She'd expected to spend her life here. It was her one security, the knowledge that the deed was in her name and that even in the grip of his gambling fever, Papa could not touch it.

How wrong she'd been. He'd probably intended to transfer the deed-he always meant well, poor Papa, but somehow he never could own up.

Lies, always lies. Even though he'd loved her dearly-she had no doubt of that-he still lied even about the most important things, always feeling he had to protect her from reality, always hoping against all logic that somehow, he'd be able to turn things around, pull the rabbit out of the hat and make everything all right-no, better than all right. Papa always expected to make it wonderful.

Only he never could, and it only ever got worse, until finally here she was, penniless and without a home.

And with Torie lost somewhere . . .

She'd be in London soon, she reminded herself. The vicar had spotted the notice in the newspaper and she'd applied for the position and got it. Companion to a widowed lady who wished to make her first visit to London.

In the midst of her despair, it had seemed like a sign.

She briskly stripped off her clothes. There was nothing like cold water and a good scrub with soap and flannel to get the blood moving. She washed herself as thoroughly as she could-she didn't have time to heat water for a bath-and turned to select something suitably companionish to wear.

Since her come out five years before, she'd always preferred plain, dark-colored clothing. She didn't like to draw attention to herself. She chose a moss green, high-waisted woolen dress with a green and gray pelisse with pewter buttons.

How amazing that the man with the burning gray eyes was here. And that he'd bought her home. And her horse. They would both be in good hands, she felt certain.

She packed the last of her clothes and glanced at the shelf that had housed her doll collection for as long as she could remember. There were a dozen, at least, mostly beautiful dolls in perfect condition. Whenever Papa won at cards, he'd brought her a doll from London. They sat in a row, looking perfect, smiling, clean, and angelic. At the end one doll sagged lopsidedly; Ella, the oldest, the most battered, the most beloved of Nell's dolls.

Mama had made Ella with her own hands. Ella was short for Cinderella and she was a happy-sad doll. You held Ella up one way and she was dressed in a ragged, gray dress with an apron over the top, and her face was sad. But you turned Ella upside down and her ragged dress fell over her face and there she was, happy and smiling, dressed in a beautiful, shiny red ball dress.

Nell had never played with dolls much-she'd always preferred dogs and horses-but when Mama had died, she took to taking Ella to bed with her. Ella wasn't just made by Mama's hands, her clothes were made from scraps of Mama's own clothes. Nell remembered seeing Mama in that beautiful red ball gown.

Poor Ella looked very much the worse for wear now, with one button eye missing, half her hair chewed off by some dog, and the red dress quite faded. There was no room in the portmanteau, but Nell could not possibly leave Ella behind, to be tossed on the rubbish heap.

Nell hesitated, then took out a pair of slippers that pinched her and laid Ella in their place. It was ridiculous for a grown woman to want to keep a doll, but she couldn't help herself. Tossing Ella away would be like tossing Mama away.

If ever she needed Mama's happy-sad doll, it was now.

She closed the catch, took a last look around her room, picked up her bag, and left. She did not go immediately downstairs, but went to the estate office. She wrote a list of names on a sheet of paper and tucked it in her sleeve, then picked up her portmanteau and headed downstairs.

Angry voices were coming from the kitchen; the normally dry, precise tones of the agent now sounding peevish and almost shrill, overshadowed by a loud, blunt, vulgar voice that Nell had known and loved her whole life.

If that agent was being horrid to Aggie again . . . Nell hurried toward the kitchen.

"No, Mr. Finicky-pants, I won't take myself off-" Aggie was saying in a belligerent voice.

"You are trespassing, madam, and-"

"Don't you madam me, you little worm! Trespassing?" Aggie snorted loudly. "Who do you think you're talking to? I'm Aggie Deane and I've lived here more years than you've had hot dinners! And while Miss Nell's here, I'm here. It's not right for an earl's daughter to be on her own."

"She should not be here, either. Both of you are trespa-"

Aggie made a loud, very rude noise. "Oh, bite your bum. I'm here to make Miss Nell's dinner and you can bleat rules at me till you're blue in the face, but I'm not budging."

Nell paused outside the kitchen door and listened, a smile on her lips. She should have known no London lawyer would get the better of Aggie.

"Madam, I can have you arres-"

"Pedlington," a deep, masculine voice cut across the quarrel. "Not another word. Take yourself off to the White Hart at once and draw up those papers. I'll meet you there this evening to sign them and to give you a draft on my bank."

"But this old woman-"

"I'll 'old woman' you!" Aggie snapped. "If anyone in this room is an old woman, it's you, carrying on as if-"

"That's enough, Mrs. Deane. I said immediately, Pedlington." Mr. Morant's voice was soft, but it had all the effect of a whip crack.

There was a sudden silence, then Pedlington said in a sulky voice, "Very well, sir, but I take no responsibil-"

"Go!"

Nell listened and heard the kitchen door open and close.

