"Dearest Aunt, We are Within a day now of London, and Morag is Uneasy about our Welcome. I have indeed been Froward in depending upon a family I have not met, despite my Father's association. But I wished for Adventure and now I have it. It continues very cold."

CHAPTER ONE

In the dark, frozen streets of London, frost glittered viciously in the feeble lights of torches and lanterns. Smoke from a million coal fires hung in noxious billows about the substantial buildings. The pavements were almost deserted. The few people that were abroad were mufflered and greatcoated so much as to be unrecognizable to their dearest friends.

Miss Cordelia Tyninghame leaned forward to stare from her coach window. The comfortable but very chill traveling coach lurched on the frost-slick cobbles into a street lined with important residences.

"The city does not look as I imagined it, Morag," she said ruefully to her companion, a plain, competent woman some twenty years her senior.

"Ye would travel in January, miss. Ye had a desire to see London. Here it is. No doubt the place has a pleasanter aspect in May," Mrs. Lochmaddy replied, "'Tis gone seven o'clock--the cold has slowed us."

"Then the welcome will seem doubly warm. It was kind of the old Earl to invite us to reside in his home while we find our bearings."

"I did think some lady of the household might have written. We could go immediate to an hotel."

Delia smiled at her attendant's worried comment. "Indeed we might; but my father's old friend was firm in his invitation. We shall do very well here. Come Morag, where is your spirit of adventure?"

She drew her bonnet's georgette veil across her face as the coach drew to a stop. The coachman pulled open the door and she gathered her fur-lined crimson wool cloak more closely about her. The man's broad face was red with cold, and he had to draw down his muffler to speak.

"Shall I knock, Miss?" he queried, his Scots burr reassuringly familiar.

"Yes, Cullen, if you please, and do close the door."

The coachman obeyed quickly--the air within the coach was warmer than that without but would not long remain so. Delia peered excitedly from the window, and watched him cross the paving, mount two shallow stairs, and ply the knocker.

The heavy door was opened by a short, plainly dressed man. Delia glimpsed a dimly candle-lit entry hall. There appeared to be a brief conversation, and the coachman trod back down the stairs.

He opened the coach door again and spoke as he let down the step.

"Yon wee man had doots about your arrival, but the housekeeper is within the hall, and she says she expected ye."

Morag Lochmaddy busied herself gathering up Delia's reticule and her cushions, the baskets and bandboxes--all the odds and ends of their long journey. Her silence was eloquent comment on the doubtful wisdom of her mistress's impulsive journey.

Delia entertained no qualms. She stepped down, delighted to be arrived at last. She was well aware that Morag had long thought her inclination to visit London quite mad. She would admit that her choice of the winter season for travel had been questionable, but she regretted nothing at this moment.

The horses were steaming in the frigid night air, and the groom at their heads looked chilled to the bone. The 'wee man' descended the steps with a stout housemaid, and Delia nodded to them as they took possession of various articles of her baggage. She paused beside her coachman.

"Cullen, you have been most helpful all journey--you and Nairn. I thank you. You have earned some rest; I will ensure your accommodation is provided. I am sure the--er--that man will direct you to the mews." The coachman nodded gratefully and mounted his box once more.

"Come Morag, all will be well," Delia said gaily. She ascended the broad stairs, with the Scotswoman in her wake.

The entry was now thoroughly illuminated, and as Delia entered, it felt most comfortingly warm after the chill of the coach.

The Earl's housekeeper was a woman of more than middle age, gray-haired and grim-faced. She greeted them reservedly. A footman bore away Delia's crimson cloak immediately, but before she could put back the veil on her feather-trimmed velvet bonnet, and look about her, the housekeeper spoke.

"I am Inniskip, Miss Tyninghame. The Earl is in the library, if you will follow me."

Delia had been about to introduce Morag Lochmaddy, but she abandoned the attempt and trailed the spare figure of the older woman across the entry, slightly discomposed.

The housekeeper paused before the door of the bookroom. Delia wondered at her hesitation. She experienced unease as the woman beckoned to Morag, who was supervising the disposal of the trunks.

"Your maid must come in with you, Miss, and I shall remain, rather than only announce you, if you do not object. The Earl may be a little--irritated--by your arrival."

Delia's slender frame tautened apprehensively.

"But why? What is amiss? His lordship's letters were welcoming," she faltered. The housekeeper would not meet her worried gaze.

Morag hurried across the passage, concern and protectiveness merged in her expression.

The housekeeper had already entered the book-lined chamber. It was but dimly lit by a single branch of candles. Across an expanse of fine India carpet, there was a gentleman seated at a massive walnut desk; a dark haired man who did not lift his head at the opening of the door.

