"That appalling woman told me you were a well-behaved young lady," he told her. "Of course, those weren't her exact words, but it's what she meant. How am I going to explain to your mother that you've picked up bad habits while you've been away?"

She sighed and watched him with big eyes. Nell's eyes.

He rocked her against his chest. "Your mother is going to be overjoyed to see you. She's been breaking her heart over you, young Torie, and I can see why. So it's going to be a big day tomorrow and you need plenty of sleep."

He placed her back on the bed in the nest of pillows. She immediately wailed. He picked her up and she stopped.

"All right, I'll hold you till you fall asleep." She fitted perfectly in the crook of his arm. "Sleep, do you understand, young lady? That's an order."

She watched him with wise little eyes and batted her small fist around. He'd never realized what a miracle a baby's hand could be; five little fingers, each with perfect miniscule fingernails. Her closed fist was like a little fern, ready to unfurl. He stroked it with his index finger, marveling at how big and coarse his hand looked by comparison.

Her tiny fist unfurled and five impossibly small fingers closed around his index finger and clung tightly. She gave a little sigh, the long lashes fluttered and she fell asleep, still clutching his finger.

Harry's chest felt thick and full.

The little scrap of humanity clung to his finger, claiming him. And Harry's heart was lost to her. Torie was his. Or rather, he was Torie's. For life.

Just like that, he had a daughter.

Evans returned forty-five minutes later and found Harry sitting on the bed. "I'm sorry, sir, I was only able to get some cloths-for the wetness, you know."

"Didn't you get any clothing? She's got none. I threw out the rags she was washed in. They need to be burned."

"I'll work out something, sir," Evans said. "And perhaps while I'm at it you'd like me to wash your shirt. And I'll take your coat. It's ruined, of course, but you'll need something to wear home, so I'll see if I can get it looking a bit more respectable."

Harry stared at him. "Evans, what did you do for Sir Irwin?"

"I was his valet, sir."

Harry grinned. "Excellent. In that case you may take my shirt and coat with my goodwill, and see what you can do with them. I've needed a valet for some time."

"Thank you, sir. You won't be sorry, sir."

"I'm no dandy," Harry warned him.

Evans tried to hide a smile. "Oh, I realize that, sir."

"Hmm," he said. "In the meantime, there's a pie there getting cold."

"Thank you, sir." Evans lifted the lid and saw that none of the food had been touched.

"Not hungry, sir?"

Harry shook his head. "Starved. But I can't move."

"Can't move, sir?" Evans looked concerned. "Did you hurt yourself?"

Harry looked sheepish. "No, but I've been captured," he admitted. He glanced down at the infant sleeping in the crook of one arm, still clutching a finger of the other. "I'm terrified she might wake up and set to howling the place down again. My daughter has a powerful set of lungs on her."

"Your daughter, sir? But I thought she was-"

"No," Harry said firmly. "She's mine. Her mother and I have been searching for her for weeks."

Evans's face cleared. "Then it was all a terrible mistake, sir?"

"That's right, Evans. A terrible mistake." There was no need for anyone to know any different. Harry looked down at the tiny scrap holding on so tenaciously. "But she's back where she belongs now, or she will be once she's in her mother's arms."

He hired a chaise for the trip home; horseback would jolt Torie too much. Evans rode behind, leading Sabre.

He'd considered going shopping to buy a carry basket and baby clothes, but neither he nor Evans knew where such things could be purchased-in Evans's experience women made them-and in the end Harry decided it was more important to get Torie back to Nell. The most important things were napkins and milk, and Harry had stocked up on both.

So Torie came home to her mother dressed in several towels and a pillow case and she rode in Harry's arms. She seemed to like it there very well, gazing around her with bright, interested eyes, fingering the buttons on his coat and clinging firmly to his finger whenever he presented it.

When they turned into the drive at Alverleigh, she was sound asleep, tucked snug inside his coat. He'd stopped a few miles away and fed her and burped her and changed her napkin so she would be clean and content and ready to meet her mother. For a tiny scrap of perfection, she was able to make the most horrendous sounds and smells. The carriage pulled up and Harry climbed carefully down so as not to waken her.

Tymms opened the door and before he could say anything Harry shushed him with his finger. "Don't say anything to the others, just inform Lady Nell-discreetly-that a visitor-no, two visitors await her in the blue salon."

Tymms gave an impassive bow, dying of curiosity but too dignified to show it, and glided away.

Nell sat in the drawing room, trying her best not to fidget or pace. She fondled Freckles's ears absently. Harry had sent her Freckles. Why? Because he thought she would need comforting? She was pleased to have her dog, of course, but she hated being kept in the dark. She was worried sick about Harry. His brothers had all returned, and all that they would tell her was that Harry was all right and that he had business in London and would be back in time for the wedding.

They told her Sir Irwin had been crushed by a passing coach, and that she did not believe. It was a ridiculous tale.

They told her Harry was perfectly all right, but they'd brought Sabre home and he'd been grazed by a ball.

A ball. So there had been shooting.

They were telling her lies for her own sake. And it drove her mad. As if Harry, knowing how worried she was about him, would go off to London on business.

"Nell, dear, wouldn't you like to learn how to do this?" Aunt Maude said to her. She was teaching Callie and Tibby how to knit. "I know you're worried, my dear, but it helps to keep busy."