"Well, now, sir," Aggie said approvingly. "I come all prepared to dislike you on account of you taking Miss Nell's home from her, but anyone who can get rid of that worm-ridden, prating little windbag with so little fuss-well, sir, I have to say-"

"Is that the kettle boiling?" Mr. Morant cut off the speech as Nell entered the room.

"Heavens, yes, and here's Miss Nell, and me without the tea made." Aggie bustled to the stove.

Mr. Morant's eyes ran over her. "That green suits you," he said and Nell felt suddenly self-conscious. She resisted the urge to smooth down her skirts and check her hair. She'd always been almost invisible to men; her one and only season had been a disaster. Half the time she didn't even get a dance unless one of Papa's friends took pity on her.

And yet this man-by far the most attractive man she'd ever met in her life-seemed to give her his complete attention. And said green suited her.

She swallowed. If only she'd met him when she made her come out . . . when life was so much simpler . . .

It was too late now.

"I checked on the mare and they're both splendid. I've dealt with the afterbirth," he told her. He noticed her surprise and said with a quirk of his mouth, "Well, she is mine now, remember."

Yes, Nell thought, but she wouldn't have expected him to deal with a messy job when she'd said she'd do it. It was . . . gallant.

Aggie had laid a place at the kitchen table with a cloth and cutlery. Mr. Morant pulled out a chair for Nell to be seated. He must wonder at her, sitting at the kitchen table, instead of having Aggie bring it through to the dining room.

As a child Nell had loved the warmth of the kitchen. And of late years, as more rooms in the house were closed off and Nell took to minding the pennies, she had found herself gravitating there more and more often. Recently, of course, it was the only practical choice.

"Will you be having a spot of luncheon, too, sir?" Aggie asked. "It's nothing grand-just soup and toast and a bit of something sweet to follow."

Mr. Morant hesitated.

"There's plenty," Aggie assured him.

"Please do," Nell told him. "Aggie will have brought enough for several meals and since I'm leaving in an hour . . ." She felt quite ill at the prospect and wasn't the slightest bit hungry, but Aggie would fret if Nell didn't eat.

"An hour?" Aggie exclaimed in dismay.

Nell nodded. "You knew it would come, Aggie."

"I know, dearie, but so soon . . ." With a sigh, Aggie brought a cloth and swiftly laid a place opposite her for Mr. Morant. "Now sit yourself down, sir, and I'll bring the soup directly."

Mr. Morant sat and Nell immediately wished Aggie hadn't put him opposite her. Those intense, gray, grave eyes burned into her like a physical touch.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

She straightened her cutlery and avoided his gaze. "To London. You will remember to give Toffee a good hot mash each morning, won't you? Her condition is rather poor and-"

"The mare and colt will be well cared for. What will you be doing in London?"

It wasn't his business. Just because he'd bought her home didn't mean she had to tell him anything. She'd had enough people pity her. "A bran mash with boiled linseed-"

"I know how to mix a mash," he said as Aggie placed bowls of soup in front of each of them. "I'm a horseman. I bought this place for the stables. She'll have the best of care. So"-he fixed his gaze on her-"I presume you're going to relatives."

"No," Nell said and addressed herself to her soup with great concentration. At first it was hard to swallow with him watching her, but then his gaze dropped and she spooned the thick, savory liquid up quickly. It was delicious, she was sure, but she tasted nothing.

He sat there, looking big and somber and handsome, his eyes full of questions. Two could play at that. "So, Mr. Morant, what are your plans for Firmin Court?"

He gave her a slow smile, acknowledging her attempt to distract him. Nell swallowed and hoped she wasn't blushing. He probably smiled like that at every female he met. There would be a trail of hearts from here to London, she had no doubt.

"I'm going to breed horses," he told her. "Thoroughbreds. Racehorses."

Nell was silent for a moment, her throat thick with envy. Breeding Thoroughbreds was-had been until recently-her own dream. To bring back Firmin Court to the glory it once had. "My mother's family-this was her childhood home, you know-used to breed horses, too. Firmin Court used to be renowned for its horses."

He nodded. "I know. I heard about it when I was in Bath recently. That's why I came here in the first place. I saw at a glance it's perfect for what I want."

She nodded and tried to be glad that the estate would be cared for now, if not by herself. "Have you been in the horse-breeding business long?" she asked.

He swallowed a mouthful of soup and said, "No, I've been at war for most of the last eight years. But my partner and I have been planning this for years." He made a self-deprecating grimace and added, "Soldiers are always full of plans for afterward, but this time a legacy from my great-aunt helped make the dream a reality."

He finished his soup and made a halfhearted attempt to refuse a second helping. "It's excellent soup," he told Aggie, making her splutter with insincere denial as she plied him with additional helpings.

He might be quiet, but he had more charm than any man had a right to.

Nell asked him more about his plans, and as he explained about his ambition to breed, race, and sell Thoroughbreds, he polished off several thick slices of toast, crunching through it with white, even teeth. Aggie, who loved to feed any man, and couldn't resist the big, good-looking ones, kept the toast coming thick and hot and even added a pot of her best damson jelly.

