us, and I thought how pretty and out of place they both looked. Lizzie had made sure her mourning clothes were good quality, and Georgiana was dressed in a bright cotton print gown, far more appropriate to this bright spring day than my shabby grey woollen one. I might have passed for a well-off villager, from a distance.

“They’re all talking about you, rich and poor.” I didn’t need Tom to tell me that.

I thought I should try to explain about the Kerres, but then I knew I couldn’t. The situation wasn’t a simple one, not easily explained. “Let them talk,” I gave up. “I don’t care.”

Tom stared at me in surprise. “That’s not like you. You were always so afraid of gossip.”

“Perhaps I’ve discovered other things are more important.”

When we reached Mrs. Hoarty’s, we parted. Georgiana elected to visit the old lady with us, and Tom promised to call back after his errand to collect her. We watched him walk by the side of the church, leading his horse. Then we went in.

Mrs. Hoarty lived in a comfortable house on the edge of the village, near the church. The land had belonged to her husband’s family forever, but this house was a new one. After they married, her husband rebuilt the house completely to suit his new wife. Now it stood foursquare, a white stuccoed house set back from the road but in good sight of it, like a swan among the ducks of the village cottages, most of which harked back to another age. Our house, the Manor, was larger, but it and Mrs. Hoarty’s house bracketed Darkwater like bookends supporting the frailer fabric of the little cottages.

Mrs. Hoarty was a kind lady, but a garrulous one. She had one son, a lawyer in Exeter, unmarried as yet, who visited her frequently. She led a comfortable life. Moreover, if there were anything to be known, she would know it; from the front parlour window of her fine house she could see everything that went on in the village.

The lady must have seen us as we approached, for her maid was at the door before we could knock.

Mrs. Hoarty was sitting in the large room at the front of the house, where she could watch the comings and goings in the village. “Why, my dears, how nice to see you.” She didn’t get up to greet us, because she suffered badly from arthritis. I bent down to kiss her papery cheek and gave her the basket. “Why how kind of Lady Hareton.”

“How are you?” I asked.

“Very well, considering.” She never complained of the pain she suffered, despite the illness that twisted her hands into disused claws.

We gave the maid the basket of treats Martha had prepared, and settled down to satisfy her curiosity for as long as it took Tom to get his horse shod.

“Such an excitement there’s been, dear Miss Golightly! Your nuptials will be the talk of the county for years to come.”

I knew it. “I’m glad I’ll be away from all of it. I’m not used to being the centre of gossip.”

“Will your Lord Strang be arriving soon?”

I sincerely hoped so. “He wrote that he would come soon, but there are guests at Eyton, and he can’t get away yet.” I stifled my sigh. It wouldn’t be proper to reveal just how much I missed Richard and how much I looked forward to seeing him again.

The conversation was about my forthcoming nuptials, what I would wear, when Lord Strang would arrive, what we would do after the ceremony. I really tried to satisfy the old lady’s curiosity without becoming too impatient, but waiting for Richard this last month had been hard, and my nerves were frayed.

Evidently, Tom didn’t have to wait long at the blacksmith’s, because he was back in good time. We saw him at the end of Mrs. Hoarty’s front garden with his steed within the hour, so we began to take our leave.

Georgiana looked out of the window as she passed it. It had an excellent view of the main street in the village. “What’s Tom staring at? He looks as if he’s seen an apparition.” We joined her at the window, but we couldn’t see what he was gazing at so intently.

Mrs. Hoarty chose to walk with us to the end of the garden, to take some fresh air and incidentally to investigate the spectacle outside. I gave her my arm to lean on, and Georgiana supported her on the other side.

We stood by the gate, and looked in the same direction as Tom. His freshly shod horse stamped and jingled his harness beside him, but nobody took any notice.

Two figures walked up the street towards us at an easy pace. I knew them immediately. I waited, my throat tightening as I watched.

I felt stupid, behaving like a lovesick schoolgirl. I stood back a little to regain my composure, taking a few deep, steadying breaths. In any case, I wanted to see what impact the brothers would make on my friends. Separate, they were remarkable enough, but together they could stop the conversation in a room without effort.

As usual, the Kerres were dressed in the height of fashion. One wore impeccably cut, sober garments of the finest cloth, simple but full of quality, his natural fair hair held back in a plain queue. He walked with a confident stride, chatting casually to his brother. His twin brother.

The other man was the picture of fashion. He wore deep, rich, blue cut velvet today, a heavily embroidered waistcoat underneath, with an elaborately curled and tied wig. He carried a clouded Malacca cane at a precise angle. He looked like a visitor from a distant country.