She had, she admitted, grown very fond of him very fast. Belatedly it occurred to her that perhaps it had not been a good idea after all to agree to be his friend. Next week, when she was back in Bath, she was going to miss him, and she knew that the missing him would bring considerable pain, even grief.

But there was no point in thinking of that now. It was too late to make a different decision and keep her distance from him. And she was not sure she would have decided differently even if she had known then what she knew now. Her life had been so very sheltered. She must not regret walking out into the sunshine, even if only for a brief while.

And he was someone about whom the sun seemed to shine.

Hand in hand they clambered up the steep path even though it was not in any way treacherous and she did not really need his support-or he hers. They stood hand in hand and breathless when they stopped halfway up to look down over the steep bank to the fast-flowing water below. The dappled surface of the river and the lights and shades cast on the greenery by the sun shining through tree branches created a stark contrast with the bright, open, calm lake still fully visible off to their left.

The magic of it all assaulted her anew-the beauties of nature at their finest and a new friend.

They did not exchange a word. They did not need to. Their thoughts were in perfect harmony-she could sense that. After a few minutes they resumed the climb while the rushing sound of the waterfall drowned out all other sounds-except, she noticed, the shrill song of an invisible bird.

They scrambled the last few feet to the crest of the rise, on a level with the top of the waterfall. The view was breathtaking. Susanna could feel droplets of water cool on her face. Although the lake was still in view-as well as the other picnickers-there was an air of wild seclusion here. Perhaps it had something to do with the sound of the water.

They stood hand in hand gazing at the waterfall until Viscount Whitleaf looked behind him.

“Ah,” he said, “a grotto built artfully into the hillside to look like a natural cave. I almost expected to see it there. And of course it is facing in just the right direction. Capability Brown and his ilk could always be relied upon to provide such conveniences on wilderness walks. Shall we sit for a while?”

“It ought to be cool in there,” she said hopefully. Climbing had been a warm business even though the trees had protected them from the direct sunlight for much of the way.

The grotto was provided with a wooden bench that circled the inner wall. It was the perfect shelter from sun or wind or rain or simple weariness, a place to sit and feast the senses on the beauties provided by nature-even if man had lent a helping hand. The opening to the outside world was framed on three sides with lush green ferns.

The waterfall was centered in their line of vision, just as the reflection of the house was from the pavilion on the lake. Ferns grew thick on the steep banks on either side and trees stretched above. There were the smells of water and greenery and earth. And of course there was the sound of rushing water-and of the song of the lone bird.

“I like friendship,” he said softly, after they had sat in silence for several minutes. “It enables one not to talk.” He chuckled. “Does that make sense?”

“Yes,” she said. “Silence is an uncomfortable thing between casual acquaintances or strangers.”

“Like you and me the day we met,” he said. “ Were you uncomfortable?”

“Very,” she admitted.

“Why?”

She had taken her hand from his when they sat down in order to settle her skirts about her. Now she realized her hand was in his again, though she did not know how it had got there. Their clasped hands were lying on her skirt on the bench between them.

“You were Viscount Whitleaf,” she said, “handsome, fashionable, obviously wealthy, sure of yourself, a man of the world.”

“Shallow,” he added, “conceited, flirtatious.”

“I judged too hastily,” she said.

She was aware for several silent moments that he was looking at her.

“And there was another reason,” she said hastily. “You were Viscount Whitleaf. I grew up not far from Sidley Park.”

“Good Lord,” he said after a moment or two of silence. “ Osbourne. He was Sir Charles Markham’s secretary for years when Markham was a government minister. I thought of him when you were introduced to me, but Osbourne is not an entirely uncommon name. I did not dream…When I come to think of it, though, I recall that he did have a daughter. You?”

“Yes,” she said, considerably shaken. She had really not intended telling him who she was.

“Did we ever meet?” he asked.

“Once,” she said. “You came down to the lake, where I was playing with Edith, but two of your sisters came and took you away. One of them did not like the fact that you were playing with me, and the other was afraid you would fall in and drown.”

“I don’t remember,” he said. “But wait. Was there something with a fishing line?”

“Yes,” she said. “You wanted to try mine. You thought you might have better luck than I had had, but actually I do not believe there were any fish in that lake. I never heard of anyone catching any there.”

“That was you,” he said. “I do remember. Vaguely, anyway.”

And it would be as well, she thought, if the memories were left there, vague and unspecific.

“Your father died,” he said.

She turned her head and looked sharply at him.

“Yes.”

“I am so sorry,” he said, “though it seems a little late to commiserate with you. It was sudden, was it not? A heart attack?”

Ah, he really did not know, then. He really had been sheltered by all his various guardians.

“Yes,” she said. “His heart stopped.”

Which was certainly not a lie.

“I am sorry,” he said again. “But tell me how you ended up as a charity pupil at Miss Martin’s school in Bath.”

She had never spoken about her past. Deep as was her trust in her three closest friends, she had never entrusted them with the whole of her story-just as they had never revealed everything of their past to her. Friends really did need secret places inside themselves. But he already knew more than they ever had.

She closed her eyes for a few moments.

“I do beg your pardon,” he said, squeezing her hand more tightly. “Please forgive me for arousing what are obviously painful memories.”

She had learned to cope with her essential aloneness, not even to dwell upon it. And she did have her employment now and friends who were almost as good as family. But there had been a time when she had felt like a helpless babe all alone and abandoned in a vast and hostile universe. She doubted there was any worse feeling. Even her very survival had been in question.

“Mr. Hatchard sent me to the school,” she said. “He is Claudia Martin’s solicitor and agent in London. He sought me out when I was seeking a position through an employment agency. At first, when he asked me if I had ever been to Bath, I thought he had some employment to offer me there. But then he explained that there was a place at a school there for me if I wanted it-as a pupil. He told me that someone he represented was willing to pay my fees, that in fact I would be one of several charity pupils.”

She could clearly remember the mingled relief and humiliation with which she had listened to his wholly unexpected offer.

“And you accepted,” Viscount Whitleaf said.

“I really had no choice,” she told him. “I was staring starvation in the face. I had had only one promising interview-for a position as a lady’s maid. I had said at the agency that I was fifteen though I was only twelve. But the lady who interviewed me did not believe me and dismissed me out of hand. She was not the housekeeper, as I had expected, but my prospective employer herself. She told me that since she was going to have to put up with the maid who was hired, she was going to have the choosing of her. I was terrified of her, even though she was very young herself. And yet I have always had the strange conviction that she must have had something to do with Mr. Hatchard’s finding me.”