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aunt.
    “Ah, but it were the Earl of Luff what refused to let his son marry
her
when Morris suggested it,” another man said after showing the innkeeper his empty tankard. “She weren't given no chance to refuse him.”
    “But she probably would 'ave,” the innkeeper said, hoisting himself to his feet. “There never was any snobbery about Miss Morris.”
    Aidan got to his feet too, nodded genially to the innkeeper and the other occupants of the taproom, and went back to his room. He was going to go out for a long ride, he decided. He was going to have to decide what to do . . . if anything. It would be ill-mannered indeed to go back to Ringwood and start probing into Miss Morris's affairs again. But—very reluctantly—he no longer felt he could simply ride for home tomorrow morning.

C HAPTER III

    L ATER THAT SAME AFTERNOON, E VE WALKED INTO THE village alone. Aunt Mari would have accompanied her if she had brought the carriage. But it was fresh air and exercise she needed more than company—except perhaps the chance to think and to plan.
    What were they all going to do? Blank terror clawed at her. She had been trying hard ever since yesterday morning to concentrate upon the only fact that was of any real significance—Percy's death. She had loved him dearly. She wanted to be able to mourn him properly. But . . .
    But he had died too soon.
    Percy had left a will, and in that will he had left Ringwood to Eve. But Ringwood had never been his. It was still Eve's until the anniversary of her father's death. Now by an irony of fate it would go to her cousin Cecil on that anniversary. Percy's will was useless. He had died too soon. As if it would have been perfectly all right for him to die later, she thought bitterly.
    In five days' time they would all be homeless.
All
of them. Her stomach churned with panic. If she could have focused merely upon her own predicament, she could have found a solution, employment being the most obvious. But she did not have the luxury of thinking only of herself.
    She walked onto the humpbacked stone bridge that spanned the river between Ringwood and Heybridge and paused a moment to gaze down at the gently flowing water before entering the village and approaching the vicarage. There were five days during which to make plans. She could spare today to concentrate upon Percy. He deserved that much of her.
    The Reverend Thomas Puddle was at home, Eve discovered when he answered her knock at the door himself. But his housekeeper was not, and he was a man who assiduously observed the proprieties. Instead of inviting Eve inside, he suggested that she stroll with him in the churchyard. A lanky, fresh-faced, auburn-haired young man, the vicar was always awkward and blushing with Eve—as he was with all his other young female parishioners, with many of whom he was a great favorite.
    He had been about to set out for Ringwood, he told her now, having just returned home from two days away to learn the news of her brother's tragic demise. He spent some time commiserating with her before they discussed the memorial service she had come to ask him to perform.
    “Tomorrow will suit me well enough,” she assured him after learning that he must leave again on business the day after. “I can see to it that everyone is informed. I may leave all the details of the service to you, then?”
    “You may indeed,” he assured her. “Is there anyone who would be able to deliver a eulogy for your brother, Miss Morris? I never knew him personally and could talk about him only in very general terms.”
    She thought for a while as they came to a stop beneath the shade of a beech tree.
    “I believe James Robson would be willing to do it,” she said. “He and Percy were the same age and grew up together as neighbors and friends. I will write to him as soon as I return home.”
    But the hollow sound of hooves clopping over the bridge distracted them both at that moment. Eve was surprised to see that it was Colonel