'I should be honoured by such a trust,' he murmured, bowing modestly, 'but although I dare to think that His Majesty regards me in a favourable light, I do not think that he is about to bestow that post upon me. He is too well disposed to Waldegrave at the present time.'

'He cannot see what is under his nose!' The Princess was scathing. 'It is the same with the current rumours concerning the Stuart. His Majesty will not take them seriously. He says they are put about by mischief-makers here in England, but how can he be sure?'

The marquis spread his hands. 'As you know, Your Highness, I have ordered my own people to look into the matter....'

'And have you any proof, my lord?' she asked him eagerly. 'Anything that will make the King take this threat seriously?'

'Alas, as yet I cannot bring His Majesty proof that Charles Stuart is planning another attempt upon the crown. If only I could, then mayhap plans could be made to safeguard the young prince.' He paused, watching the Princess closely as he continued: 'Unfortunately, His Majesty will not listen to those of us who believe there is a real threat. It is almost as if someone did not wish him to see the danger....'

The lady's petulant expression turned to one of anger.

'He is being misled by his brother!' she said savagely. 'Cumberland would like nothing better than to have Charles Stuart dispose of my children. Then he would be free to wrest the crown back for himself.'

Since this was exactly what Guy Morellon wished to imply, he could not but be pleased with this speech, but the lady's vehemence caused him to go cautiously.

'Indeed, ma'am, I have never heard aught against the duke...'

'I live in constant dread of him!' came the bitter reply. Suddenly, she stepped forward and caught one of his hands between her own nervous fingers, glancing around to make sure they were alone.

'Pray, my lord,' she spoke now in a quiet, urgent tone, 'you once told me you would do anything to serve your future king. I am a widow, sir. My son is defenceless. If Charles Stuart or any other should attempt to steal away his birthright '

'I would indeed do my utmost to protect His Highness, and all of your family, ma'am, but would you trust so much to me, rather than His Majesty's advisors?'

'In truth I would, sir!' she told him earnestly. 'I would put myself and my children totally in your charge. Did not my dear husband tell me you were his very good friend? My son attains his majority in a little over two years and then, my dear sir, you may be sure that your loyalty to us shall not be forgotten. George has a very warm regard for you, Lord Thurleigh, and will welcome your attendance upon him when he sets up his own household.'

Guy Morellon smiled to himself. He uttered a few more comforting words to the Princess while triumph sang within him. It was too easy: the lady was so set against the Duke of Cumberland that she was willing to believe him capable of any infamy. He decided he had done enough for the present.

'I must go out of Town again for a short while,' he told her as he took his leave. 'My man is due back from France very soon, and I go to meet him.'

'I pray he will bring you good news, my lord.'

'As you say, ma'am. In the meantime, it would be best if you spoke of this matter with no-one,' he warned her.

She held out her hand to him, smiling trustingly up into his face.

'Of course, sir. I would do nothing to endanger my family.'

'Then I will say au revoir, Your Highness, and I hope that upon my next visit, I shall be able to give you better tidings.'

As he was driven away from Leicester House, Lord Thurleigh laughed softly to himself. Everything he had planned was falling into place. Those skillfullyspread rumours of a Stuart revival could never be traced back to him, and what did it matter if the King and his advisors dismissed them? The Princess of Wales believed them, and doubtless many of her supporters, too. He laughed aloud as he recalled his last conversation with the princess: there was not a thought in her head that had not been put there by someone else, and now that he had her trust, it was simple to put in the occasional word or suspicion to keep her at odds with the King. Had she not told him she trusted him above all others? It did not matter after all whether Boreland's visit to Charles Stuart had been fruitful: Thurleigh was sure now that he did not need a full-blown invasion to stir up a rebellion. With his influence over the Princess, it would be an easy task to set the Hanoverians against one another. Thurleigh settled himself into one corner of the coach and closed his eyes, still smiling. With the country in turmoil, who could say what an ambitious man might not achieve?

Chapter Eleven.

Mistress Boreland proves unusually hospitable

Two weeks before Christmas, the Boreland coach carried Madame de Sange away from Knight's Bridge. Elinor's scant knowledge of the country prevented her from recognising the route, although she knew from the occasional milestone that they were heading north. Except for a brief stop to change horses at Hadley Green, they travelled throughout the short winter day. Elinor had no way of telling how far they travelled and she dozed fitfully as the carriage rumbled on, only waking when she felt a change in pace, and found they were turning off the main highway to follow a much narrower track that took them between two thick walls of trees. Elinor suppressed a shudder, and took comfort from the knowledge that an armed guard was sitting upon the box beside the coachman, to protect them from highwaymen. A thick bed of rusty leaves covered the ground between the trees and scrunched under the wheels of the coach, and the bare branches overhead formed a dense lattice above the road, reducing the wintry afternoon light to a dusk. Occasionally a break in the trees allowed a shaft of sunlight to finger the road, but to Elinor even this seemed strange and unreal. She pulled her fur-lined mantle closer about her and hoped that they were nearing their journey's end.

