*Please stay, Mrs Dunham,' Gabriel said, coming to her side. *Lady Wexcombe and her daughters will soon be gone from here. After that we can all live contentedly together.'

*Thank you for your kind words, Gabriel, but Hortence is right. Betsy and I have no right to continue as guests in your home.'

*Where will you go?' Genevieve asked.

*Eppie, I should have told you before; I was just waiting for the right moment. Sam has asked me to marry him. I shall go to his farm.'

Genevieve had expected as much, knowing how dearly Sam and Martha loved one another. *I'm invited to the wedding? I may visit you?'

Martha took her by the hand. *No, Eppie. It is time that we went our separate ways.' Though close to tears, she would not give them vent. *Things have changed and we have to accept that we can't hold onto one another no more. You have to let me go. I have to give you up.'

*I will accompany you in my carriage,' Gabriel offered. He took up Martha's bag and they left.

Falling to her knees beside the bedstead, Genevieve cried her heart out. She was still sobbing long after Martha had gone from her.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN.

DANCING WITH THE DEAD.

Genevieve struck out for the river where she planned to spend the entire afternoon.

Enjoying the warmth of the sun's rays filtering through breaks in the clouds, she unpinned her chignon and let her golden hair tumble about her shoulders.

So motionless did she stand, happy to be at one with nature, that creatures came close. A yellow wagtail, wings flicking, chinked water as it flitted from stone to stone. Talia reclined upon the meadow at the water's edge. Swans and their cygnets drifted past.

Gabriel was staying in Malstowe for a couple of days with Mr Grimley, though Genevieve guessed it was more an opportunity to escape from the Wexcombes. It was now obvious to everyone that Permelia was head-over-heels in love with him and clung to the dream of wedded bliss. Gabriel, who had become morose and silent of recent, was too polite to voice his rejection of her.

Plaiting horsehairs for a fishing line, she knotted them onto a hazel-wand and hooked a berry to the thread. A water vole slipped into the river with a sucking gloop to investigate the feather marker bobbing upon the sluggish waters.

Having had moderate success, a silver trout dangling from her stick, she trekked to the clearing before the Crusader Oak. Recalling how Gabriel had once made a smoker, she attempted to do likewise, whittling away at twigs with a knife, and igniting moss from a tinderbox.

Whilst waiting for the fish to cook, she clambered up the hollow tree. On the rough, knobbly platform she found the remains of green velvet cushions, thick with mildew, stuffing spewed from where birds had pecked them for nesting material. Prising the lid off Gabriel's biscuit tin she was astonished to see gingersnaps left there from their childhood days.

The thought of spending interminably long hours with only the Wexcombes for company filled her with dismay and so she prolonged her time in the woodland, collecting faggots in preparation for an evening fire.

Darkness crept around, the full moon enchanting the still air of the autumn night.

Enthralled by the semblance of the blaze to a sacred entity, she stretched her arms to the spirit in the sky and danced, barefooted, around the leaping flames. A nightjar answered her chants. Beside her skipped Talia, her ghostly skirts whooshing like a whimsical breeze before a sea-storm. Once, the yielding brush of her sister's hand passed through her own. It gave Genevieve an eerie, tingling feeling and she laughed with pleasure.

Close by, a fox howled.

Spinning round she glimpsed a man, dressed in a rough coat, vanish into the undergrowth.

Shaken from her reverie, fear of Thurstan, stalking, gripped her, and she ran.

It was late when she returned, to a hallway swelling with raised voices, Mrs Bellows' dominating all. Setting eyes on Genevieve she let out a cry of relief. *I was about to send Captain Catesby in search for you.'

Arriving earlier in the evening, Catesby had been entertained by Lady Wexcombe and her daughters.

*You smell like a bonfire,' Lady Wexcombe said. *Where have you been?'

Genevieve no longer cared what they thought of her. *Dancing with the dead.'

*What did I tell you?' Hortence said. *Lady du Quesne is quite out of her senses.'

*Woe that the girl never benefited from a mother's firm hand,' Lady Wexcombe cried.

Hannah was less perturbed by the appearance of Genevieve's smoke-blackened nose and the sight of her hair tousled over her eyes. *I think your ladyship's complexion is much brightened by the exercise.'

*And that dreadful frock!' exclaimed Lady Wexcombe. *What on earth can the villagers think, seeing you running around in a coarse brown gown that is nothing more than a rag?'

*It's sensible. Betsy made it for me before she went away with mam. She calls it my country weeds because it doesn't show the grime from the woods.' Genevieve bent to untie her striped cotton bootees, filthy from slopping and scrambling beside the river.

*If Gabriel were here he would be frightfully annoyed with you,' Permelia said contemptuously.