"What is it, Inniskip?" He seemed to snarl rather than speak. A glittering decanter and an empty goblet stood at his elbow. He plied a quill determinedly.

"Guests, my lord." The housekeeper seemed to brace herself--for what reason Delia could not imagine.

She directed her anxious gaze from the housekeeper's tense, worsted-clad back to the gentleman at the desk. He appeared much younger than she had expected of the fourth Earl of Torgreave.

"Guests? The hell you say." He flung down his quill, and lifted his head.

Delia drew in a deep, shocked breath, as she stared at his fine-drawn, dissipated face. His features were as familiar to her as her own. She reached for Morag, who was immediately to hand and seemed as dazed as her mistress. They supported each other wordlessly.

"This is Miss Cordelia Tyninghame, my lord." The housekeeper hurried into explanations, apparently unaware of the distress of the visitors. "She wrote in November to the late Earl your father, believing him still to be alive. The late Viscount Tyninghame was a friend of the fourth Earl. Miss Tyninghame asked if she could prevail upon that friendship to visit London from Edinburgh for a few weeks, before the Season. Knowing you would not respond to the letter, I did."

Torgreave replied slowly, only his clenched hands revealing his immediate understanding, and his anger.

"And you believed I needed company; that this would waken me to the error of my ways and change my life," the fifth Earl's face was sardonic. "Damn you Inniskip; who do you think you are--my mother?" He corrected himself. "No, you care more for me than my mother ever did. But this is too much--you have overstepped yourself." He rose, displaying a richly brocaded banyan drawn carelessly over dark pantaloons and a fine lawn shirt. He was above an average height. Though lean to the point of emaciation, he exuded a latent strength.

"And have our guests no tongues?" he mocked, as he rounded the desk. Delia shrank away, imagining a threat in his proximity. "Do Scotswomen not speak in the presence of men--or has the discovery that your host is not some doddering fool unnerved you? It cannot be that my reputation has traveled to the Athens of the North."

"Miss Tyninghame deserves your respect, my lord," Morag snapped bravely.

"God preserve us, another interfering servant," jibed the fifth Earl.

Morag's words gave Delia strength. "My lord," she said, "I have suffered a severe shock. It goes beyond your discourtesy and the discovery that the fourth Earl had naught to do with my invitation to London. I beg Mrs. Inniskip will close the door, and that she and Mrs. Lochmaddy remain with us. Morag knows what I am about to reveal. Your astonishment will equal my own."

"What the devil can you mean?"

Delia lifted gloved hands to put back her veil.

"Good God!" he exclaimed. The housekeeper gasped as she saw Miss Tyninghame's face.

No blemish or deformity caused their dismayed response. On the contrary, her countenance would always be described as beautiful. But what had shocked Delia and her companion silenced the gentleman and left Mrs. Inniskip speechless.

Even in the dim light of just six wax candles, Miss Cordelia Tyninghame and the fifth Earl of Torgreave looked enough alike to be brother and sister.

The abundant darkness of her black hair crowded within her gray velvet bonnet was matched by his own thick, disordered raven locks. The brilliant blue of his eyes was repeated in the sapphire of hers, and their straight black brows were mimicked each by the other. There were dissimilarities--their noses declared some divergence in heritage. His jaw was uncompromisingly square, hers was not. Her skin was silken smooth where his was creased and lined by harsh emotion and dissipation. Nevertheless, the likeness was remarkable and would always attract attention and comment.

The housekeeper was the first to speak, in a hushed frightened tone. "Had I known of this I never, ever would have interfered. How can it be?" She shook her gray head with her pale eyes wide. "As you thought, my lord, I sought only to draw you from self-serving lethargy. I had no notion that Miss Tyninghame from Scotland could, could--." Words failed her.

Morag Lochmaddy said, "May my mistress sit and warm herself? Despite the problem before us, we have had a long and cold journey, and would welcome refreshment."

The Earl and Miss Tyninghame were silent, powerless to move and apparently unable to refrain from examining each other's face.

With obvious effort, Mrs.Inniskip recovered a stern calm.

"Mrs.--ah--Lochmaddy has the right of it, my lord, and the drawing room is warmer. If you will, Miss Tyninghame?"

The Earl spoke suddenly, without taking his eyes from Delia's pallid face. "You deserve I should turn you off, Inniskip."

The housekeeper blenched but waited silently for him to continue.

"However, I cannot. Have Bowland bring refreshment to the drawing room. Miss Tyninghame, may I escort you upstairs? Do you wish to remove your bonnet? I assume you will stay and discuss with me this extraordinary coincidence?"

Delia finally found her tongue and some degree of control. She shivered, and not, she thought, from cold.

