“I’m so glad to be out of mourning,” I told him.

“I’m so glad to see you looking better.”

“I needed the sleep.”

“You must have done; I don’t think it’s just the blue gown making you look so much better.”

It was a fine day today; the sky scattered with clouds with no rain in them. The flowers were beginning to come; buds on some early shrubs and the daffodils coming into full bloom. “Does it get better than this?” I said.

“Oh yes.”

What I saw in his eyes, the promise of intimacies to come, made me blush. “I’ll make it better for both of us,” he said, twining his hand with mine.

“I’ll do my best.” Glancing behind to make sure we were unobserved, he drew me to him for a gentle kiss.

We went back in for breakfast to the usual cacophony of a family breakfast. Martha liked the children to join us for this less formal meal. Out of politeness Richard and Gervase agreed that this custom must continue while they were guests at the Manor, but I feared it might try their patience. They weren’t used to living so close and having the boisterousness of small children intrude upon their daily lives.

I remembered a promise. “I said I would play the harpsichord for you.”

“So you did.” I had finished my meal, so he stood and pulled back my chair for me when I got to my feet.

Martha stared at Lizzie meaningfully. “Can I come?” Lizzie asked. Gervase asked if he could come too, and so our chaperones accompanied us.

We went upstairs to the music room, and I smiled at Richard. “You’re doing well with the children. They’re still in awe of you, but not as much as when you first arrived.”

He smiled wryly in return. “I hope to keep a little distance between us.” Richard was not yet comfortable with children. I hoped that one day he would be.

The music room was on the first floor, one of Martha’s show rooms. Small sofas were spread about in the new informal style, and a large, decorative harp dominated the room. The harpsichord stood behind it. I walked to the instrument, and on my way drew my hand along the strings of the harp. I watched Gervase and Richard’s faces contort in a reaction to the disharmony produced. “Nobody plays it,” I explained. “Lizzie wanted to try, but she gave up after a while.”

“I thought I would show to advantage, and give Eustacia Terry something to think about,” my sister confessed. “But I couldn’t come to terms with it.”

Gervase grinned. “Several ladies have taken it up in that spirit. But I’ve rarely heard it played well.”

Lizzie assumed her most coquettish expression, chin tilted, gazing up at Gervase through her abundant lashes. “Ah, but do they look elegant when they’re playing it?”

Richard added his mite. “I always thought that the ear and the eye should be pleasured at the same time.”

I sat at the harpsichord and sorted through the sheet music I kept on top. I chose favourites, so no one would be obliged to act as page-turner. Scarlatti and the German composer, Bach. Gervase saw Lizzie seated, and I watched her dispose her skirts elegantly about her and lay her fan by her side. Richard sat, equally elegantly, on a sofa opposite, and Gervase found himself a seat in the space Lizzie had left. In a presage of spring, sunshine streamed though the large window on to the despised harp, right across the room. I began to play.

Richard said little, but closed his eyes from time to time. Gervase and Lizzie were equally silent, but it was the harmony of tranquillity. I enjoyed playing, forgot myself in the music, a blessed time.

Unfortunately we weren’t left alone for long.

A knock fell on the door and the butler brought in a salver with some ominous pieces of pasteboard resting on it. Visitors, marking the end of our peaceful morning.

Lizzie took up the cards and I brought the piece I was playing to rest.

“There’s two groups of guests waiting to see us,” Lizzie told us with a sigh. “Lady Skerrit and Georgiana, and Mrs. and Miss Terry.” She looked up at the butler. “Show them up here, please.”

“The beauteous Miss Eustacia Terry.” Richard’s voice was suspiciously cool. I gave him a suspicious look.

“We’re out of mourning now,” Lizzie observed wryly. “Fair game for visitors.”

Gervase gave a short laugh. “And it looks as though we’re being hunted. Richard, could you possibly behave yourself this time?”

“I? Whatever can you mean?” Not a trace of guile lurked in Richard’s eyes.

Gervase threw up his hands in a gesture of submission. “I hear Frederick Brean is coming next week. I can only hope he succeeds in distracting local society. Rose, can’t you prevail on Richard to stop his campaign?”

I shook my head. “No, but I have made him promise not to take it too far.”

“That will have to do then.” The door opened and the redoubtable Marsh announced Mrs. Terry and her daughter, with a ceremonious flourish. Mrs. Terry paused on the threshold. I noticed, not for the first time, her sheer size. She was often described by the kinder element as a “comfortable” woman, but the tight lacing she customarily used made her bulge at top and bottom like a generous hour glass. She loaded her person with fashionable ornament, throwing the more simple attire the rest of us affected into the shade. Her daughter was dressed