*That comment shows how little you understand Gabriel,' Genevieve replied brusquely.

*Why would you choose to leave the house for such a length of time, anyway?' Permelia asked.

*I needed space,' Genevieve answered, plucking a dead leaf from her skirt.

*Why can you not be content with promenades in the long gallery?' Lady Wexcombe asked.

Genevieve adored the long gallery. She recalled Gabriel once telling her that, because it had windows down both sides, he found it distracting to look at the birds when he was trying to read. But, as to spending hours simply walking up and down indoors, like the Wexcombes did on a daily basis, well, that was quiet out of the question. Tossing off her bootees, she was about to head towards the stairs when Catesby came to the fore of the women.

*My lady.' Feet together, he bowed. Around his neck he wore a black cravat. His moustache was bolstered by heavy whiskers.

*You visit frequently,' she said brazenly, knowing full well the reason why he called.

*Driven here by my adoration for you,' he said, grinning.

Aware of the others listening to their conversation, Genevieve felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment.

*I came here tonight, however, to give you news of our search.'

At this her mood changed to one of eagerness. *You've found Rowan!'

*No.'

*I am weary and wish to retire.'

In the Swan Chamber a welcoming fire burnt brightly in the hearth.

Her hands gloved, and a white apron tied around her waist, Lottie had followed Genevieve upstairs to prepare the bed. *Take no notice of *em foolish lot.'

The flicker of a smile played upon Genevieve's lips, glad, at least, of Lottie's comforting words.

Although Lottie had closed the window, after she had gone Genevieve threw it open to let in the fresh air. There on the lawn were two white and brown shapes, one like a large sugared bun, the other a tiny one. *Come in Prince Ferdinand and Ophelia,' she said softly. *It's bedtime.'

CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT.

THE BALL.

The following week the house was turned upside down with a flurry of arrangements for the ball.

Seventy-two visitors, most of whom would bring their own servants, were expected to converge on the manor. Many were friends of Permelia, keen to set eyes upon her betrothed, as she now referred to Gabriel. Long closed-off rooms were aired for those desiring over-night accommodation. Dressmakers arrived with boxes and bales of silks to make ball dresses for Genevieve and the sisters.

Maids scrubbed the floor of the Great Hall with milk, and polished it with beeswax and turpentine until it shone, for here the company would dance long into the night. The path leading from the coach-house to the manor was swept and fresh herbs scattered where ladies would tread. Even the yard had been scrupulously mopped. *No odour of the vulgar farm must be imparted to the visiting gentry,' Lady Wexcombe said, for this was to be an evening bent purely upon pleasure.

The house hummed with excitement. Many guests arrived early and were shown to their chambers, their doors opening and closing as they rang bells for assistance with their attire.

Genevieve wandered downstairs to gaze upon the resplendent feast Hannah had prepared, ready to take into the dining room after the dancing: swan and other graceful dishes were splendidly ornamented; crystallised fruit was arranged as appealingly as if they still grew upon vines and bushes. She felt so nervous that she had been unable to eat anything for days, and her stomach turned at the sight of the glistening jellied meat.

Cut flowers and green boughs decked the doorway of the Great Hall where brother and sister stood in readiness to welcome the guests.

Gabriel looked handsome in his dark blue coat, cream waistcoat and pale breeches, silk stockings and buckled pumps. He cautioned Genevieve, *It would be best to keep quiet about your past to those who know nothing about it. Tell them that, from childhood, you were raised in Italy or something like that.'

*I don't speak Italian.'

*Once the wine has gone round they won't know what language you're speaking. Just smile and have a delightful time.'

There came a modest chattering and laughter as friends and acquaintances greeted one another. Never had Genevieve set eyes on ladies and gentlemen in such rich and extravagant dress as those who swept into the hall to the sound of music, strings and a harpsichord, very different from the fiddles and hornpipes of the country jigs she had been used to.

Permelia and her female friends entered in a rush of conversation, their satin dresses and Greek-style tiaras shimmering in the light cast by the chandeliers. Genevieve's own frock in lavender complemented those who wore pale yellow, soft grey and mignonette-green, though Hortence wore a startling scarlet dress.

Gabriel bowed obsequiously to Permelia's friends. *May I have the honour to present my sister, Lady Genevieve?'

*Delighted,' the ladies answered courteously, brushing past her as swiftly as was respectable.

Gabriel greeted other newcomers. *Sir, you and your family are most heartily welcome.'

So it continued with guests after guests arriving; fine-looking men, chuckling girls, haughty dowagers, knights and bloated-faced squires. Most offered their condolences on the melancholy event of Lord Robert du Quesne's death.

Despite her aversion to his romantic intentions, Genevieve was relieved when a familiar face appeared. Colonel Cudbert Catesby joined other officers from his regiment, looking elegant in his cockade hat, crimson jacket and white trousers.

