she knew he was more than a mere country bumpkin. He had shown signs of humor, courage and strength of character. She would have liked to know him better. But there was little profit in dreaming of the might-have-been. She would show better sense to pay attention to the here-and-now.
And the here-and-now meant a twenty-seventh birthday and a little lace cap. Facing herself squarely in the dressing-table mirror, she asked aloud, âShall I wear it?â
âItâs time,â her reflection seemed to say.
Decisively, she pulled the cap over her hair. âThere!â she said bravely. âThat wasnât so bad, was it?â
âBad enough,â her image admitted.
Sarah stuck out her tongue at her reflection. Then she stood up and executed a deep curtsey. âHow do you do, maâam?â she murmured to the mirror with formal politeness. âIâd like you to meet the new Miss Sarah Stanborough.â
The face in the mirror corrected her. âMiss Sarah Stanborough, spinster ,â it retorted with a mocking grin.
Chapter One
A HEAVY AND steady rain streamed down on the Lincolnshire hills, but the inclement weather had evidently not daunted the young girl who was running down the muddy road leading out of Daynwood Park. She wore nothing to protect herself from the elements except a rather thin pelisse, and although she held up the front of her gown with one hand (a crushed and rain-soaked letter was clenched in the other), the back of her dress was becoming sadly begrimed as it trailed wetly behind her.
She soon left the road, crossed a wide field, climbed with tomboyish agility over a stile, circled a small wood, and in a very few minutes was dashing up the drive of a neat, square-shaped country house whose weathered stone edifice seemed remarkably indifferent to the onslaught of the rain. The girl scampered up the wide stone steps, tossed a dripping strand of hair back from her forehead and hammered at the front door. As she waited for a response, she shifted her weight impatiently from one foot to the other. After a few moments, the door was opened by an elderly man in a butlerâs coat who gaped at her, uttered a shocked exclamation and stepped hastily aside to let her in. âMiss Cory !â he scolded. âYe never ran all this way dressed so ⦠in such a downpour!â
âNever mind that, Chapham,â the girl answered, brushing by him and hurrying across the wide hall. âIs the Squire in the library?â
âNo, Miss, he ainât. Heâs gone to the stables.â
âOh, blast! â She stopped in her tracks, momentarily nonplussed. The thought of going out into the rain again was not pleasant.
âIâll send Robbie to fetch âim, if ye like,â the butler offered.
âNo, no. Iâll run over there myself,â the girl said.
âNo, yeâll not.â The butler had known Corianne Lindsay since her childhood and didnât stand on ceremony with her. âYeâll seat yerself by the fire and dry off.â
Corianne found his lack of deference extremely provoking. âReally, Chapham,â she said with irritable hauteur, âcanât you learn to mind your saucy tongue? Iâm not a child, you know. Iâm in the devil of a hurry, so Iâll use the back door, if you donât mind.â Without waiting for what was bound to be a disapproving reply, she ran to the back stairs, dashed down to the lower floor, swept through the large kitchens (blundering into but ignoring the shocked scullery maid who happened to cross her path), flew out the rear door and across the kitchen gardens to the stables.
She pushed the wide doors open just enough to squeeze through. As soon as her eyes grew accustomed to the dim light, she saw, directly opposite her, two men kneeling before a huge black stallion. One man wore a striped dust-jacket, and the other was in his shirt-sleeves. Both were completely