that did it, looking deeply into hers. Even Forrester had not such a winning smile.
Another masculine voice sounded in the hallway, the tones of it familiar to Vanessa, who inhaled sharply. Her hand flew to her mouth in an instinctive gesture of shocked dismay.
"What is it?" Carlisle asked, leaning forward quickly to look at her more closely.
"It's Colonel Landon! Oh, dear—I ..." She looked about the room, seeking, in her befuddled state, a place to hide.
Within seconds. Colonel Landon stood framed in the doorway, while the butler announced, "Mr. Kiley," in a state of exasperation which he made no effort to conceal.
"I do beg your pardon, sir," Landon said, walking forward, toward Rafferty. "I have had the worst piece of luck. I broke an axle, just on the road outside of your place, and have come to ask directions to the nearest stable." Even as he spoke, his eyes flickered to Vanessa, leveling an accusing glare on her.
She looked back as though she had seen a ghost. "Who is he? Is something the matter, Miss Bradford?" Carlisle asked her.
"I don't know who he is. Oh, dear, what am I to do?"
"Has he been bothering you? Is he following you?"
She was unsure how much she should tell him, but began to look at Carlisle with a new interest. If Edward did not come, Mr. Carlisle was at loose ends and might help her out of her difficulty.
"Come, now, tell me the truth," Carlisle urged with an encouraging look.
"I can't tell you. Not now—not here."
The conversation at the medications table was meanwhile going forth apace. Mr. Rafferty took delight in the broken axle, and the reason for it was not long kept to himself. "I've told them a dozen times that road wants fixing. Holes so big you could get lost in them. I broke an axle two weeks ago. I only save my carriage by driving along the edge, with one wheel half in the ditch. A stranger at night—it was bound to happen. Maybe now they'll tend to it. You want to report it in town, sir."
"I certainly will," Landon answered with good humor. "My problem at the moment is how to get into town."
"There won't be anyone at the municipal office at this hour. Go tomorrow morning."
"Yes, but where shall I stable my team and myself tonight?"
"You might as well stay here. Everyone else is. No one will come from the stables for you at this hour of the night. No one is willing to put himself out, even to make money. The world is going to ruin."
"It is the drink that causes it," Landon said after taking careful note of the teacups scattered about the room.
"You've hit it right on the head, lad! And where does the drink come from? From France, that is where. The wine, at least. It is Bonaparte who is at the bottom of it."
"You're absolutely right," Landon said firmly.
Nessa knew she was not imagining the fleeting smile of triumph that flickered over Landon's face. When he cast a swift look at her, her heart sank. He went into the hall with Mr. Rafferty. Before long—not more than ten minutes had passed—they were back. He had actually worked Rafferty up to a smile. She listened with keen interest to learn how he had worked this miracle. Even his wife was staring in disbelief.
It was the war they were discussing, expressing every revulsion with Bonaparte, but Landon made no claims to being a soldier. What he appeared to have become was a government inspector of supplies for the Army. He had gauged his host's temper, and was inveighing against corruption in the business—shoddy goods delivered at inflated prices. The world was not only going to ruin, but gone. There wasn't an honest man between Land's End and Dover, with the exception of themselves.
"Even my own son—I hate to admit it—takes his bottle of wine a day," Rafferty said, the smile fast fading at this profligacy.
"Three is more like it," Carlisle said in a low voice.
Mrs. Rafferty belonged to that numerous company of ladies who take their views from their husbands. When she saw John approved of Mr. Kiley, she
Another masculine voice sounded in the hallway, the tones of it familiar to Vanessa, who inhaled sharply. Her hand flew to her mouth in an instinctive gesture of shocked dismay.
"What is it?" Carlisle asked, leaning forward quickly to look at her more closely.
"It's Colonel Landon! Oh, dear—I ..." She looked about the room, seeking, in her befuddled state, a place to hide.
Within seconds. Colonel Landon stood framed in the doorway, while the butler announced, "Mr. Kiley," in a state of exasperation which he made no effort to conceal.
"I do beg your pardon, sir," Landon said, walking forward, toward Rafferty. "I have had the worst piece of luck. I broke an axle, just on the road outside of your place, and have come to ask directions to the nearest stable." Even as he spoke, his eyes flickered to Vanessa, leveling an accusing glare on her.
She looked back as though she had seen a ghost. "Who is he? Is something the matter, Miss Bradford?" Carlisle asked her.
"I don't know who he is. Oh, dear, what am I to do?"
"Has he been bothering you? Is he following you?"
She was unsure how much she should tell him, but began to look at Carlisle with a new interest. If Edward did not come, Mr. Carlisle was at loose ends and might help her out of her difficulty.
"Come, now, tell me the truth," Carlisle urged with an encouraging look.
"I can't tell you. Not now—not here."
The conversation at the medications table was meanwhile going forth apace. Mr. Rafferty took delight in the broken axle, and the reason for it was not long kept to himself. "I've told them a dozen times that road wants fixing. Holes so big you could get lost in them. I broke an axle two weeks ago. I only save my carriage by driving along the edge, with one wheel half in the ditch. A stranger at night—it was bound to happen. Maybe now they'll tend to it. You want to report it in town, sir."
"I certainly will," Landon answered with good humor. "My problem at the moment is how to get into town."
"There won't be anyone at the municipal office at this hour. Go tomorrow morning."
"Yes, but where shall I stable my team and myself tonight?"
"You might as well stay here. Everyone else is. No one will come from the stables for you at this hour of the night. No one is willing to put himself out, even to make money. The world is going to ruin."
"It is the drink that causes it," Landon said after taking careful note of the teacups scattered about the room.
"You've hit it right on the head, lad! And where does the drink come from? From France, that is where. The wine, at least. It is Bonaparte who is at the bottom of it."
"You're absolutely right," Landon said firmly.
Nessa knew she was not imagining the fleeting smile of triumph that flickered over Landon's face. When he cast a swift look at her, her heart sank. He went into the hall with Mr. Rafferty. Before long—not more than ten minutes had passed—they were back. He had actually worked Rafferty up to a smile. She listened with keen interest to learn how he had worked this miracle. Even his wife was staring in disbelief.
It was the war they were discussing, expressing every revulsion with Bonaparte, but Landon made no claims to being a soldier. What he appeared to have become was a government inspector of supplies for the Army. He had gauged his host's temper, and was inveighing against corruption in the business—shoddy goods delivered at inflated prices. The world was not only going to ruin, but gone. There wasn't an honest man between Land's End and Dover, with the exception of themselves.
"Even my own son—I hate to admit it—takes his bottle of wine a day," Rafferty said, the smile fast fading at this profligacy.
"Three is more like it," Carlisle said in a low voice.
Mrs. Rafferty belonged to that numerous company of ladies who take their views from their husbands. When she saw John approved of Mr. Kiley, she
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