"I see no alternative, my lord." She untied her bonnet and handed it to Morag. "I cannot like Mrs. Inniskip's deception. If we did not appear to be siblings, I should remove from your home immediately. I feel now I must not leave until we discuss this resemblance."

As the older women moved to depart, the Earl snapped over his shoulder at his housekeeper, "I assume you have prepared chambers for 'our' guests. Take this woman," he indicated Mrs. Lochmaddy, "to them. I will have no discussion of this coincidence, Inniskip, by any of the staff. If word goes beyond this house, be assured I will turn you off."

Wooden-faced the housekeeper dropped a curtsey. She led the Scotswoman to the entry hall.

The Earl offered his arm to Delia, and with reluctance she placed her gloved fingertips upon it. In silence, they crossed to the door, traversed the passage and climbed the broad stairs to the first floor. They entered an immaculate, elegant drawing room. Unlike the bookroom, it was well lit with candles in every sconce and stick.

Delia accepted a tall, winged chair before the flaring fire with relief. She could not imagine that her resemblance to the Earl was coincidental. It was too complete, too significant. But if it was not coincidental, it indicated that they were related. If they were related, they were half siblings. And if they were half siblings, at least two of their four parents had been living a lie.

She wished with all her heart that she had not left Edinburgh. Her life-long happy confidence had been utterly destroyed in an instant.

Her shivers were replaced with trembling. With a muttered curse, the Earl poured a glass of wine from a tray of decanters and thrust it into her hand. She drank it off, sensing that he would not move away from her chair until she had done so. When she set the glass down, the Earl seated himself across a Pembroke table from her. Unwillingly enthralled by the sight of her own face cast in masculine form, she stared at him.

At length she broke the silence. "I am at a loss, my lord. I must suppose you to be unfamiliar with my family, as you did not read my initial letter. I assure you your father and mine were friends; my father often spoke of the fourth Earl. I believe they traveled on the Continent together in the '80s. I was born in and have passed all my life in Scotland. Last month as I approached my twenty-second birthday, I conceived a desire to travel a little. Having no other acquaintance in London I wrote, I thought, to your father. I hoped I might call upon him if I visited the metropolis. He responded, at least so I supposed, almost at once. He said I would be most welcome to reside here until I chose an hotel. There was some indication of other family members, ladies, who would be of assistance--I cannot precisely remember..."

She searched Torgreave's ravaged, fine-drawn face for some indication of his emotions and saw only anger. She added, half fearfully. "Why should your housekeeper do this?"

"For the most misguided and, I suppose, goodhearted reasons." His frown lightened only a little and he stared into the fire. Some of the harshness drained from his voice, and revealed its deep tones to be curiously mellow. "She was my nurse in infancy, and became my housekeeper when I set up my own establishment. She has disliked the path I have chosen. I surmise she saw your letter as an opportunity to change my way or at the least to shock me into thought." He seemed ill disposed to reveal any more about his life. "I have never heard the name Tyninghame before. I would have said that my family has no connection in Scotland whatsoever." He lifted his head to stare directly into her wide sapphirine eyes. "So it entirely escapes me why we, separated by half a country, and with no knowledge of each other, should look so much alike."

"To my certain knowledge, our fathers corresponded, though you knew nothing of it. But my parents never left Scotland after their marriage in 1794," Delia offered.

"To my knowledge, the Earl and Countess never went further north than Leicestershire from London after their betrothal in '85," he countered.

"Were your parents happily wed?"

"As much as any couple I suppose." He shrugged. "And yours?"

"I believed them to care deeply for each other, and our family."

"Then someone was living a lie--probably two people." His frown deepened.

"I find it disconcerting--nay, distressing--to look at you and see myself," Delia admitted. "I don't even know your name."

"Rupert Deverall Manningford." He brushed her query aside. "I will admit to discomfort at seeing an image of myself seated across from me. Though you must be accredited a beauty in Edinburgh society."

She coloured. "You were--could be--very handsome."

He grinned wickedly. It was the first smile she had seen on his countenance and it was not one she cared for.

"I was as beautiful as you, in my salad days. I am still accounted highly presentable by most ladies. I am a debauched, discredited rake; you had as well be warned."

She was appalled into silence and wondered if he spoke the truth. Debauchery would explain the devastation of his handsome features, but she could not decide on his honesty.

There was a tap at the door, and Mrs. Inniskip and Morag Lochmaddy entered. One carried a tray of food, the other a tea tray.

Delia responded to a querying look from her maid. "I have rallied, thank you, Morag." She continued, attempting to attain a degree of normality. "The Earl and I must explore this strange coincidence. You and I will be staying. If possible I would have you attend in my bedchamber. If a bed could be placed in the dressing room perhaps, Mrs. Inniskip?" She offered a small smile to the dour housekeeper, "I am sure you will see that my coachman is lodged suitably."