*Catesby!' Hortence pushed through the throng. *My sister and I were thinking you had quite foresaken us.'

About the first hour of the ball was a mannerly quiet. Music played serenely, talk was reserved. Genevieve could scarcely believe so many people would make so little noise. Dancers shifted in delicate figures like flowers blowing gently in a breeze, sedate and graceful, moving away as the figure of the dance dictated. Now and then ladies retired to tweak curls and smooth skirts.

Older ladies, wearing hats trimmed with plumes and lined with velvet, gravitated to the enormous arched-fireplace where they sat, leaning towards one another, gossiping behind their fans.

Hortence and other unmarried women swept across the floor like swooping birds whilst their partners moved in the dance as delicately and gracefully as the girls.

Soon the pace increased. Laughter and talk amplified. High in the minstrels' gallery the musicians played louder. Girls flirted with soldiers and drew them towards the dancing. Hogsheads of claret broached, the footmen braved the blaze of colour, bearing jugs of wine, sometimes two at a time, to the feasting.

After weeks of learning how to walk on her toes instead of plodding on her heels, and practicing the steps of the dance, Genevieve rose to the challenge with perfection. Even in her discourse with the gentry she succeeded in keeping off the topic of farming, which Lady Wexcombe had warned her was a subject most unbecoming of a lady in polite society.

The parson plied Genevieve with sweetmeats. *It is a fine gathering, my lady. We must do it again, or perhaps his lordship might hold a masquerade? I have always yearned to be a, hic, please excuse me, masked angel. I believe that my name is next on your dance card?'

He led her to where several couples, amongst them Permelia and Gregory Bowden, the dandiest of the beaus, were taking their places. Whilst dancing, Genevieve was uncomfortably aware of Catesby standing in the shadows, staring at her.

Lady Wexcombe spoke cordially to those around her, tolerating if not relishing all the conversation, including Gabriel's. *I took the liberty of including Bowden in your kind invitation this evening so that he may meet local society. He belongs to the first circles, a man of a very large property in Herefordshire. Are you much acquainted with him?'

*I regret that I have not had that honour,' Gabriel answered.

*It would seem that he is much taken by Permelia. I almost think that if one were not quick about it, Permelia's hand would be given to him in marriage.'

Gabriel felt as jaded as Genevieve with this persistent matchmaking. He addressed her with marked coolness, *I see Squire Hartt and his lady have arrived late. I must welcome them. Do excuse me.'

*After your coarse upbringing,' the parson said to Genevieve, when their steps met, *you must feel indebted to be acknowledged by such elegant ladies as the Misses Wexcombe.'

His condescending words pierced her like an arrow for that was how she felt, an outsider struggling towards refinement. Even at the dance, no matter how polite the guests were to her, she knew they sensed her ignorance. She could see in their eyes their revulsion at her disfigured features.

At the end of the dance she was glad to rest.

Noisy merriment increased to a tumult. Wall torches burnt low and sputtered, were replaced by others. Genevieve was surprised to see fine, flushed gentlemen and their giggling ladies behaving more like ploughmen and carters at a country revel. Even some of the elderly ladies had forgotten their manners, sitting with their legs splayed and shrieking with laughter as fireworks exploded on the lawn. Expected to partake of the vintage wine, her head span and her lips felt numb. By now the parson was sleeping it off, his head leaning upon her shoulder.

Gabriel approached. *I seem to have danced with all the ladies except you.' A loving smile brightened his face as he reached out his hand to her. *It is only right that I should now dance with the only lady here that means the world to me.'

For the first time that evening, brother and sister were truly content. All the other dancers around them drifted into obscurity. Once, Genevieve's foot caught in the tarlatan that stiffened her ball dress and she almost fell. Gabriel saved them from crashing to the floor, both laughing with the silliness of it. He, too, threw caution to the wind and clung to her longer and more closely than was deemed polite.

As the dance continued they became aware that they were receiving grim looks. Permelia gasped, surprised at Genevieve's indecorous manner. Voices were cold with dislike.

*Forget them,' Gabriel said.

*I already have!' Genevieve cried.

There was a scuffle beside the door. Maygott, his manner and attire that of a man who had fallen on hard times, was tussling with a footman, who would not grant him admittance to the dance.

*What's Maygott doing here?' Gabriel cried. *Duncan, eject the man.'

The dance at an end, he led Genevieve to a cushioned settle. *I'll fetch us something to eat.'

Those around Genevieve whispered to neighbours, nodding meaningfully in her direction.

Sir Biggins stood behind Lady Wexcombe's chair, stooping now and again to speak quietly in her ear. Both stared at Genevieve and shook their heads.