"All in all, there are two hundred and fifty rooms at Stanfield Court," Mr Charles Langford told his cousin as they started to walk around.

"Two hundred and fifty—!" gasped Georgie, unable to contain her astonishment.

"Yes, it's enormous! You see, the dukes of Montmaine were monstrously wealthy, and I'd say probably bored, so they spent the bulk of their fortune in rebuilding this home." This drew a slight giggle from her.

"Stanfield was originally built by Lord Edward Morston, first Earl of Stanfield in Tudor times," Charles continued in a compelling voice, encouraged by Georgie's undivided attention. "Half a century later, with no sons to inherit the title, the lineage died out, and Stanfield Court was at a standstill, having no owner for a decade or so. It was almost left to wrack and ruin until Queen Elizabeth bestowed it to one of her leading courtiers, Sir Ralph Leighton Dresdenham. He amassed an enormous fortune by slave trading and venturing to the Americas. Later, he was made the first Duke of Montmaine."

"He also was a womanizer, and one my brother would refer to as 'loose-screw'," supplied Miss Julia helpfully. "I heard he died terribly."

Charles added reflectively: "Yes, I'm afraid he'd had too many larks kicked up in the Americas that the natives, quite vexed with his meddling, decided to get rid of him."

"But how did he die?" inquired Georgie, momentarily diverted.

He shrugged. "As to that, no one really knew. He died when he was only five and thirty, barely a decade after he was made a duke." By this time, they stepped into the long gallery, showing the fascinated Georgie rows of gilded portraits of their ancestors. Charles, with a remarkable knack for storytelling, told her various tales of each of them. For one, Lord Gelvase, the third Duke of Montmaine, a handsome, dashing young man who was a staunch Royalist, tried to sneak into Oliver Cromwell's army, disguising himself as a peddler. His dissemblance was soon discovered, but he made a narrow escape by hiding himself under a stack of hay on a farmer's wagon.

It was perhaps small wonder that the previous dukes of Montmaine, whose lives were fraught with adventures and perils, had the tendency to die young, so the title was passed in a matter of every ten to twenty-five years. "Grandpapa is the eighth duke, and he is the only one among them who has made it to very old age," Charles said. Not surprisingly, he added, the Dresdenhams were also known to be notoriously extravagant.

"Grandpapa's father was the most frugal of them all," Julia told Georgie. "You see, he didn't care much for spending money."

"But isn't that a good thing?"

"And I'd say, the most sensible of them all," Charles remarked and nodded to the portrait of a stern-looking gentleman in periwig, clad in sombre black silk jacket with golden buttons and white lace. "This is Lord Mortimer, our grandpapa's father. His own father was a madcap and a notorious spendthrift and made it his life's passion to expand and renovate Stanfield Court. Not that it was a bad thing at the time; however, he became increasingly obsessed, almost to the point of exhausting his own fortune, thereby acquiring huge debts. When Lord Mortimer inherited the dukedom, he took pains to restore the family's coiffures without risking any loss of dignity. In fact, one could say that he was the family's preserver: had it not been for him, we would all still find ourselves in the rocks today."

A moment later, they were passing by a few portraits until they stopped before a large painting of a little redhead girl on a horse and a young gentleman standing close to her. Georgie's rapt gaze fell intently on that young gentleman whose handsome features looked familiar. "Is this Cousin Denver?" she asked.

"No, that's his Papa. Can you hazard a guess who is that little girl?"

Entirely clueless, Georgie shook her head sheepishly. Julia exclaimed, "But Georgie, that's your own mama! Don't you recognize her?"

"I'm — I'm afraid I have very little recollection of — of how she looked like," she stammered, blushing.

"Oh! Well, I think that stands to reason, for she died when you were very young, didn't she?" She nodded, and stepped closer to the painting. The girl looked quite pretty; her hair was titian with hints of gold, and her huge eyes reminded Georgie of violets. To be sure, someone as pretty as she couldn't possibly be my own mother, she thought, aware of a little tug at her heart. In her lifetime, she had not even known her own mother.

Julia's lively voice broke into these sad reflections. "Would you want to see cousin Denver's portrait when he was young?" she asked, her eyes dancing with excitement.