The housekeeper responded apparently approving of Delia's returning self-possession. "Bowland has seen to your groom and coachman, Miss, already."

"Bowland?"

"My valet." He nodded at the two women. "We will ring when we require you again.".

"Thank you." Delia softened the dismissal, and began to brew the tea. The Earl apparently intended to ignore the tea, for he poured himself a glass of Madeira from the crystal decanter.

"We must be brother and sister," he declared. Delia flushed. He continued, "I cannot understand how that is possible."

"Perhaps I should return to Edinburgh--we will pretend we have not met and endeavour to forget the whole matter. It cannot make a difference after all. It does not interfere with your inheritance, or mine." Delia lifted a delicate china cup and found her slim hands shaking again.

"Is that what you wish?" He lounged in his chair, booted feet stretched to the fire, his posture contradicted by the tension in his long legs.

"It is devoutly what I wish," she assured him. She chose a cake from the plate on the table, and bit into it hungrily. After a moment's reflection she added, "But I am not of a nature that will permit me to choose that path. I must know why we appear to be of the same lineage, when to my knowledge my family has never strayed south of the Borders."

"I have a brother who does not appear so much like me as do you," he commented. He refused a cake as she offered the plate.

She paused in drinking her tea. "And does he too reside here?"

"He does not." There was a note of finality in the Earl's rich voice, and she did not question further.

"I believed I had no siblings alive." There was sorrow in her tone. "I had once both a brother and a sister."

He said, with a shade of kindness in his voice, "We must be of close relationship to be so similar. Perhaps half-siblings. It is impossible that you are a child of my parents, given away, or I the child of yours. We must not share two parents, but one."

"But I favour both my parents. My father had black hair, and my mother blue eyes," she interpolated.

He paid no heed but continued his line of thought. "'Tis unlikely we might claim the same mother. Therefore we might share a father. Was it yours or mine that wandered, do you suppose? Could one of these friends have cuckolded the other? Would your father have come to Leicestershire in 1784 to visit and got me upon his friend's wife?"

Delia gave a croak of distress.

He disregarded her. "Or was it my father? My lady mother died on the birth of my brother. He is older than you. I wonder did my father travel to Scotland, perhaps in '94? The most likely event is that my father met your mother after her marriage to his friend."

"My mother--" stammered Delia, her throat closing unhappily. It caused her to choke a little on another cake.

His grin was almost a leer. "Are you a properly virginal young lady with no knowledge of human weakness or how children are conceived in this world?"

She cast him a fiery glance that held her answer.

"Well, consider then--can there be another solution?"

"Some other family connection?" she offered uncertainly. "My parents--they appeared contentedly wed. My mother died two years ago, my father some years earlier."

There might have been a gleam of sympathy in his blue eyes, so like her own, but he said brusquely, "It will require some adjustment--no, a great deal of adjustment--this discovery. If it is difficult for you to accept your mother's frailty, consider me." He barked a laugh. "I cannot feature my father adventuring, for he painted himself impeccably virtuous. I only wish he were alive so I might cast it up to him."

This last was said with such obvious ill will that Delia was shocked. She looked past the resemblance to herself in his face, and discovered that the man she saw was of a sort unfamiliar to her. A rake, she realized and, she fancied, distasteful to her. She rose stiffly.

"I will retire if you will excuse me. I feel quite exhausted by this evening's revelations."

He rose to his feet and bowed, the barbaric banyan swirling about him. He crossed to the door to have her companion, Morag, summoned but she was just outside. Torgreave turned back to Delia.

"Good night," was all he said, his fine ravaged features congealed by coldness. She murmured what was proper and moved to the door. Looking back briefly she saw him stand before the fire, staring broodingly into its heart, and she shivered.

Neither she nor Morag spoke until they reached the comfort of their chambers. The rooms were very comfortable. They were expensively furnished in old walnut and new mahogany, with silk hung in panels of yellow and green on the walls. A bright fire burned in the substantial grate. Delia sank down wearily on the soft bed and stared at her ginger-haired attendant.

"I had only a desire for a little travel. Was it so very dreadful?" she questioned. "I feel as though I have been punished for it. My world is turned upside down."

"Not dreadful but foolish and unnecessary," Morag stated trenchantly, "That's certain. You being a toast of Edinburgh society and all. Ye could have knocked me down with a feather when his lordship lifted his head."

"And I," Delia agreed, removing with Morag's assistance her blue merino traveling gown. "For a moment I thought I must faint, and I am sure I never have in my life. And what was his housekeeper about to deceive me, and him, by her letter?" She stood in her shift, staring sightlessly at the flowered carpet.