At last the coach broke free of the forest, emerging from the semi-darkness into the late afternoon sunshine and Elinor had her first view of Weald Hall. At the edge of the trees the ground fell away in a gentle valley, with the house set high upon the opposite ridge, bathed now in the golden rays of the setting sun. The road did not traverse the valley, but followed its length, gradually descending to curve over a stone bridge across a small stream then beginning an equally gradual ascent back along the eastern slope, eventually coming to a halt upon the gravelled courtyard of the house. Elinor descended from the carriage and stood for a moment, regarding her surroundings. The house was a fine Jacobean mansion, built of red brick that was partially hidden by a thick covering of ivy, and the small leaded windows were aflame now in the sunlight. She was still looking up at the gabled roofline and the tall, twisted chimneys stretching skywards when her hostess came out to greet her. Elinor noted Isobel Boreland's plain gown of dark blue wool, its severity only relieved by bands of white lace at the neck and wrists, and the wintry smile that curved the lips but never reached her dark eyes.

'My dear Madame de Sange. You are very welcome! I trust your journey was not too tiring?'

'Not at all, ma'am. Thanks to your consideration for my comfort. And to terminate my travels at such a beautiful spot has made the excursion most worthwhile.'

'You are seeing the Hall at its very best,' replied Mrs Boreland, 'I cannot think there is a house in England better situated than this one. But although the sun is most welcome, there is little warmth in it at this season. Let us go indoors, Madame, where you may take off your wrap and warm yourself by a good fire.'

Mrs Boreland led her guest inside, explaining as she went that her husband and son were out shooting.

'It was such a fine day there was no stopping them, she continued as they entered the drawing room. 'I made sure you would not object if they were not here to meet you. I thought you would perhaps prefer to have a little time to yourself.'

Madame de Sange could only nod in mute agreement. Her hostess was in full command, and after they had partaken of wine and biscuits before the cheerful drawing room fire, the new guest was borne away upstairs to the room that had been set aside for her. Dinner would be in an hour, she was informed, and the maid that had been hired to wait upon her would be up directly. With a final suggestion that Elinor should take a short rest, Mrs Boreland went out, leaving her guest to stare after her in some amusement.

Recovering a little from Mrs Boreland's overbearing style of hospitality, Elinor made a brief inspection of her apartment. It was a dark room, the walls covered with faded blue flock-paper and wainscoting that was dull from lack of polish. There was a door leading to a small dressing room, and although the bedroom itself was not large, she felt that this could only be an advantage for the blazing logs in the corner fireplace were able to keep it comfortably warm. A pair of rather dark paintings adorned the walls, but apart from these, and an unremarkable marble bust upon the mantel-shelf, the room was bare of ornament.

With a small sigh she turned away from the cheerless surroundings and went to the window. Her room faced east, looking out over the terrace and formal gardens to the parkland beyond. Small tendrils of ivy encroached upon the glass and Elinor wondered idly how often the servants had to cut back the vines to prevent the windows from being totally overgrown. A scratching at the door brought her out of her reverie, and she turned to find a young maid hovering in the doorway, anxiously awaiting her commands.

At the appointed hour, Madame de Sange made her way downstairs. The velvet skirts of her russet-coloured gown brushed the floor as she crossed the hall and was shown into the drawing room. She paused in the doorway, aware that her burnished curls would be glowing in the candlelight. Across the room, beside his wife, stood James Boreland. For a brief moment Elinor wondered what madness has prompted her to put herself into his power, but it was too late to go back. Summoning up her courage, she moved forward, head held high, her eyes and her smile fixed upon her hostess. Mrs Boreland smiled in reply and rose to meet her.

'My dear, you look enchanting, does she not, Mr Boreland?' She turned to her husband, but he had already stepped forward to greet their guest.

'Indeed, Indeed,' he murmured. 'Your servant, Madame!'

Steeling herself, Elinor held out her fingers, but as he reached out to clasp them, her eyes noted the mass of thick black hair upon the back of his hand. The sight brought a vivid memory of the night at the inn, when his large, hairy frame had borne down upon her so mercilessly...... With an immense effort she pushed aside the thought and with it the fear and revulsion that threatened to engulf her. She forced herself to reply calmly and to exchange a few civilities, but could not deny the relief when she could at last turn away from him as Mrs Boreland presented her only child.