"Cousin Denver's?"

"You see, there aren't any portraits of him here, for he hates to have his likeness taken. But I know a place where we can find one!"

"I'm afraid I have to go," said Charles, glancing at his watch. "I promised Hugo to accompany him to the village to procure William's medicine by eleven o'clock. You two should be alright, yes?"

After Julia assured him that they would manage fine, Charles soon left, and the two of them strolled out of the gallery. "What a mature boy Charles is!" Georgie observed with some amusement. "And so obliging to tell me those stories. I don't suppose boys of his age would often want to be stuck in the countryside in the dead of winter, giving house-tours."

"His bookish propensities can sometimes be a source of his brother's annoyance, but I don't mind Charles, for he isn't a spoilsport like Collin, or Hugo. We get along quite famously, you see." She led Georgie to a door next to the Duke's bedchamber. It opened to a small, sparsely furnished chamber, with a lone mahogany desk at the centre. Behind it was an enormous bookshelf filled with books. "This is Grandpapa's study. That door over there," she pointed out the panelled door at the far end of the room, "leads to his bedchamber and sitting room."

Georgie showed little interest in the room, for her attention was soon arrested by a large portrait that hung above the fireplace. In a resplendent crimson riding coat and black breeches, his golden-brown hair tied in a black ribbon on his nape, the young Marquis of Denver stood a little sideways, his one gloved hand holding a riding crop, and the other was resting on his waist. A smile, more like a smirk, was playing on his lips: even in his youth, he looked stalwart and arrogant.

"Handsome, isn't he?" she heard Julia spoke in a thrilling voice. "I believe this was taken fifteen years ago, a little after his seventeenth birthday."

Considerably shock by this discovery, Georgie exclaimed with a gasp: "I didn't know he's quite that old now!"

"Well, I must say two and thirty isn't really that old," Julia objected. "Only that Evelyn always looks younger than his age. Hugo is the oldest of all of us, and he's got two years ahead of him."

A thought crossed Georgie's mind; she said, feeling dismayed, "Cousin Denver isn't married by any chance, is he?"

"Married! Heavens, no!" Julia tossed her head and laughed. "Although I should say, a lot of matchmaking mamas have been gnashing their teeth in vexation that Evelyn has not evinced any signs of interests towards their daughters. Mama said he might never get married. It is a constant trouble for Grandpapa Duke."

"Oh! They couldn't very well force him to marry someone he doesn't like in the least, could they?" Georgie pointed out. "I must say, he hasn't fallen in love yet."

"Love is very far from his mind, I assure you," Miss Julia said, with a voice of worldly-wise. "I don't even think he's capable of feeling in love."

"Is—is that so? How very strange," she murmured, not tearing away her gaze at the Marquis' portrait. "Did he live here at Stanfield for a long time?" she asked suddenly.

There was a pensive look in Julia's countenance. "Yes. You see, his papa died when he was very young, and since then it had always been him and his mama," she began. "At that time, they lived in Braxton Hall, until Grandpapa Duke decided to take him away."

"Take him away? What do you mean?"

Julia hesitated for a while, but said: "Well, I guess I have to tell you, since you are family. However, you have to promise me you won't tell anyone about it. Not that it signifies, for everyone in the family knows about it. It is not something to be talked about, however."

"I promise," said Georgie meekly.

"I only know very little, but it was said that Grandpapa and Evelyn's mama did not get along when she was alive. I suppose you already know that she was French? It was believed that her family, the de Fronsaics, were radicals who lent a helping hand to spawn the Revolution."

"Is that the only reason why Grandpapa hated her?"

"N-No, but you must own that the Duke, being a traditionalist, as always loathed the anarchists. He had his own suspicions, but that wasn't all," said Julia seriously. "Grandpapa believed that she had a hand in the death of her husband as well"

"That's—that's horrible!" she exclaimed. "How did he die?"

