laid a hand on his sleeve. “You were so ferociously threatening, Colonel.”

“Don't give me that mock innocence,” he said.

“You were making game of them… and of me!”

“No, I wasn't,” Tamsyn declared. “If you think for a minute, you'll see what a perfect solution it is, so long as I can remember to keep it up. If I don't speak, I can't say the wrong thing, and everyone will expect me to be different, so no one will look askance at any strange behavior. While you're teaching me not to make mistakes, I can be pretending to learn English properly, so when I make my debut… or whatever you want to call it… when it's safe to let me loose, then I can speak English without its seeming peculiar.”

“Safe to let you loose?” Julian murmured. “Dear God!” He ran a distracted hand through the burnished lock of hair flopping on his forehead. “You're about as safe as a cobra in a mouse's nest.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Tamsyn. “What a horrible image! And what's wrong with my plan? It's a perfect cover.”