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“Your suitable tenant?” He laughed and shook his head, raking his hands through his hair, shedding more dust. “You have not fared any better.” His face sobered, and he reached out and plucked a bit of plaster from her hair, took her hand, turned it palm up, and dropped a tiny bud of some past garland in her hand. “Seriously,” he said, “can your gown be saved?”

“Oh, I think so.” She started down the stairs. He would be surprised at how much could be saved if there were no funds for replacements. She glanced over her shoulder. It was the whiteness of his eyebrows that gave him the look of an actor in a play. “Come on,” she said. “Walk me home, if you will, and get back to your grand project.”

He was familiar with her limp by now, though they never spoke of it, and he adjusted his stride to hers. She wondered if he’d forgotten it when he’d asked her to come to his ball. Probably.

As they passed the edge of the lake, he gave the water a longing glance. “There are no rules against tenants taking a dip, are there?”

She laughed. “Be my guest.”

Where the road veered off the main drive to the dower house, she stopped him. “Really, I can manage to get safely home on my own.”

“Good,” he said. “I’ll let you go, but I will hold you to the plan for church on Sunday. And, I’ll ask you to look at the new ceiling when it’s safe to do so.”

He bowed and turned back up the drive toward the big house. Cassie slipped into the woods.

*

Raven reached the edge of the lake in a very few strides. He dropped onto the grass, stripped off his waistcoat, and tugged off his boots, making a neat pile of them in the grass. He was a gentleman. His desires were well-regulated. He could only explain his reaction to unfashionable Cassandra Lavenham as a result of not exercising properly. In the weeks since he’d signed the lease for Verwood, he had had no daily run, no weekly sparring match with one of his friends. His waking hours had been occupied with meeting craftsmen, hiring workers, ordering materials, looking at plans.

Grit stuck to his neck and shoulders. In a flash he saw the white-laced edge of her bodice dusted with plaster. The water stretched out before him, cool and refreshing. He undid his cuffs, pulled his shirt over his head, and rubbed his face and shoulders. The lake, some three hundred yards across, stirred memories of the river at Daventry Hall where he’d learned to swim. He added his shirt to the little pile, stood, and waded out through the reeds. Cold mud oozed between his toes. Then he plunged in. The water closed over his head, cool and bracing. He surfaced and began to stroke for the far side. He made himself think of the old days when Wenlocke had been Daventry.

In the summer after his marriage, Daventry had insisted that his boys learn to swim. Once they’d got the hang of it, they had spent most days in the river. At the end of that summer, Dav, as he was then called, gathered them together up on their roof to ask permission to search for their families. He told them that someone somewhere missed them as his mother and brothers had missed him. He listened as they complained and doubted and got angry. He reminded them of things about themselves that they’d quite forgotten, clues that would help him find their true origins. He told them the decision was theirs. Whatever the search yielded, he would help them establish themselves in the world.

For days they talked of nothing else, lying at the edge of the river, arguing and shivering from hours in the water. Jay had been the first to claim that he remembered his people. They had horses. The others, even Raven, scoffed at him. They knew what they were—the refuse of London, its surplus population, the unwanted, passed from one parish to another, sold for climbing boys, trained to be pickpockets, or sent to the workhouse. Lark and Rook had left the gang to live in London again. All of them knew the pair would end up picking pockets. None of them was like Dav, the kidnapped grandson of the Duke of Wenlocke. The truth about their families would not come with a title and a grand hall. But Jay had been willing to take the risk. In the end they had all chosen to seek their families, all except Robin.

Raven slowed his stroke and lifted his head. The far shore was close now. He rolled to his back and looked at the sky, his heart pounded, his breath came in gusts. He had come a long way from the day he’d agreed to the search for his family. He knew who he was. He had a plan. His goal was hardly farther than the shore of the little lake. Inconvenient feelings for his quirky landlady would not sway him now. The Raven of his London youth had been glad of the things that came his way, damaged or broken, not Sir Adrian Cole. Sir Adrian Cole would give a dazzling ball at Verwood and claim his perfect bride before the end of the summer.

He swam the last few yards of the lake in a flurry of strokes and kicks and stood on the shore, catching his breath, and shaking water from his head, his body plaster-streaked. Lady Amabel Haydon was the woman for him. He would stick to his plan, meet his neighbors, finish his renovations, and invite the world to Verwood.