"A riding accident, or so they said," Julia shrugged. "Well, when Evelyn's papa died, the strife between them had gotten worse, for Grandpapa was quite relentless towards her: he wanted Evelyn in his own household, and they fought over it for quite a long time. However, she had fallen ill, and died soon after. Grandpapa took his chance, sequestered Braxton Hall, and fostered cousin Evelyn until he became of age." She glanced at the painting above the mantlepiece, saying, "He hated Grandpapa for what he did—everyone in the family knows that. Even as he'd lived here for quite some time, he had always been at odds with him. I believe, however amiable he may be towards Grandpapa at the moment, he hasn't completely forgiven him yet." She smiled at Georgie. "I daresay you are the reason that both of them have decided to put their differences aside. For once, they aren't quarreling. Only think how uncomfortable it is for all of us if they were!"

Georgie smiled, but said nothing and looked away. Guilt assailed her once more. How could Julia be so trusting when she was only deceiving her and the rest of the family in this odious way? She felt ashamed, and a nagging voice behind her mind was coming back to tell her that she should never have agreed to this scheme. But did she truly regret it? Denver's words rang in her head. "You would live a life you could have only dreamt of. In return, you will only have to humour an old man every now and then..." She had been too scared to face the Duke but, oddly enough, upon meeting him for the first time, there was this strange sensation she felt— perhaps because those eyes held so much melancholy. She could not help but feel pity for the old man.

Noticing her silence, Julia asked worriedly: "Have I said something to upset you?"

"No! Indeed, I'm glad you trusted me enough to tell me all about this," she returned. "Thank you, Julia: I think I shall step outside for a little bit. Would you mind accompanying me?"

Julia replied cheerfully that she would be quite happy to escort her anywhere she felt like going: after all, she couldn't find any useful things to spend her time with.

In the succeeding days that followed, life at Stanfield fell into a routine: Georgie would rouse herself early, take a round in the garden, or, if the weather allowed it, gallop around the countryside with Ynez, who, she discovered, was an excellent horsewoman. The second part of her morning would be spent between sitting with the Duke, embroidery with Lady Lillian, or reading poetry with Ynez in the library. However, the New Year brought some alarming news for her companion: her uncle, who was residing with his English wife in Cambridgeshire, had suddenly fallen ill, and her assistance had been kindly asked by the family. Having obtained permission from the Duke to leave her charge for a while, Ynez left Stanfield in the first week of January.

"I'm sure there's hardly any problem at all about it," Lady Lillian had assured her. "Lady Isabella and I won't be leaving anytime soon. Also, there are her cousins to keep her company."

"Yes, Mademoiselle is fond of her cousins, madame," observed Ynez. "She won't feel lonely at all: that's all that matters to me."

Lord Geoffrey, upon hearing Madame Ynez's impending departure, had declared with a conviction that he, too should be leaving. "I mean, there's no point of staying here, is there? Papa already did what he'd been wanting to do, and although I could still hardly believe that chit to be Beatrice's daughter, there ain't no point of kicking up some more dust, is there? The thing is, all's said and done! We may as well resume to our normal lives." He kindly offered his escort to Mme Ynez, but was turned down.

"Merci beaucoup, milord. Even if the English roads are tres terrible, I assure you I can manage my own journey alone," that grand lady said crushingly.

"Damme!" exclaimed Lord Geoffrey, not exactly looking dashed by having been refused. "I say, ma'am, if you talk like that you appear to have more dignity than my sister Lillian could have ever managed!" This unfortunate remark was met by acerbic retort, and Lord Geoffrey once more found himself in his sister-in-law's black books as he left for London.

The rest of Georgie's spare time was spent with the younger members of the family —notably, Julia and Charles. As she became increasingly occupied in their delightful company, she gradually saw little of the Marquis; and of William, she saw none at all. Charles assured her with a remarkable want of concern, that his brother was still confined in his bed.

It seemed to her that everything was working out quite well. She was fast becoming more and more comfortable with the Dresdenhams; the Duke, although his manner was a little abrupt at times, was quite fond of her, and he did not take any pains to hide it from the family. There was, however, one instance that made her confidence shaken.

One afternoon, she had somehow fallen asleep on a settee in the library. A murmur of voices had roused her, and as the voices became louder and clearer, she did not dare move from where she was.

"Do you seriously believe, Mama, that she's Aunt Beatrice's daughter?" came Hugo Langford's deep voice.

"I'm sure I cannot say," returned Lady Isabella. "Do you question your grandfather's judgement, Hugo?"