Morag slipped a beribboned robe over Delia's shoulders and urged her to sit to have her hair unpinned and her earrings removed.

"As to that, Mrs. Inniskip is a good enough woman. And he by all accounts is a rogue. He was her nursling and she's fond of him. He's gone a bad road these last eight or nine years. She'd no thought, but that a new face or a shock might benefit him. That it's a shock we'll none of us get over, she cannot credit. She's a close mouthed soul I think, in ordinary times, but she confided in me, being shaken as she is."

"Did she say anything else?" Delia crept wearily into the broad bed after donning her nightdress. She found a desire in herself to remain there indefinitely.

"Naught but that she's glad you must be sister and brother, for otherwise she would not trust him, him being a rake, and you so very lovely." Morag tidied the room deftly and drew the bed curtains.

"We cannot be brother and sister," Delia said half to herself, "I cannot like him. I cannot believe it of my mother."

She choked back a sob and questioned, "Is your comfort assured? And that of Cullen?"

"Aye, that wee man Bowland has seen to it all. I am within your call," the older woman answered.

"I will not claim him for brother," Delia said softly but firmly.

* * * *

Delia rose late in the next morning feeling rested, for despite her belief that she would not sleep, she had, deeply. Morag preserved her customary silence as she dressed her mistress. Delia chose her blue striped gown and deeply fringed Norwich shawl carelessly, but Morag took care with her mistress' appearance, and extra time with her heavy raven-silk hair.

Delia's composure had returned to such a degree that, as she descended the stairs, she could reflect on the decoration and furnishings of the Earl's comfortable townhouse. It held nothing that was not in the newest and most luxurious style, yet it had an air of unappreciated coldness.

The man, Bowland, was in the lower hall, and he gave her a polite bow as he opened the door of the dining chamber for her entry. She slipped in, her face turned from him.

The Earl was beginning his meal as she entered. He rose and regarded her keenly.

She said composedly, "Good morning, my lord. Pray continue your breakfast."

"Thank you, Cordelia." His voice was as rich as the Devon cream before them on the table. She had not been mistaken in her impression the previous evening.

"You had as well call me Rupert," he continued. "There will be no keeping distance with this resemblance."

In the act of serving herself from a dish of buttered eggs, Delia considered that and found she agreed.

"Very well, Rupert," she said calmly, "you may make free of my name. I am known as Delia. I admit no connection between us as yet."

"Coincidence is it, our likeness?" he commented ironically. "Such scepticism may aid our inquiries, I suppose."

They ate in silence. Delia had a good appetite. The Earl ate sparingly, she noted. He was without the barbaric banyan this morning, yet still did not wear a coat. His full sleeved shirt, damask waistcoat, and buff pantaloons displayed his physique. Despite his leanness, he showed a strong leg and shoulder.

"My servants may be trusted with our secret," he said minutes later. "They know better than to speak of my affairs. What of yours?"

"My servants respect privacy and are very loyal; there is naught to fear from them. Morag is more than my maid. She is frequently my companion, and always my friend." She lifted her eyes to discover him contemplating her, and she coloured uncomfortably.

"There is no point in not looking at each other," he commented. "The similarities will not go away, and the more one reflects the more differences one sees."

Delia searched his face then for the first time that day. "What age are you?" she asked. Curiosity was ever her besetting sin.

"Nine and twenty."

"You look older."

"Drink and life on the town are the very devil. But I shall reform," he mocked, "and all will be mended."

"You would be an uncomfortable sibling." Delia had finished her breakfast and rose, as did he.

"My brother has always found me so," he agreed bitterly.

He rounded the table to stand before her. Involuntarily, Delia took a step back. She was of medium height. He was several inches taller. Despite his leanness, he gave an impression of strength that unnerved her.

He appeared not to notice her action.

"You had best wear a veil if you desire to go abroad," he stated. "We shall not wish to make explanations before we know them."

"I agree, but I shall not go out today. London's charms hold little appeal for me in light of what has happened. I have letters to write."

She moved to the window to stare into the busy frosty street below.

"And what shall you say? Who have you left behind you?"

He was watching her again. She could see his dark reflection in the window glass. She drew her fine woolen shawl protectively around her.

"I live with a dear aunt, my mother's sister, and I have a host of relatives on my father's side." She faltered over the word 'father'. "I will tell them of my arrival and little else. It would be impossible to explain this--" She gestured with a slender hand at his face and her own. "--on paper. Oh, and I shall not be a charge on you though I shall want your frank. You may wish to know I am a considerable heiress, though my--Lord Tyninghame's land was entailed to a male heir."

He paced restlessly to the end of the room and returned to stand at the window beside her. "How have you reached two and twenty without marriage? And what did you hope to accomplish with this visit?"