Nell shook her head. "I'm terrible at knitting." Knitting only served as a reminder.

Aunt Maude nodded and left her be.

Tymms silently entered the room and to Nell's surprise, came right up to her, bowed and said discreetly in her ear, "There are two visitors for you, m'lady, waiting in the blue salon."

"Two?" Nell jumped up and hurried out. Was it men come to tell her Harry was hurt, or worse? That sort always traveled in twos.

She pushed open the door to the blue salon. It was Harry, standing with his back to the door, looking out the window.

"Harry." She flew across the room.

He turned and she skidded to a halt, seeing what he held in his arms.

"Shhh," he said softly. "Not so loud. You'll wake the baby." He smiled.

She stared, rooted to the spot. Stock-still. What was he doing with a baby? Where had he got it? And why?

A cold, sick feeling stole though her. Did he think that he could bring her a substitute for Torie? Did he understand so little how she felt?

She forced herself to speak. "I don't . . . I don't need . . ." She pointed at the baby, her hand shaking.

"It's Torie."

The words tore her fragile composure apart.

She shook her head. "Torie is dead. She died-"

"No," he said gently. "This is Torie. Your father took her to Sir Irwin."

She stared, trying to work out why he would say such a thing.

"I don't believe it. Why would he do such a thing?" she whispered.

"Because the law is that a baby belongs to its father. It's the same reason that Lord Quenborough dumped me on my father's steps that time-because I was his responsibility. This truly is Torie, your Torie."

Nell took a ragged inward breath. Her hand flew to her mouth. She started trembling. She couldn't take her eyes off the bundle in his arms. She didn't believe it, but oh . . . how she wanted to.

She couldn't bear to look, to experience again the pain she knew would come when she saw that this baby, like all the others, wasn't her daughter.

She couldn't bear not to.

She edged forward, one shaking hand outstretched, the other clutched fearfully to her breast. It wasn't Torie, Torie was dead, she tried to tell herself, protect herself, to stifle the hope burgeoning within her.

Hope was the cruelest emotion.

The baby in Harry's arms stirred and yawned mightily. She opened her eyes and looked at her mother.

And Nell saw her own mother's remembered eyes, saw her father's brow, saw- "Oh God, it's Torie," she sobbed and lifted her daughter from Harry's arms. She laid her face against Torie's soft little neck and breathed her in. Her baby, her daughter, her Torie.

"Torie, oh, Torie." Trembling violently, she sank down on the sofa cradling her precious burden, rocking her, weeping.

She smoothed shaking fingers over Torie's face, remembering the delicate whorls of her ears, the soft golden fuzz.

Something dropped out of the fold of the towel. A small rag doll.

Nell stared. "Oh my God. What is that?"

Harry bent and picked it up. "Just a doll the girl gave me. She said it was Torie's, but it's noth-"

"Turn it upside down," Nell whispered.

Harry turned the little rag doll upside down and as the skirt fell down, another head appeared. "Very curious," he said.

"It's a Cinderella doll. I made it for her before she was born," she whispered. "Just like the one Mama made for me. I'd forgotten all about it. Papa must have taken it, too. She truly is my very own Torie." She buried her face in her baby again.

Torie clutched Nell's hair and pulled. "Look how strong you've grown, my darling," Nell said, laughing and sobbing at the same time.

Harry carefully untangled the little fingers from Nell's hair and sat down, his arm around Nell, around both of them. It felt so right, so perfect.

She looked up at him, trying to find words for something for which there were no words, and saw that his eyes were wet, too. It would take a lifetime.

He held her, watching silently as she examined every inch of Torie, marveling at the changes and trying to cope with the floods of emotion. So many weeks of aching and grieving and now Torie was back in her arms.

"Isn't she beautiful, Harry?" she sobbed. "I told you she was beautiful."

"Of course she's beautiful," he told her, his voice hoarse with emotion. "She takes after her mother."

The door opened and Aunt Maude looked in. "Nell, are you all-" She broke off. "Oh ... oh, my dear ..."

"I have my Torie back, Aunt Maude," Nell said mistily. "Harry found her for me. He promised he would and he did."

Aunt Maude tiptoed over and gazed at the baby. And gooed, and cooed. And then frowned. "Have you dressed my great-niece in a pillowcase, Harry Morant?"

Harry shrugged. "She hasn't got any clothes," he confessed. "But she doesn't mind, do you, sweetheart? She likes wearing towels and a pillowcase." He tickled Torie, who scrabbled happily at his hands.

"Towels and a pillowcase?" his aunt exclaimed in quiet horror. "You've dressed that poor infant in towels and a pillowcase? Wait here." Aunt Maude swept from the room.

She returned a few minutes later carrying a large basket. Nell recognized it from the journey from Bath. She dumped it on a table and ordered, "Bring that child over here."

Nell brought her and watched, astounded, as Lady Gosforth brought out tiny white garment after tiny white garment. There were dresses, vests, bootees, caps, tiny mittens, shawls, and blankets, all exquisitely made. Some were even lined with silk. "Where did you get all these from?" Nell asked, half knowing the answer already.

"I told you I had to keep busy," Lady Gosforth told her quietly, with a look. "I knew there would be a use for them one day, and now, here is Torie to make it all worthwhile." She caressed the soft little cheek gently. "Now let's get her into some pretty clothes and take her to meet the rest of her family."