"I hope you know me too well Mama to even ask such a thing! It is not Grandpapa's judgement that I question. If he had been a decade younger, then he wouldn't have been easily fooled; you must own that he has become senile! It is Denver's motives I question. I would not put it above him to pull something of a sham! How could he have found her in such a short period of time? Why, it was like searching for a lone needle in a stack of hay!"

"How, indeed? However, for all our sake, let us not say anything more about the matter."

"You act as though you don't care at all!" Hugo expostulated, his voice becoming a little forceful this time. "You, of all people, should know Aunt Beatrice! That girl doesn't even resemble her in the very least. Should we all be fooled because she happens to have red hair?"

"You need not remind me what my own sister looked like!" Lady Isabella told her son with some asperity. "As children, I and Beatrice had never been close; indeed, permit me to go as far as to say that I hated how she was indulged by Papa, and how uninhibited she was. I declare it was scandalous! Beatrice was nothing but a spoilt girl—" she paused, recovering her composure. "But that's neither here nor there! Should your suspicions be proven warranted, what I would want to know is why in heavens name must Denver saddle us with an impostor?"

"I don't know. The whole idea is preposterous to begin with," said Hugo with a scornful chuckle. There was a short silence. Then, Lady Isabella said: "Have a care not to show too much doubt. Denver will detect it in a trice."

"I won't, Mama," Hugo said. Soon after, there was a sound of the door opening and shutting. It was silent again. Lying motionless on the upholstered couch, Georgie waited for a few more minutes before sitting up. So the Langfords were suspecting her after all! Her heart racing, she hurried out of the library and sought for the Marquis, but was met with disappointing news that his lordship and Mr Collin had gone to the village for some errands earlier that afternoon. "Do you know how long will they be gone?"

"I'm sure I don't know, Miss Georgie. His lordship did not say," Mason replied and noticed the troubled look in her face. "Is everything alright, ma'am?"

Georgie smiled brightly. "Of course! I was only wondering where could he be, for he promised to show me something this afternoon. When his lordship arrives, will you tell him to seek me out at once?"

"I shall certainly do so, Miss Georgie."

"Thank you!" she said, and ran up to the stairs, intending to bury herself in bed until she regained her composure again. Good lord, I have been here for barely a month, and now they are suspecting something! Well, there's nothing for me to do but to work hard on my play-acting: I need to convince them—! Oh, dear, I wish Denver would go home soon!

"Oh, miss! Miss!" Letty's urgent voice broke into the silence of her bedroom. Georgie raised her head up. "What is it Letty?" she snapped.

Taken aback, Letty hastily apologized, but maintained that she wouldn't have disturbed Miss in her afternoon nap had it not been for an Urgent Matter. "What are you talking about? What urgent matter?" Georgie said, noticing her maid's nervous giggles. What a silly creature! She thought scornfully.

"Here, miss!" Letty handed a small piece of neatly folded paper. "I was asked to give it to you." Perplexed, Georgie took it, saying, "I should like to be left alone for a while, please."

Letty looked very disappointed, but left the room obediently. Georgie waited until she was gone, unfolded the note and read the short message on it. "My Dear Cousin," it ran, "I have not thanked you properly enough for what you did the other day. I hope you would find some time to spare for me this afternoon. I shall be waiting for you in the conservatory at half-past four. Yours, etc, — W. L."

"William!" she exclaimed, bolting upright on her bed. Glancing at the clock, she found that she still had time to prepare herself. She quickly washed, ran a comb through her curls, and patted her cheek. Her eyes lingered on her reflection in the mirror. In a rare moment of vanity, she somehow realized that she wasn't plain at all; that somehow, those limpid grey eyes held some allure, and the faint freckles across the bridge of her dainty nose weren't too bad. She had never seen herself as pretty before—not with those plain drab of clothes she often wore in the past. Now that she had lovely dresses at her disposal, she saw herself in a different light for the first time. She wondered what William wanted her for.

"If he's going to be disagreeable again, I swear I won't talk to him!" she said to the mirror, affecting a rather haughty expression. Then she sighed, relenting. "No, indeed, that would be petty. Grandpapa had always told me to see the good in every person I meet. Poor William! It must have been sad to suffer from fits of the blue-devils for someone so young!" With that commentary, she wrapped a green paisley shawl, parted from her mirror and skipped out of her room.

