in
danger for I have neither titles nor estates."
Juliet looked down at her hands. "It had occurred
to me, Cousin, that Lady Serena might not be at home
to Miss Wayborn today. Would you mind awfully-?"
"I am Miss Wayborn's servant," he replied so gravely
that she laughed.
Horatio was not twenty minutes in Lord Redfylde's
house. "I think you are right about the lady, Cousin,"
he reported to Juliet. "She seemed not to care in
the least for your brother's injuries nor for your own
predicament, my dear Juliet. Her ladyship was quite
cold on both subjects."
"Indeed, I am heartily sorry to have been right
about her insincerity," said Juliet, biting her lip. "Cary
will be hurt, and I expect I am to blame, but at least,
he is free of her now."
The peaceful village of Tanglewood Green lay
twenty miles north of London in Hertfordshire, and travel was easy along the Great North Road. Juliet, her
maid, and Captain Cary arrived at the Vicarage no
later than one o'clock to the great surprise of Dr. Cary
and his wife, who had expected to see their son the
following week and Juliet not at all.
The Vicar's house was a large and stately stone
building that at one time had held as many as seven
children and their parents, as well as a full contingent
of servants. The eldest of the Carys' seven children
was Horatio, but the next five children had been
named simply and safely George, Tom, Mary, James,
and Edward. Then, quite unexpectedly, at the age of
forty, Mrs. Cary had given birth to a second girl. Her
surprise was so great that she had named the baby
Cynthia. Now seventeen and a beauty, Miss Cary was
the only child left at home.
When Juliet arrived, Cynthia and her mother were
preparing to visit an elderly woman in the parish. They
instantly offered to revise their plans, while Juliet
suggested that she take Mrs. Cary's place.
"But, my dear, you must be tired from your journey,"
Mrs. Cary protested weakly. She was a large, comfortable woman who did not care for walking, and it
had already occurred to her that, if Juliet went with
Cynthia, it would give her time to make arrangements for her unexpected guest. The Carys considered themselves very humble country people, and the
arrival of their smart London cousin, who had been
presented to Queen Charlotte in the state drawing
room of St. James's Palace, was sufficient to frighten
Mrs. Cary into taking her very best linens out of the
lavender-scented tissue in which they were stored.
Juliet insisted. After the confinement of the carriage, a long, healthy walk was just what she liked. Mrs.
Gary's half-hearted objections were easily overcome while Sailor, the family's spaniel, ran up to Juliet and
shoved his nose under her hand in a bid for her attention. It was soon decided that Sailor would accompany the girls on their errand.
Alighting from the vehicle, Mademoiselle Huppert
gazed up at the Vicarage with an expression of Gallic
scorn. If her mistress delighted in scampering about
the countryside with dogs and baskets of food, she,
Mademoiselle, had better ideas. Approaching Mrs.
Cary, she rather coldly asked for the housekeeper.
Juliet, meanwhile, took the basket from Cynthia,
and, arm and arm, the pair started down the lane.
Like her brother, Cynthia was fair-haired and blueeyed, but while her brother was bronzed from his time
at sea, Cynthia was pale, an almost ethereal-looking
beauty. Besides being quite the loveliest girl Juliet had
ever seen, Cynthia held a place of honor in her
cousin's heart, for Cynthia had been kind to Benedict
the summer before when he had visited Tanglewood
with his half-sister for the first time. Hampered by his
missing limb and scarred face, Benedict was usually
painfully awkward around the fair sex, and Juliet
would always be grateful to Cynthia for making him
feel so comfortable on that occasion. Indeed, she
was determined to make a match between the pair.
She lost no time in acquainting
danger for I have neither titles nor estates."
Juliet looked down at her hands. "It had occurred
to me, Cousin, that Lady Serena might not be at home
to Miss Wayborn today. Would you mind awfully-?"
"I am Miss Wayborn's servant," he replied so gravely
that she laughed.
Horatio was not twenty minutes in Lord Redfylde's
house. "I think you are right about the lady, Cousin,"
he reported to Juliet. "She seemed not to care in
the least for your brother's injuries nor for your own
predicament, my dear Juliet. Her ladyship was quite
cold on both subjects."
"Indeed, I am heartily sorry to have been right
about her insincerity," said Juliet, biting her lip. "Cary
will be hurt, and I expect I am to blame, but at least,
he is free of her now."
The peaceful village of Tanglewood Green lay
twenty miles north of London in Hertfordshire, and travel was easy along the Great North Road. Juliet, her
maid, and Captain Cary arrived at the Vicarage no
later than one o'clock to the great surprise of Dr. Cary
and his wife, who had expected to see their son the
following week and Juliet not at all.
The Vicar's house was a large and stately stone
building that at one time had held as many as seven
children and their parents, as well as a full contingent
of servants. The eldest of the Carys' seven children
was Horatio, but the next five children had been
named simply and safely George, Tom, Mary, James,
and Edward. Then, quite unexpectedly, at the age of
forty, Mrs. Cary had given birth to a second girl. Her
surprise was so great that she had named the baby
Cynthia. Now seventeen and a beauty, Miss Cary was
the only child left at home.
When Juliet arrived, Cynthia and her mother were
preparing to visit an elderly woman in the parish. They
instantly offered to revise their plans, while Juliet
suggested that she take Mrs. Cary's place.
"But, my dear, you must be tired from your journey,"
Mrs. Cary protested weakly. She was a large, comfortable woman who did not care for walking, and it
had already occurred to her that, if Juliet went with
Cynthia, it would give her time to make arrangements for her unexpected guest. The Carys considered themselves very humble country people, and the
arrival of their smart London cousin, who had been
presented to Queen Charlotte in the state drawing
room of St. James's Palace, was sufficient to frighten
Mrs. Cary into taking her very best linens out of the
lavender-scented tissue in which they were stored.
Juliet insisted. After the confinement of the carriage, a long, healthy walk was just what she liked. Mrs.
Gary's half-hearted objections were easily overcome while Sailor, the family's spaniel, ran up to Juliet and
shoved his nose under her hand in a bid for her attention. It was soon decided that Sailor would accompany the girls on their errand.
Alighting from the vehicle, Mademoiselle Huppert
gazed up at the Vicarage with an expression of Gallic
scorn. If her mistress delighted in scampering about
the countryside with dogs and baskets of food, she,
Mademoiselle, had better ideas. Approaching Mrs.
Cary, she rather coldly asked for the housekeeper.
Juliet, meanwhile, took the basket from Cynthia,
and, arm and arm, the pair started down the lane.
Like her brother, Cynthia was fair-haired and blueeyed, but while her brother was bronzed from his time
at sea, Cynthia was pale, an almost ethereal-looking
beauty. Besides being quite the loveliest girl Juliet had
ever seen, Cynthia held a place of honor in her
cousin's heart, for Cynthia had been kind to Benedict
the summer before when he had visited Tanglewood
with his half-sister for the first time. Hampered by his
missing limb and scarred face, Benedict was usually
painfully awkward around the fair sex, and Juliet
would always be grateful to Cynthia for making him
feel so comfortable on that occasion. Indeed, she
was determined to make a match between the pair.
She lost no time in acquainting
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