Andrew McCallum Boreland proved to be something of a surprise to Elinor: all her energies had been taken up appearing calm before the father so that she had not noticed the son, and when at last he was introduced to her she turned to face him, expecting to see a younger version of her host. She was instead confronted with a slight young man, little taller than herself and wearing a distinctly nervous look upon his countenance. He wore his own dark hair unpowdered, and tied back loosely with a ribbon, from which one or two lank strands had already escaped. He made her an awkward bow, asked about her journey to Weald Hall and then stepped back, looking anxiously to his mama for guidance.

'Go and fetch Madame a glass of ratafia from the tray, Andrew,' suggested Mrs Boreland. As he moved away she smiled at Elinor. 'My son does not go much into society, Madame, and he was very anxious about this moment. However, he will recover presently when he is more used to you and then you will find him a charming companion. His health has never been good, you see and we were unable to send him away to school.'

'I I learned a lot from Mr Avery, Mama,' put in Andrew, coming up to give Elinor a glass. 'You said I could not have learned more if I had gone to the best school in the country.'

Mrs Boreland looked a little put out at this speech, but she gave him one of her thin smiles.

'I am sure you did, sir, for Mr Avery was an excellent tutor. And what is more, you have an excellent understanding of how the Hall and the estates are run, which is far more to the point than too much book-learning, do you not agree, Madame de Sange?'

Elinor was saved from the necessity of answering by Mr Boreland's remarking, 'Your own estates in France must need considerable attention, Madame. Doubtless they are handled by your late husband's executors?'

'I have complete control over the de Sange inheritance, sir. However, I have now sold off most of my land, and I have an excellent steward who attends to the rest.'

'I seem to recall Rowsell telling me that your family came originally from England,' put in Boreland, regarding her closely.

Elinor's pulse quickened.

'That is so, sir, but it was such a long time ago I cannot help but think of myself as a Frenchwoman.'

'Father has recently been to the Continent.' Andrew looked pleased to be contributing to the conversation. 'Is that not so, sir? First to Rome, was it not? And then on to Paris....'

'Madame has no interest in my business journeys.' His father cut him short, frowning so fiercely that the young man visibly blanched and sank back into his chair, not daring to speak again. James Boreland turned his searching look back to Elinor. 'Madame, are you sure our paths have not crossed? Your face haunts me, yet I cannot think where I have seen you before.'

Elinor met his gaze squarely: there could be no half-hearted evasion for this gentleman.

'Well, sir, let me see. My father was a scholar, a man of peaceful habits and a retiring nature. After his death my mother took me to her relatives in Dijon, where we continued to live quietly until I married Philibert de Sange. If you were in Paris within the past five years or so then it is possible you saw me there. Yet, if we had met sir, I am sure I would remember it.'

'You make too much of it, Mr Boreland,' put in his wife without looking up. 'Pray do not tease our guest any longer with your musings or she will be sorry she came!'

At that moment the door opened to admit a servant and with relief Elinor heard the announcement that dinner awaited them.

Later, with the last glowing embers still burning in the hearth, Elinor lay in her bed reviewing her first day at Weald Hall. Not for one moment did she consider Mrs Boreland had invited her purely out of sympathy. Even in her own home, where she should have been most relaxed, the lady had shown no spark of warmth: despite her smiles she seemed cold and hard as stone. Elinor smiled to herself, remembering that the epithet had once been applied to her: had she ever appeared so cold and unapproachable? Certainly my Lord Davenham had not thought so, he had even considered himself capable of what was his expression - melting the Lady of Stone!

With something of a sigh she put away these agreeable memories and tried to concentrate upon her immediate task of revenging herself upon James Boreland. However, she found her thoughts wandering and she realized that she was indeed very tired. With a yawn she pulled the bed covers a little closer, resolving sleepily to let events show her the way. Fortune had brought her thus far, surely it would not desert her now.

Madame de Sange slept long and deeply, waking only when her maid came in the following morning to pull back the heavy curtains and allow the sun to stream into the room. Discovering the lateness of the hour, Elinor rose and dressed swiftly, going downstairs to find only her hostess still at breakfast. Mrs Boreland greeted her with such a profusion of smiles and honeyed words that Elinor wondered if the lady's coldness the previous evening had been due to fatigue, or mayhap some disagreement between husband and wife. Mr Boreland had already left the house upon business, she was informed, but Andrew was at that very moment in the stables choosing a suitable mount for Madame in order that he might show her over the Boreland acres.

'We mentioned it last night,' Mrs Boreland reminded her, smiling fixedly at her guest, 'but perhaps you might not wish for so much exertion today, although it would be a pity to delay the excursion, for one can never be sure how long this fine weather will last...'