The afternoon sunlight was streaming through the glass roof of the conservatory when she entered it. It had snowed the night previously, but today they enjoyed a clear weather, albeit chilly, weather. She wrapped her shawl tightly around her. A moment later, she found William pacing back and in forth in front of the small fountain, his countenance impatient. Upon perceiving Georgie, his face momentarily cleared, but the frown was soon back on his brow. "You're late," he said, without rancour. "I was afraid you would not see me."

"Am I? I was sure I have left my room quite early. But you did not make me come here only to be odious with me again, did you?"

A reluctant grin tugged at his lips, but said gravely: "You are quite cheeky, aren't you? Forgive me, cousin. I'll endeavour not to be odious with you today."

"That's better!" Georgie smiled back and observed, with some relief, that he no longer looked peaked; no dark half-moons under his eyes that now held an unusual brilliance. "I have not seen you for many days, cousin. I must say, William: you are looking quite well now," she remarked graciously.

William deposited himself on the fountain seat. "I guess so. It's an intolerable bore to be confined in your bed for days on end. T-Thank you, cousin," he murmured, not quite looking at her. "I had not treated you very nicely back then, but you still helped me."

"Please, do not mind it! I was glad to be of some help," she returned cheerfully, sitting beside him. "It does me good when I know I could be of some help to anyone, you know." They sat in comfortable silence for a while. Then, Georgie glanced at his sombre countenance, saying softly, "William?"

"Yes?"

She hesitated. "You — You said something to me before about having some pains in your chest. You don't suffer from — from that horrible illness by any chance, do you?"

"Why, what do you mean?" he asked, frowning.

Georgie averted her gaze from him. "Consumption," she replied in a small voice. "I have—lost someone dear to me to that illness before."

"Don't be silly: it's not as serious as that," William assured her. "It turns out I've contracted a mild Winter Fever, but there's nothing to worry about now: I am completely recovered."

Georgie looked doubtful. "Are you quite sure?"

"I am sure, and no need to pull that kind of face." He fell silent again. "I wish I could tell you something, cousin," he said afterwards.

"Is that some sort of secret? You can tell me, you know."

"Well, if you so much as blab one word—!"

"I'm not one to blab! I know how to guard a secret!" she retorted indignantly. To her surprise, he let out a soft chuckle. "Your face is priceless when you get worked up," William remarked.

Georgie put her hands on her heated cheeks. "Is that suppose to be a compliment?" she demanded.

William shrugged. "I suppose so. But then, I am never really good with words." His gaze lingered at her for a while. "If I told you my secret, you might not want to have anything to do with me," he said somberly.

But I know your secret! She smiled. "Well, I don't think it signifies in the least, cousin. I will not tease you about it anymore." She stood up and shivered. "I think we should be getting inside. It would soon be dark."

"You go ahead: I should like to stay here for a couple more minutes," William said. She looked doubtful but only nodded and started to walk away. He plucked a pink carnation from the cluster of flowers nearby. "Cousin!" he called after Georgie, covering the distance between them with a few strides.

She looked over her shoulder. "Yes?"

Bestowing her the carnation, he stammered diffidently, "Are you — by any chance — that is, why don't we ride tomorrow?" he blurted out.

Georgie smiled brightly at him. "Thank you! I should like that of all things."

"Then I shall await for you tomorrow at seven o'clock." She nodded, and bade him a cheerful farewell, expressing her hope to see him by dinner time.

Holding the flower close to her heart, she hummed to herself as she ascended the stairs, her mind in such a daze that she did not notice the Marquis coming, and almost collided with him at the landing. Her eyes lit up. "Denver! Oh, pray, forgive me—!"

"Brat! I have been looking high and low for you for half an hour. In what hole did you bury yourself in?" Denver told her severely. He aimed his quizzing glass at the flower she was holding. "If I may guess, that is carnation, yes? Have you been visiting Grandfather's conservatory?"