She responded before she realized that she owed him no explanation. "I have found no gentleman whom I thought might improve my happiness. My only thought in traveling south was to see the sights of countryside and road and visit the wonders of London."

"In January?"

"You know the roads are best now, if one may avoid snow, and I did not regard the cold. I did not wish to miss celebration of Hogmanay at home or the delights of spring. I have no interest in the London Season. I have all that society can provide in Edinburgh. Summer, I hear, is unbearable in this city, and autumn--ah, the shooting parties at home. That is why I came in winter," she said vexed to discover herself explaining again.

It was chill by the window and she crossed the room to the fire.

"I thought the fourth Earl was an elderly man possibly with daughters or granddaughters with whom I might go about. The letters hinted at it," she added staring at the fire's yellow flames.

"Alas for your innocent hopes."

He was mocking again, and Delia detested him at that moment.

He continued to pace the chamber, apparently aware that she disliked to have him near her.

"We should go into Leicestershire," he said suddenly.

She swung about to stare at him. "Why, in the name of heaven?"

"There may be answers to be had from my brother who resides there. Or perhaps Manningford Tower, my family's seat, holds a clue. We must begin our inquiries somewhere, and Manningford is closer than Edinburgh." He frowned. "I have also an uncle who might be of help, but he is traveling abroad."

"I--inquiries in Edinburgh?" she stammered. "My aunt--oh surely my aunt would not have kept such secrets from me."

He disregarded the interpolation. "Do I understand you traveled in your own coach, with your own coachman?"

She nodded and turned back to the fire.

"We will have need of them if we set out together in this cold. I keep no such, for I always drive myself. I would not travel post, with hired help, in this situation." He stopped his pacing beside her and interrupted himself. "You are a woman of few words. That, in my experience, is unusual. Do you agree with these plans of mine?"

"Few words does not indicate few ideas," she countered. "But yes I do agree, though I regret the necessity for further travel. I should like a few days for rest and reflection, before we depart."

He nodded, and she wondered if he was understanding or indifferent.

She added, "I shall be glad of Cullen's assistance. He is my aunt's coachman. And wherever we travel, Morag Lochmaddy must attend me."

"Very well."

They stared at each other once more. She did not this time flinch from his examination.

"It will be a difficult journey," he said.

There was a depth to his words that she could not understand.

* * * *

The Earl of Torgreave saw little of his guest over the next two days. He was acutely aware of her presence. There was a workbasket spilling silks in the drawing room, and the writing desk showed signs of use. He heard her light step above stairs, and her melodic voice in the quiet of the late evening. She took meals in her chamber, so there was no doubt that she was avoiding him. He inquired after her health when he encountered the maid, Morag Lochmaddy, in the upstairs passage one morning. He received gruff assurances that indicated to him that neither maid nor mistress liked or trusted him.

He did not care. But he hoped Miss Tyninghame's reflections gave her more peace than his gave him. He found himself by turns angry, worried, intrigued and disgusted. He could not reconcile his feelings over the appearance of this new sibling.

If she was a sibling, he brooded, in his library one frost-bitten morning. He sat before the fire with a book on his knee and a table by his side. He stretched out his hand for the decanter that usually stood at his elbow. He withdrew it immediately, for the decanter was not there. He had recently developed a distaste for the wine-sodden haze in which he had conducted much of his life for the past four years. In fact, in the past six months he had made many decisions concerning his future. He had thought as recently as three days since that his life was in order for the first time in a decade. Now this woman--this lovely young woman with his face--had put all his plans in jeopardy.

He stretched his long legs to the fire. Bowland opened the door abruptly. Torgreave shifted and turned in irritation.

"Major Rhyle, my lord, is come," the valet announced. He returned his master's unfriendly stare stoically.

"And will not be denied," boomed a massively built, fair-haired man on the threshold. Bowland bowed with dignity, assured the major of his welcome and departed.

The Earl waved his uniformed friend to a substantial chair and said nothing.

Major Gideon Rhyle, of the 11th Dragoons, assigned to the Depot of Military Knowledge, held his hands to the fire. "Demmed cold out there. Colder than an opera dancer's heart. And where have you been these past two weeks? Drinking yourself into a stupor now Boney's beat and your work is over? Or has Bowland hid the brandy?"

"Damn you for a light-hearted fool, Gideon," Torgreave responded. "I swear you'd jest if you froze to death. The brandy is on the desk."

"You're sober," the major marveled. "Come to think on it, you have been sober the greater part of the last six months. And demmed little pleasure you seem to derive from it. You're more solemn than a Chapel preacher."

The Earl, who would not have entertained these strictures from anyone else, laughed, albeit with a bitter note.

