Chapter One
Queen’s Walk, Green Park, London, 1821
“He’s down there again.”
“Come away from the window, Diana. He might see you.” Helen eyed her sister as she arranged the cups and saucers over the table. “The sun’s shining directly on your hair. You’ll attract inappropriate attention.”
“I will, in a minute.”
Unable to resist a peek, Helen rose and joined Diana at the window. Down below, in the line of trees rimming the park, a man stood half in shadow. He stepped forward, and sunlight fell on his face. A chiaroscuro of light and shade delineated strong cheekbones, a chiseled chin, and a determined set to his shoulders before the shadows claimed him again.
Helen turned away, unwilling to give such a masculine figure another thought. “The tea will get cold.”
“I can’t see him. He must have gone.” Diana let the lace curtain fall back into place and joined her at the table. “Another man has just walked away down the path.”
“Were they together?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
Helen finished buttering each scone and added strawberry preserve. She found small domestic tasks soothing, although Diana had accused her of using them to hide from the world. “Did you send the footman yesterday to inquire if the man needed assistance?”
“I did, but he’d vanished into the park before Jeremy reached the bottom of the garden.”
“Odd how he stands there alone for half an hour or more, a few yards from our back gate. He must be waiting for someone.”
Diana sat beside her on the threadbare crimson plush sofa. She took the thick white ceramic cup and saucer that was part of the schoolroom china and stirred in sugar. “If it was someone from Kinsey House, he would have inquired at the door.” She added a scone to her plate.
“If he comes again tomorrow, tell a servant to invite him down to the kitchen,” Helen said. “Some have fallen on hard times since the war. We mustn’t forget Father’s wish to care for the less fortunate.”
Diana chuckled. “He didn’t look hungry, not in fashionable clothes and Hessians, and he carried a brass-topped cane.”
“Then his business does not concern us.” Helen arranged the small triangles of sandwiches neatly on a plate.
Diana dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “He’s quite handsome.”
“Can you discern that from the schoolroom window? We are three flights above ground.” She’d thought the same. The cake knife poised to slice seed cake, she quickly dismissed an annoying flush of interest. It was merely him standing so still and intent when most strolled leisurely past along the Walk.
Helen offered Diana the plate, aware that her impulsive sister was about to indulge in one of her flights of fancy, some of which had led her into some awful scrapes in the past. “Your imagination is taking hold again. Next, you’ll be saying there are ghosts living in the attic.”
“Ghosts don’t live, silly. They metamorphose and float around.” Diana sipped her tea. “Perhaps I couldn’t see his face so well, but he is tall and broad-shouldered. At one point, he took off his hat and ran his fingers through his wavy dark hair.” She grinned. “It’s the reason I first noticed him.”
Helen smiled. “Perhaps he’s one of Papa’s classical scholars from Cambridge, composing a sonnet on wood nymphs. They’re a peculiar lot if you ask me.”
“But they all look pale and weedy, and he’s not at all—”
“Papa isn’t pale and weedy,” Helen interjected.
“But Papa is always away riding camels and visiting hot climes.” Diana gazed into space. “Perhaps this man is involved in a romantic liaison. And the lady has not kept her promise. She might have broken his heart.”
Helen shook her head and laughed. She envied her sister’s romantic view of the world. Helen’s view was more than a little suspicious. Men who did not behave as one might expect were deserving of suspicion.
Their lanky younger brother entered the doorway and crossed the worn patterned carpet stalked by a black cat. “Who’s broken whose heart?”
Diana shrugged. “It’s of no importance. Purely a hypothetical supposition.”
Helen dashed milk into a saucer and placed it on the floor. “Here, Plato.”
The cat graciously accepted the offering and lapped the milk with its pink tongue.
