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unexpected presence in their lives.
    Yes, Kate would be pleased to go to London and included in appropriate diversions there. She’d marry quickly to relieve her guardian and his family of her charge.

Chapter Three
    Asleep, Kate dreamed:
    She walked through the Great Hall of the old abbey, where portraits of her forebears hung. The paintings dated back centuries. Her ancestors seemed to speak to her from the paint and canvas, declaring that her transitory concerns would pass; in due course she would take her place, serenely looking forth at her descendants from her own gilded frame. She found these thoughts immensely calming. Most people felt that the Great Hall was a dusty, cold cavern of a room, but she loved it.
    Carrying a branch of candles, Kate continued along the hall and stopped in front of a painting of a Tudor courtier. She drew in her breath as she gazed at the portrait of Robert Scoville, the first Earl of Badham. This dissolute gentleman had been a favorite of Henry VIII, who had endowed him with the peerage and the abbey during the Reformation.
    A mere stripling, he wore a black doublet, stiffly embroidered with silver thread over plain dark hose and riding boots. He leaned on a bared sword, its point driven into the ground. His chestnut hair was tied neatly at his nape.

    Kate cried out in the night as she recognized the pale, ghostly features as her own.

    She sat bolt upright in the bed, gasping as she tried to control the wild beating of her heart. A candle guttered in its wax. Able to take stock of her surroundings, she realized where she was: safe in Penrose House, far away from chill environs of Badham Abbey.
    Leaning back into the pillows, she closed her eyes and sought to fill her dreams with joyous memories: the happy laughter at last evening’s meal, the smile on the face of Anna’s tiny daughter as she ate her supper. Unbidden, the image of Quinn’s broad shoulders and elegant hands crept into her mind. She pushed the fantasy away, as it could only disturb, not soothe, and finally dropped back into sleep.

    * * *

    The next morning, Kate lay peacefully abed, watching sunlight slant through the lacy curtains at the window. Judging by the angle of the rays, she’d slept late.
    Piping voices seeped faintly through the door.
    “She can’t still be asleep, Harry. It’s already time for our elevenses.”

    “Don’t be foolish. India is half the world away.
    It’s the middle of the night there. She probably just went to bed.”
    “If she’s still asleep,” the first little voice said doggedly, “we should check to see she’s feeling all the thing.”
    After a pause, the second voice said, “If she’s sleeping, she’ll never know.”
    The door creaked. Two round heads peered around the opening. Kate peeked at the boys through her eyelashes while they tiptoed in. As they approached her bed, she leaped up and roared like a tiger, flailing her arms in the air. “AARGH!” The boys shrieked in unison—an extremely satisfying sound—and fled for the door. Smiling, she lay back onto her pillows. Her day had begun in a delightful manner.
    She reached for the bell pull. When Bettina appeared, Kate beamed at the maid. “Good morning, Bettina. How are you today?”
    “Fine, thank you, Miss Kay. You’re yet abed?”
    “I am about to arise. Where is the rest of the family?”
    “The three youngest are at lessons in the schoolroom.”
    Hah! thought Kate.
    Bettina continued, “Miss Penrose is practicing the pianoforte. Miss Pauline is reading her Greek with the master in the library. Lady Anna is conferring with Cook. My Lord Devere awakened early and has departed for London.”

    “Indeed? I was under the impression my cousin Quinn never arose early.”
    “Quite, ma’am.” Bettina, a pleasant-faced woman in her middle thirties, went to a standing wardrobe and removed a dressing gown. She held the robe open for Kate. “It is all the talk below-stairs. My lord Devere has never before