"You shall have to accustom yourself, my friend." He rose to his feet, stretching. He poured Rhyle a glass of wine. He did not take one himself. "I am set on a new course."

The major accepted the glass. He searched the Earl's face with a sudden, surprisingly keen look.

"You are serious, Rupert? What's to do?"

"The war is over. It is a new world for everyone, including me. I am going into Leicestershire tomorrow."

"Manningford?" the major frowned. "You swore never to set foot in it again."

"I think that was a mistake." Torgreave could be candid with his old friend. "My father's ghost is no longer there."

"And Charles?"

"I hope to be reconciled."

"He was a fool." The major's words were harsh, but not condemnatory.

"He was young and grieving. He is my brother."

"Aye, well, I can see you've been thinking. First time you've done that these seven years."

Rhyle's words surprised a crack of laughter from his host. "You could be right," the Earl admitted.

The major tossed back his wine and heaved himself from his chair. "Short visit. I only came to see how you went on. Looked for you at Watier's, the opera, and that place near Birdcage Walk. No one had seen you this age."

"I am touched you were worried." Torgreave allowed acid mockery to tinge his words.

"Don't come the nasty with me, my lad," the major reproved him. He entered the passage. "Not if you are turning over a new leaf."

"Old friends cannot be deceived," the Earl agreed, relenting, "but they are appreciated." He shook his friend's hand warmly.

At that moment, a female voice echoed unintelligibly from above stairs.

The major had picked up his shako, but paused and shot his friend another of those disconcertingly keen looks. "That was not a maidservant," he observed, moving to the door.

Torgreave strove to appear unconcerned. "A new leaf, Gideon, you said it. I have female relatives staying. Nothing more dramatic."

"Aye, 'tis a good enough tale. Except that you have no female relatives." The major peered up the stairs, but no one was visible.

Torgreave glowered at his friend.

Rhyle grinned. "Aye, well, we shall look to see you on your return from the country."

"I shall report," the Earl said, gently mocking.

With a brisk nod, the major departed.

* * * *

Delia, in response to a request from the Earl, joined him in the paneled dining room for dinner that evening. She had purposely avoided him in the days since her arrival, the better to consider the shocking change in her circumstances without his disturbing countenance and presence. She had found solitary reflection fruitless, however, and discussion with Morag Lochmaddy equally so. Although she had shed many tears, she had found no answers, arrived at no decisions. She came to dinner, therefore, with a reluctant hope that the Earl might have solutions to offer.

Morag Lochmaddy had taken pains with her mistress' appearance. Delia appeared to advantage, gowned in lustrous blue silk, which matched her eyes. Her thick black hair was confined by a broad band of silk twisted with silver cord. Delicate silver earrings dangled gleaming sapphires against the satin skin of her neck. After being seated, she stared across the table at the Earl curiously.

Torgreave had not troubled himself to don his coat, but dined in barbaric splendor wearing the silk banyan over his shirt and pantaloons. The candlelight deepened the lines of dissipation drawn on his skin, but his fine bones, blue eyes and black silk hair were nonetheless prepossessing.

"Thank you for joining me." He returned her scrutiny. "It seemed to me that we must further our acquaintance."

Her glance slid away. "It would be foolish not to do so," she acquiesced.

"You have been avoiding me. I wonder why?"

"I wished for time to reflect, without interruption, or distraction."

"I see." He surveyed the wine in his goblet. "And have you taken any decisions?"

"None." The word vibrated in the air between them.

"You still agree that we must travel to Leicestershire?"

"I do, and I think we should undertake the journey soon." She accepted soup from Bowland, who seemed to undertake a myriad of duties in the household.

"Then, if you have no objection, Delia, I should like to speak with your coachman." Torgreave's manner was polite but remote.

"You may certainly, if you wish," she agreed. "I have consulted with him, however. The coach is in good repair. He is rested and has no objection to being seconded to your household."

"How kind of him," Torgreave murmured. She let her expression reveal her distaste for his sardonic tone.

"Mrs. Lochmaddy comes with me."

He merely nodded and took a bite of fish. In a moment, he resumed speaking.

"I shall not take Bowland." The small man made a move to speak but was silenced by a glance from the earl. "Yes you are invaluable, but I cannot descend on my brother overburdened with retainers."

Bowland glared at his master, but was ignored.

The Earl continued speaking to Delia. "I should warn you that this visit will not be easy. My younger brother is a clergyman. He may not wish to receive me. I shall not bore you with the details but we have not been on the best of terms. In truth I have not spoken to him for five years."

Delia abandoned the pretense of eating, and stared at him in horror. "What reason can he have to deny you? Can you be so very dreadful?" she exclaimed. She was surprised to see him wince.