He gave the old woman a lopsided, boyish smile in thanks and Nell added Aggie to the lists of his female conquests. The elderly woman bridled with delight as he slathered on the jelly. It seemed he had a sweet tooth. And he was quite, impossibly handsome.

Nell finished her meal as quickly as she could, ate half a slice of toast, then rose.

"I'll just go and check on-"

"Sit down and I'll pour your tea," Aggie told her.

"Oh, but-"

"You're not leaving this house without a good cup of tea in you and that's final," Aggie declared. "And I made jam tartlets this morning and you'll eat one, my lady, or I'll want to know the reason why." She placed a plate of small jam tarts in front of Nell much as she'd lay down a gauntlet.

Recognizing from the "my lady" that her old nurse was seriously distressed by her impending departure, Nell obediently sat and began to nibble on a tart. Aggie sniffed and poured the tea.

Mr. Morant devoured a tartlet, then gave Nell an expectant look. "Now, about your future-"

"I'm going to London," she told him before he could ask again. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a paper, which she handed to him. "This list might help you to get started. All highly recommended."

She drank her tea in three large gulps and stood. "I'll just check on Toffee and her colt if you don't mind," she said. Taking a steaming kettle with her, she let herself out of the building.

Harry watched her go, frowning. She seemed very brittle.

"Brought that mare into the world, she did," Aggie told Harry. "Its mam died, see, and it was very weak. Miss Nell fretted over the little one as though it were human. 'Is lordship wanted to put the filly down, but she fought 'im for it and won. Just a little lass she was, eight, or thereabouts, but she stood up to him right proud until 'e gave in. Raised it herself and trained it-the talent runs in the blood-her mam was the same. All that family were mad for 'orses. Miss Nell near broke her heart when her pa sold it for a mighty sum to be raced by other folks."

She shook her head as she wiped the table down. "The new owners treated her cruel hard, nearly killed the poor beast. So Miss Nell scraped together the money to buy her back-she'd stopped winning by then, was a mess of nerves, poor thing." She rinsed the dishcloth and sighed. "Break her heart to say good-bye to that 'orse again, it will."

"What will your mistress be doing?"

Aggie's mouth tightened. "Can't say, sir."

Harry frowned. "Will you be accompanying her?"

"No, she's found me a place as housekeeper to the vicar, so I'll be all right," the old woman said with emphasis. "Well, the poor man needs it. Getting old, he is, and forgetful. And he's going to take that dog of hers, too. She'll miss her Freckles something shocking, poor lass, but she can't take a dog, not where she's going."

So she was going alone. Harry didn't like the sound of that. The vision of Nell sitting drenched on that cart haunted him. "Is she not going to some family member?"

Aggie snorted. "The Irish cousins? Not them! Anyway, if she's to run and fetch for folk-" She broke off guiltily. "Look at me, runnin' on about nothin'. I'll be off and get the last of my things."

Harry nodded absently. He was reading the list she'd given him. On it was a list of names.

"Mrs. Deane," he said to Aggie. "Perhaps you could enlighten me as to the meaning of this. Your name is here, too."

He showed Aggie the paper. She squinted at it vaguely. "Sorry, sir, never was much of a hand with reading."

He started to read it to her.

"It's so unfair," Aggie burst out before he was halfway through. "Near worked herself into the ground, she did, keeping this place goin' when her pa was busy dragging it into the gutter. Miss Nell ran herself ragged, squeezing out every penny she could to make sure nobody on the estate starved. Just about knocked her endways, it did, when she come back and found out all her scrimping and saving had been for naught and that her pa had gambled it all away."

He held up the paper. "And this list?"

"It's everyone who worked here in the last year, sir, them who stayed on after the money ran out, stayed on for Miss Nell. After she got taken away by her pa last Easter, they all got turned off without so much as a penny or a promise. She never knew until last week." Aggie wiped her eyes with her apron. "I dunno where she went. Come back a shred of her former self, she did, and with such sad eyes."

"So these people need jobs?"

Aggie looked up, her old eyes lighting with hope. "With you, sir? They would. Oh, sir, and if you tell Miss Nell, it'd take a load off her mind, it would. Worries about everyone, that girl."

Harry nodded and shoved the paper in his pocket. "I'll be back in a week, all going to plan, and I'll follow these people up then. I value loyalty. No one who worked for Miss N-Lady Helen will go wanting this coming winter." Last winter, he knew, had been exceptionally hard.

"Oh sir," Aggie said, her voice cracking. "I take back every bad thing I ever thought about you."

Harry headed for the stables. He found Nell standing at the stall half-door, watching the scene with a dreamy, oddly wistful expression on her face.

He peered over her shoulder. The colt was on its feet and drinking from its mother. All that could be seen were four long, splayed, spindly legs, a small dark rump, and an excited, waggling tail. Harry smiled. He never tired of the sight. And it was a good omen-the first foal born in his stables.