'No, no, I would very much like to ride out today, but I must beg your son's indulgence while I break my fast and then change my dress.'

Mrs Boreland beamed even more broadly.

'But of course. I will have a message sent to the stables immediately. Will an hour suffice you, Madame?'

Slightly less than an hour later Madame de Sange emerged from Weald Hall wearing a close-fitting riding habit of brown camlet, silver laced and with a matching cocked hat pinned firmly over her burnished curls. Three horses were saddled, a groom mounted upon one of the animals holding the reins for Mr Boreland's horse, while a stable lad stood at the head of the lady's mount. Andrew was waiting to throw her up into the saddle, a task which he accomplished with some nervousness, due mainly, Elinor guessed, to the fact that his mother was at hand issuing a multitude of instructions to the young man upon how to treat a lady.

'Off you go now, and enjoy yourselves,' she concluded when both riders were settled upon their mounts. 'And be sure, Andrew, that you do not bore Madame de Sange by talking constantly of hunting!'

The result of all these strictures left Andrew so tongue-tied that it was Elinor who had to initiate all attempts at conversation for the first part of their journey, her companion answering each time with a self-conscious monosyllable. She thought with an inward smile that he was very much like a child upon a duty call to some fearful aunt. Indeed, she was rapidly coming to the conclusion that Andrew Boreland had no more understanding than a boy half his age.

'Do you know,' she remarked, after this state of affairs had continued for some time, 'I do not think I should be too bored if you were to tell me about your hunting. It is a sport I have never experienced, although I was used to watch the hunt go by from our cottage in Bedfordshire when I was a child, but neither my father nor my husband enjoyed the hunt and thus I was never introduced to it.'

'Then you must come out with us here,' returned Andrew, losing some of his shyness. 'My father keeps a pack of hounds they are kennelled by the stables, quite a distance from the house, yet often at night you can hear them baying. Sometimes we can be out hunting the hare all day, but if you did not wish to be in the saddle for so long you may always turn back and wait for us at home.'

'What happens to the hare?'

'Often it gets away,' said Andrew, unconcerned. 'The hounds are prone to riot, you see, and part of the skill is to keep them 'pon the right scent. Occasionally we have a good, fast run, but usually it's steady riding no reason at all why you should not enjoy it.' He saw the doubt in her face and blurted out, 'Mama is very anxious that you enjoy your stay here. She says if I am very good and and entertain you properly, you will want to stay here, and one day be mistress of Weald Hall.'

'Oh.'

'Perhaps I should not have told you that.' He paused, frowning. 'Mama tells me sometimes that I must not repeat things she will be angry with me '

'You need have no fear upon this occasion, Andrew, for I shall not tell anyone what has passed between us.'

His face brightened and he turned to smile at her. 'You are very kind. I like you very much, you know. I think I shall enjoy being married to you.'

'I think it is a little soon for you to be considering marriage! You hardly know me.'

'But I heard Mama telling my father that you would make me a perfect match.'

'Perhaps that is so,' replied Elinor, torn between surprise and amusement, 'but I cannot think it right to decide such matters upon so short an acquaintance.'

'You do not like me!'

'Oh Andrew, that is not true.'

Bringing his horse a little closer, he leaned across and gripped her wrist.

'Yes it is! If you liked me you would marry me why do you dislike me?'

The thin fingers were surprisingly strong, and Elinor could feel his nails digging into her flesh. She said as calmly as she could, 'Please, Andrew, you are hurting me.'

'I would never do so if you liked me.' The words were childlike, but that fact did nothing to lessen the unease that Elinor was beginning to feel. With relief she heard the groom's voice close behind them.

'Come along now, Master Andrew. You are alarming the lady. Let us get on with our ride, sir, or we won't cover the half of it before we have to turn back.'

For a fleeting moment Elinor thought the boy would ignore the advice, but although he looked mutinous, Andrew released her.

'Let us race to those trees over there.' He pointed to a small copse on the skyline. 'There's a good view from the ridge.'

Upon the words he set his horse to the gallop, leaving Elinor and the groom to follow as best they might. By the time they reached the copse, Andrew's ill humour had disappeared and he grinned an apology at Elinor.

'Are you still angry with me, Madame?'

'Of course not.' She paused, 'I would very much like to be your friend, Andrew.'

The young man looked at her doubtfully. 'Really?'

'Yes, really! But I wish to hear no more talk of marriage.'

'Oh, very well. But may I call you Elinor?'

'If you so wish.'

'Good!' he smiled sunnily. 'Now I truly feel we are friends!'

Chapter Twelve.