"I do not know if he will welcome me," he repeated, "but we must have his help. I have rented Manningford Tower and its park to a nabob these five years. I have not set foot there for ten."

"Good gracious, but your tale grows more and more melancholy. I do not pretend to understand, but it seems your past may prevent us ever solving the problem before us."

He rose abruptly and, turning his back, strode across the mahogany-paneled chamber.

"We must hope to stay at my brother's rectory. I am known at the inn, and we cannot expect to keep the secret of your appearance, if we stop there." His grave voice echoed back to her.

"This sounds a vain hope," she said.

He swung round abruptly. "I believe not. My brother mixes logic with piety in varying degrees, and I think he may be talked into reason. As well, he appreciates a beautiful woman as much as the next man, and you are very beautiful." He came down the room, and stood beside her chair.

She rose, so to be at less disadvantage.

"A rake will always appreciate beauty. A clergyman may not. And my beauty or lack of it is of no matter." She countered the assessment in his dark blue gaze with a sharp retort.

He regarded her, with her own eyes. The thought annoyed her.

"And what experience have you of rakes?" he queried softly.

"Little enough, though there are rakes a-plenty in Edinburgh. One hears of them by reputation, but never entertains them."

"Never?"

"Unwillingly, or unwittingly," she amended.

"Ah, then they are not very successful rakes. A rake should always be welcome because of his charm."

"Like you?"

"You've not seen my company manners."

She countered, "For a man of fashion--a rake--you do not go much abroad, my l--Rupert."

.

He accepted her diversion with a cynical grin. "There is little activity in town these days; except for Parliament, and there my views are not regarded seriously." His self-mockery was pitiless.

"I thought a rake must be forever adventuring."

"You hold many opinions on rakish behaviour," he observed. "If you require explanation, I was abroad on Tuesday night. In point of fact, I make a habit of absence from my home fire on Tuesdays. But even rakes grow weary, and will stay at home on a cold night."

She sighed in frustration. He could not be bested in a contest of words.

"We should depart on the morrow," were his final words. Abandoning his meal unfinished, he abruptly quitted the chamber.

Delia sat down precipitately. She had a brief inclination to argue with the Earl about their imminent departure, but quelled it with fatalistic reasoning. Better to have the trip over and the matter resolved.

She finished her meal in solitary state, and trod up the broad stairs deep in thought. She harboured doubts about the wisdom of remaining in proximity with the Earl. His manner disconcerted her even while his appearance reassured her. The intimations she had of his way of life appalled her. She was accustomed to deal with almost all manner of gentlemen in Edinburgh society, but had always been insulated by birth and fortune from its most rakish elements. He was right to query her on her experience of men of his sort.

"I can scarcely credit the position in which I find myself, and I sadly feel the want of Aunt Barbara's good advice," Delia commented in a low voice, half to Morag as she gained her chamber. "But this problem will not be written of; and so I must deal as best I can."

"You will manage," said the older woman calmly.

"Perhaps," Delia broke the news of their sudden departure. "We leave for Leicestershire tomorrow."

The Scotswoman received the news stoically. "His lordship's wee man told me what the Earl was planning."

"You have become very close with Bowland."

Her companion snorted. "Ach, he's a sensible wee man for all his town-bred ways. And he is in a right taking that he is not to come on this journey. Says he always travels with Torgreave. Despite his good sense, I do doubt he is right in his respect for the Earl. That one is a devil."

"That one, as you phrase it, may be my brother. And you may say one will manage but I have never dealt with anything so--so--devastating. You have certain knowledge that you can cope with difficulty, nay tragedy, to some purpose." Delia removed a fragile silk gown from the press and clutched it, to its imminent danger. "I have not that confidence. I have dealt with little more than society in my life."

"That is not true," Mrs. Lochmaddy responded, removing the dress from her mistress' uneasy hands, "and you know it. This is naught but nervous distress. The imputations his lordship has placed on your mother are enough to give anyone pause, and there is no doubt but what he is a wicked, disconcerting rogue. So our situation is uncomfortable, but I shall not permit him familiarities with you."

Delia laughed with a rising note of hysteria. "How can you not permit him familiarity? He is as familiar as my face in the glass!"

The Scotswoman continued. "Well, he may look as much like you as Jack does Jill, but he'll not play the brother with you, nor anything else as long as I draw breath. And howsomever, the truth of this oddity may be discovered quickly. Then we shall be back in Charlotte Square and soon forget his lordship's existence."

Delia doubted her ability to forget Torgreave, but did not voice her opinion.

"Besides, his lordship's brother is a clergyman, and that must stand us in good stead," added Morag, from a stout Presbyterian perspective.

Delia abandoned her hysterical laughter and began to weep instead.

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