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his answer came it could have been designed to cut through to her guilt.
    “It is a father’s duty to dispose for his daughter, Judith. I was disappointed that your season was not to your satisfaction. My sister went to considerable trouble and expense on our behalf. And would have done so again had you wished. Since it will not be Jeremy who will be master here when I am gone, you must give thought to your future.” He paused, but waved down her attempt to speak.
    “I am not unmindful of family honour, Judith. My father and my son both died on the battlefield burnishing that honour. I would not permit myself to tarnish it by what you suggest. If Frederick Duthford is so little to your taste, we’ll send him and his father packing.” That he rose to open the door for her in dismissal told Judith how far she had transgressed. “Though with the respect due to a man who has done us no harm.”
    As she moved to the door Judith saw a woman staring back at her from the mirror over the mantelpiece. Thin faced, drawn by anxiety, one and twenty going on forty. Was this what father and John saw every time they looked at her? Little wonder they all scratched at each other. “I will receive your guests as you would expect, father. Please forgive my quick words.” In an excess of etiquette that she knew to be quite absurd, Judith curtseyed to her father as she left the library.
    ~
    She didn’t bother to stir though when John’s return rattled the house. Not until she heard her father’s voice amid the commotion did she abandon the rent rolls she’d fetched upstairs to tally in order to investigate the row. John was in full flood, absorbed in a vehement denunciation until the sight of her brought him to a halt. That unmistakable sign of guilt sent a chill of trepidation through her, and Judith barked her question out much too harshly. “What have you done, John?”
    “For once, Judith, your brother is not the cause of the upset.” Father’s denial only confirmed her suspicions, and in her anxiety Judith snapped at him too.
    “What is it then?” Her regret for the disrespect was instant, but it vanished at the solemnity of her father’s answer.
    “Judith, Thomas Stainford has been sent here.”
    Her instinctive response was to deny it. To open her mouth and protest that it couldn’t be true. Thomas. Sent here. Was he here now? In the house? She felt an insane urge to twist her head round to see where he was.
    “John has just come back from the militia camp, Judith. Thomas arrived there today.” Father was using that special measured tone he kept for when John was past unreasonable, and even in the midst of her alarm Judith felt aggrieved that he thought to treat her with the same condescension.
    “Why should that matter to me, father?” She formed each syllable of the question with painstaking care, using every vestige of control she possessed to ensure there was nothing to betray how much it did matter. Except the words were a little too defiant, and father didn’t seem to want to answer her. She was on the verge of repeating the question until she realised he and John were looking at her as though they expected her to collapse like some mewling miss.
    “Has he left the army?” She’d no sooner spoken than she realised how foolish the question was. If Thomas had left the army why would he come to the militia camp? She needed to restrain herself before she asked any more nonsense. There would be a reason for this, other than Thomas coming back for her. And if he had come back it didn’t mean she wanted him. Even if the news had already sent a treacherous surge of joy through her body.
    “He has orders to train the Volunteers, Judith.” John’s answer extinguished the elation, leaving her dry mouthed and flushed with embarrassment. She needed to know if her confusion had been noticed, but it was painful to lift her eyes. It would be too shaming if either father or John knew the direction of her thoughts.