Georgie hurriedly put away the flower from his sight. "Y-Yes, I have," she looked away, blushing a little. "I was just inspecting the flowers, you know," she added, a little defensively.

Noticing her blush, Denver arched an eyebrow. "Why, have you lately developed a sudden interest in botany?"

"One doesn't need to interest herself in botany to go to the conservatory!" she retorted, feeling that Marquis had somehow seen through her thoughts. She heard him chuckle softly.

"Touche, my dear," he replied. "Mason told me you were looking for me earlier: is there something you need to talk about?"

"Yes," she said, her countenance became serious. "Can we talk somewhere that nobody will dare go?"

His eyelids drooped, Denver said softly: "How intriguing! We can try my sitting room if you want." Seeing her horrified and countenance, his shoulders shook again.

"Pray, don't tease me anymore!" Georgie begged, blushing furiously. "This is no laughing matter, I assure you!"

"Very well, ma'am: do let us go to the music room. It's rarely put to use, and since no one in the family has any musical inclination in the very least, no one will come to interrupt us there. Come!"

She started for the stairs but was checked by his words. "But you play, don't you?"

"Only if I fancy it," he shrugged.

They went upstairs where the music room was located. Closing the door softly behind him, Denver said: "Well then, what shall we talk about? I am dying of curiosity."

"Sir," she began in an ominous tone. "I believe Lady Isabella and Hugo are suspecting me to be a mere impostor!"

"Interesting!" he replied, unperturbed. "How did you know?"

"I heard them myself! You see, I was resting in the library this afternoon when they entered, not knowing I was there! Hugo told his mama that they shouldn't be fooled just because—because I have red hair!"

"How very wise! He is not one to be made a fool of, my cousin Hugo. And that aunt of mine is certainly not dull-witted."

Her eyes were wide with apprehension. "Denver, what should we do? If they would find out—!"

"I'll take care not to," he gave her a reassuring smile. "However, you should really be careful around them: never let your guard down! Make them believe that you truly are a Dresdenham. It shouldn't be at all difficult, considering how Grandfather treats you. The rest of them don't signify in the least: they have already accepted you beyond any doubt." He saw that she was still bothered, and said, with a good deal of equanimity, "You have cheered the old man considerably, Georgie. He's been in good spirits since you arrived. That's what matters right now."

Georgie hung her head. "Does that make any difference, when all I'm doing is deceiving him?" she asked in a hollow voice. "Julia and Charles — they are very kind to me: I have never felt how it is to have friends my age until now. It is such a delightful feeling, but I don't think I deserve their friendship at all, for I am merely fooling them."

The Marquis was silent for a while. Afterwards, it seemed that his mood considerably changed. He said: "You're still at it, aren't you?" Although his voice was soft, there was a faint accusation in his words that made Georgie look up quickly. His countenance was unfathomable, except for the gleam in his eyes. "I wonder why you did not run away from my deplorable scheme when you still got the chance. To think of all the trouble we've put ourselves to get to where we are right now, seeing you dither makes me positively lose patience with you."

"No!" she said quickly, considerably alarmed by his tone. "It's — it's not what you think — "

"Then I beg you to express yourself with utmost candour. Is it money?" Denver asked coolly. "Is it the luxury I have lavished upon you that made you stay?"

Gasping, Georgie replied roundly: "What—what are you saying? Of course not!"

Denver sneered, and Georgie had the urge to wipe it off his face. In a mocking tone, he continued, his lips curling: "How pitiful, my dear Miss Kentsville. I daresay for someone who hasn't known comfort and luxury in all her life, it would have been too much to withstand an offer that would save you from utter destitution."

"H-How dare you!" Tears stinging her eyes, she lifted her hand to the Marquis' face, but her wrist was instantly caught in a vise-like grip. It tightened until she grimaced in pain. "No one has ever attempted to slap me before, Miss Kentsville: you certainly have the impudence to do so just now," he let go of her hand.

"I hate you!" Georgie sobbed and ran for the door, shutting it with a loud noise behind her. For a while, Denver stood in the middle of the room, his eyes blindingly looking at the window. After a few minutes spent in silent contemplation, he strode to the door, but something on the floor arrested his movement. It was a piece of paper. He picked it up and read what was written there. A startled look stole his eyes as he saw the initials at the end of the missive. His lips pursed into a grim line. He certainly wasn't smiling when he went out.

