him until that moment.” I was quiet then, as I thought of that moment, my despair, my stoical promise to myself to put those thoughts away, and I could imagine how Tom felt—except it probably hadn’t been as cataclysmic with him.

“You’re in love?” Tom asked, despair etching his voice. “He loves you?”

“Yes. It made me do some stupid things, but here I am, and if we get out of this, next week I’ll be Lady Strang, sailing the high seas.”

Tom stared at me, puzzled. At least it had made him forget his melancholy. I forced a smile. “He has a yacht, silly.”

His face cleared. “Oh, Rose, are you sure he’s for you? He’s from another world you might not like. You belong here, in Devonshire.”

“With the smugglers?” I said scornfully. “No, I belong with him now. Your mother said much the same thing when she first met him, you know, then she spoke with Martha. I let her see a side of him he doesn’t usually let people see.”

“My mother still has her doubts. Rose, he could hurt you. He’s done some things in the past which I don’t think you’d quite like.”

“I know. I read all about them, and he’s told me some of the less disreputable episodes himself. Many of them were exaggerated, but he never excuses himself, or says he had a lot to contend with.”

“Like a privileged life, women throwing themselves at him?”

I heard his bitter tone, but I smiled. “No, Tom, like having a brother so close he’s almost you, and then seeing him leave for more than ten years, disgraced. Richard was left to bear the whole scandal on his own. That scandal could have broken him, and did make him try to outdo Gervase in outrageous behaviour. But we all grow up one day. He told me he’d done that just before he met me. He was ready for me when I arrived, although he didn’t know it.”

“Do you know,” said Tom thoughtfully, “there’s something queer about all that. Why should Mr. Kerre’s elopement have caused so much disgrace? Ten years’ worth?”

I frowned, and tried to smooth my hair back. It still hung loose, and was beginning to tangle again. “There is something more, but I can’t tell you, Tom. It was told me in confidence, and it’s not my secret to tell.”

He nodded. “Yes, I thought as much. I won’t pry. You know what you’ve told me? About falling in love?”

“Yes.” I began to pin my hair back up into place again, as best I could without a mirror.

“Are you sure it isn’t infatuation? Are you sure it won’t last six months, and then you’ll find yourself with a husband you hardly know, who might use you terribly?”

“I know I love him now,” I said, despite my mouth full of hairpins, “and I like him, too.” I put the last pins in place. “He keeps his promises, he’s loyal to his friends, good to his servants, and he will make the best kind of husband. On the other side, he has a terrible temper, mostly under control, he doesn’t suffer fools at all and he has a disinclination to let anyone into his life, even his parents. Only two people know him properly—Gervase and myself. He seems unable to let anyone else in.” I found it helped to talk about Richard, think about the good things in my life. When I thought ahead there was only a black void. I felt, somewhere deep inside, we weren’t meant to get out of this alive.

“It must have been lonely for him,” said Tom sardonically.

Having let his guard down so disastrously, we spent a long time trying to get back to normal, as much as we could in this place, but we achieved it by the end of the day. We talked about our childhood, and went over again any plans we might have to get out of this place unhurt.

Tom was every inch a squire’s son. His sense of obligation was absolute and his desire for the status quo never to change as entrenched as any other countryman’s. The changes in our lives would affect him, too, even if only that he had grander neighbours, but that in itself would bring change to our part of Devonshire. Perhaps his desire to keep everything normal persuaded him to try to keep one thing normal—our relationship. But he couldn’t have that. Tom would have to live with it. I hoped it was just a passing fancy, that he’d find someone to care for one day, but I’d always been sure it wouldn’t be me. I didn’t think I was wrong now. Tom hated change, and I suspected his impulse to keep me had something to do with that. I’d have accepted him gladly, though, had I not met someone else, and I was sure we’d have had a good and productive life together, but I couldn’t be sorry now.

We ate the bread and drank the beer, and when the light faded, wrapped ourselves in the blankets and tried to sleep, no nearer a solution than when we had first been brought here. I knew Sir George Skerrit and Richard would do everything they could to find us. I prayed it would be soon.

In the morning, Tom’s headache had gone, and he seemed none the worse for the bump. Someone brought us bread, beer and cheese, and dealt with the chamber pot, and when I asked for it, they brought some water in a bowl. I sacrificed one of my petticoats to make a washcloth and towel, and we managed well, considering our miserable situation. I helped Tom rub away some of the thick crust of blood on his head after we’d washed ourselves. Underneath, it wasn’t