Chapter Nine

Cassie had perhaps underestimated the effect on her neighbors of a fashionable gentleman sitting in the Verwood pew at St. Andrew’s. A damp, dismal day had not discouraged church attendance, and St. Andrew’s was packed. Though Mr. Montford’s sermonizing usually lulled his listeners into a Sunday doze, Cassie did not need to turn round to know that her neighbors were fully awake. She suspected that most pairs of female eyes, and some male ones as well, were directed toward Sir Adrian’s tall person. With his appearance in church, he ceased to belong exclusively to the ladies of Verwood. Now their neighbors had claims upon him. A report circulating in the village said he was worth ten thousand pounds per annum. Cassie believed the actual figure was thirty.

With the final triumphant notes of a rousing hymn, a general stir rustled through St. Andrew’s. Shuffling and murmurs accompanied the plop of hymnals sliding into holders. Sir Adrian stepped out of the Verwood pew and offered his arm to Grandmama who took it with her usual cool disdain. In Grandmama’s mind, it was she who bestowed the favor. Cassie and Honoria followed, past neighbors craning in the pews to catch a glimpse of the gentleman. No one seeing him in his elegant London coat would credit Jay Kydd’s story of Sir Adrian’s youth as Raven.

Outside, under the dripping eaves of St. Andrew’s little porch, Mr. Montford greeted them, and invited them to dinner, an awkward invitation, as Sir Adrian, not his titled landlady, was obviously the true object of Mrs. Montford’s warm hospitality. When the press of the crowd behind them became too much to resist, Mr. Montford allowed Sir Adrian to escort Grandmama to her carriage. Once her grandmother had been helped inside, Sir Adrian turned to Cassie, his dark, winged brows as black as a raven’s, no plaster dust on him.

“Before you go, a quick word.” He offered his arm and led her back to a spot under the trees. “Are there any of your neighbors I should avoid? Those that Her Grace would not welcome at Verwood?”

“Oh, I suspect you can’t avoid meeting them all as long as the rain holds off.” She grinned at his dilemma, but she did not think Grandmama would actually terminate his lease for inviting any of their more pushing neighbors to Verwood. “You are as coveted as the prize turkey at the fair. Our local hostesses will vie to have you at their tables.”

“Prize turkey?” Sir Adrian scanned the crowd as if he sought some familiar face. As she followed his gaze, Cassie saw Jay Kydd leap down from a black curricle standing in the west road beyond the churchyard. She shifted her position slightly to keep Sir Adrian between her and Mr. Kydd. Her encounter with Mr. Kydd now seemed most irregular and a bit mad, certainly out of character. She had avoided any repeat of the occasion. What had she been thinking to enter into conversation with a stranger and let him rattle on telling her his history and Sir Adrian’s, believing the whole, and concealing her own identity. She could not think why she’d done it. She supposed that she had been gratified in some way by Mr. Kydd’s attentions, and she had to admit that she’d been curious to hear about Raven.

She glanced up at Sir Adrian and realized that she had missed something he’d said. “I beg your pardon.”

“Lord Ramsbury and his family don’t attend services at St. Andrew’s?”

“Lord Ramsbury? No. The family has a private chapel and their own chaplain, a Mr. Bellamy.”

“Ah,” said Sir Adrian. “I wondered.”

“Are you acquainted with the Haydon family?” Cassie asked. He could not know the whole family. He certainly had not recognized Hugh that day at the inn.

“With Lady Amabel I am. We met in London,” he said with a smile, a smile that softened and transformed his face. Cassie froze, and an odd tremor shook her. There was no mistaking what that smile meant. Sir Adrian Cole was in love with Lady Amabel Haydon.

Abruptly, Sir Adrian’s interest in Verwood made sense. Verwood bordered Ramsbury Park. Proximity to Amabel had been Verwood’s chief attraction, not the hall or the grounds. He had come to court Amabel. His determination to improve the hall was for Amabel. She was the object of all his efforts. The realization stirred a sickening knot in Cassie’s stomach, a churning mix of alarm and fear, not for herself but for him. The singlemindedness of his admiration for Amabel was too like her own past infatuation with Torrington. She straightened and worked to dispel her agitation. The shock of discovery would wear off. Amabel was not Torrington. Cassie knew no wrong of Amabel, who had been a lovely child when Cassie had her Season.

“Ah,” she said. “It’s a short ride to Ramsbury Park from Verwood. You can call on her when the family comes down for the summer.” Likely, they would see little of Sir Adrian when the Haydon family arrived. It would be easy for Cassie to check any growing feelings for him. She had been enjoying their exchanges, and had perhaps even been in some danger of finding their tenant likable. Now she would know to keep her distance.