Later that night, a subdued Georgie appeared on the table with the rest of the family. Julia noticed this and asked her kindly if she wasn't feeling at all the thing. She smiled and shook her head. "Just a little tired," she explained.

"I see that you are completely recovered, William," she heard the Duke say. "Now we are all complete: it does make one feel a little cheerful, doesn't it?"

"But Papa, you're forgetting that Geoffrey isn't around," Lady Lillian pointed out.

"Hm! It doesn't matter: I don't need a rattle-plate of a son to fill our conversation with balderdash! It's much more quieter when he isn't around. William, I suppose you have already made your cousin Georgie's acquaintance?"

Looking up from his plate, William said: "I have, Grandpapa."

"Well, boy, what do you think of her?" said the Duke abruptly.

This question seemed to catch William off guard. "I think that she is — a very fine girl," he stammered, stealing a glance at her. Feeling her cheeks burning, Georgie dared not to look up.

Collin saw him colour slightly, and said with a sly smile: "Eh? What's this? Do my eyes deceive me or were you really blushing just now?"

"I—I'm not! Shut up, Collin," he retorted, scowling at him.

"Well, you don't have to be in such a taking!" Collin recommended lightly. "Not a delightful sight for our cousin Georgie."

"I don't have to be told by a bacon-brained like you how I should act!"

"Desist, you two! I won't have such nonsensical bickering in my table!" barked their grandfather. "I already got rid of your foolish uncle: you'll oblige me not to make any more senseless chatter like he does!"

"I must say, Papa, you need not be so severe upon poor Geoffrey," remarked Lady Isabella mildly. "I'll allow he has his share of foolishness, but one must own he can be dependable in times of need. He even troubled himself to come to visit here at your bidding, although I'm sure he would have refused if I or any of us had begged him to do so."

"Troubled himself!" exclaimed his grace scornfully. "Why, he need not feel troubled if I was the one who commanded it, my girl! You may tell him that! It is his duty as my son to come to visit me — and much good it does to me, by Jove!"

"If you say so, Papa," returned Lady Isabella tranquilly, and resumed her dinner.

Hugo said gently: "Sir, please don't work yourself up over something insignificant."

"Hmp! You are as impertinent as your Mama!" his grace told him roundly. An uncomfortable silence settled in the room. Suddenly, Denver said, "By the way, cousin William. I have not seen you the whole afternoon. Did you stay in your room the whole time? I can't help noticing that your colour has returned: indeed, one would infer that you've been enjoying a bit of sunshine."

"I stepped out for a little bit. For some fresh air, you know."

"Is that so?" he replied, observing him over the rim of his wine glass. "Did you, by any chance, visit the conservatory today?"

"Yes, why?" asked William, his brows rose.

"I thought as much! I daresay the gardens would be too cold to your liking. The conservatory, however, is a much more clement spot: you would find the flowers are in full bloom," Denver said with his usual drawl. "Carnations, especially," he added.

All of a sudden, Georgie felt something stuck in her throat.

Lady Lillian, who was listening with gathering interest, chirped in. "Oh, Eve, I have no idea you have been admiring Grandpapa's carnations! Aren't they delightful? I have some in my own conservatory and they grow in all sorts of colours. I must say, you should visit and see them next time."

"Mama!" exclaimed Collin incredulously. "You surely aren't inviting my cousin to our house just to gawk at those flowers, are you?"

"And pray, why shouldn't I?" asked his Mama with some surprise.

"I find this surprising," put in Hugo in a dry tone. "Since when have you taken an interest to look into the conservatory, Denver?"

"My dear Hugo, I'm sure it's none of your business," the Marquis answered, smiling sweetly at him.

Collin gave a bark of laughter and turned to Georgie at his right. He peered at her. "Hullo! Cousin, are you alright?"

"I'm—fine!" she gasped and ventured a glance at the Marquis across from her, who shrugged and appeared to have suddenly lost interest in the whole conversation. Her eyes happened to stray at William, who was also watching her. For a brief moment, they locked gazes, unaware that Lady Isabella, too, was observing them in silence.