Augusta drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them while she grappled with the finality of Harry's tone. "I still think my theory has merit."

Harry was silent.

"You must admit there is a small possibility that Richard had gotten involved in such work. Perhaps he had discovered something on his own and was going to take the information to the proper authorities."

Harry remained silent as he finished the last of his peach.

"Well?" Augusta asked, trying to conceal her anxiety over his answer. "Won't you agree that there is at least a chance that was the case?"

"Do you want me to lie to you, Augusta?"

"No, of course not." Her hands clenched into small fists. "I merely want you to agree that you could not have known everything there was to know about intelligence activities during the war."

Harry nodded brusquely. "Very well. I will agree to that. No one could have known everything. There is a great deal of fog surrounding war. Most of the actions, both on and off the battlefield, take place in a gray murk. And when the fog clears one can only count the survivors. One can never really know all of what happened while the mist was shrouding things. Perhaps it is best that way. I am convinced there is much it is better not to know."

"Such as what my brother may actually have been doing?" Augusta challenged bitterly.

"Remember your brother as you knew him, Augusta. Keep the last of the bold, daring, reckless Northumberland Ballingers alive in your memories and do not tease yourself with what may or may not have lain below the surface."

Augusta lifted her chin. "You are wrong about one thing, my lord."

"And that is?"

"My brother was not the last of the Northumberland Ballingers. I am the last one of the line."

Harry sat up slowly, his eyes cool with warning. "You have a new family now. You said as much yourself last night in the picture gallery."

"I have changed my mind." Augusta gave him a too-brilliant smile. "I have decided your ancestors are not as nice as mine."

"You are not doubt correct in that regard. No one ever called any of my ancestors nice. But you are now the newest Countess of Graystone and I will make certain you do not forget it."

A week later Augusta went into the sunny gallery on the second floor and seated herself on a settee directly beneath the portrait of her beautiful predecessor. Augusta glanced up at the deceptively serene image of the previous Lady Graystone.

"I'm gong to repair the damage you did around here, Catherine," she announced aloud. "I may not be perfect, but I know how to love and I do not think you ever knew the meaning of the word. You were not such a paragon, after all, were you? You wasted so much when you went chasing after false illusions. I am not such a fool," she said firmly.

Augusta wrinkled her nose at the portrait and then opened the letter from her cousin Claudia.

My Dear Augusta:

I trust all is well with you and your estimable husband. I must confess I rather miss you here in town. The Season is drawing to a close and things are not nearly so lively without you. As agreed, I have been to Pompeia's on several occasions and have much enjoyed my interesting visits with your friend, Lady Arbuthnott.

I must tell you, Lady A is a most fascinating female. I thought I would be somewhat put off by the eccentricities for which she is noted, but somehow, I am not. I find her delightful and am grieved by the severe nature of her illness.

The butler, on the other hand, is quite objectionable. Had I anything to say about the matter, I would not employ him for a single moment. He grows bolder with each visit and I fear that one of these days I shall be obliged to tell him he has overstepped himself. I still cannot escape the feeling I know him from somewhere.

To my surprise, I must admit I am rather enjoying Pompeia's. Naturally I cannot approve of such features as the club's betting book. Did you know several members placed wagers on how long your engagement would last? Nor do I approve of the rather extensive gaming activities. But I have met some interesting ladies who share my own desire to write. We have many fascinating discussions.

As to the social whirl, I can only repeat it is not as exciting without you. You always succeeded in attracting the most unusual friends and dancing partners. Without you by my side I seem to attract only the most proper sorts of people. Do you know, if it were not for Peter Sheldrake, I should find myself quite bored. Fortunately, Mr. Sheldrake is an excellent dancer. He has even persuaded me to perform the waltz with him. I only wish he were more inclined toward serious, intellectual matters. He tends to be rather frivolous by nature. And he teases me incessantly.

I would dearly love to visit with you. When will you be returning?

All my love, Claudia

Augusta finished the letter and refolded it slowly. It was surprisingly good to hear from her cousin. Rather pleasant, too, to be told that the prim and proper Claudia actually missed her.

"Augusta, Augusta, where are you?" Meredith flew down the long hall of the gallery waving a large sheet of paper in her hand. "I finished my watercolor. What do you think of it? Aunt Clarissa said I must get your opinion, as it was your suggestion that I take up painting."

"Yes, of course. I am anxious to see it." Augusta looked up at Clarissa, who had accompanied her charge at a more stately pace. "Thank you for allowing her to try her hand at watercolors."

"His lordship informed me I was to be guided by your wishes in this matter, although he and I are agreed that watercolor painting is not a suitably serious pursuit for Meredith."

"Yes, I know, but it can quite fun, Miss Fleming."

"One is expected to apply oneself with diligence to one's studies," Clarissa pointed out. "Not have fun."

Augusta smiled at Meredith, who was shifting her gaze anxiously between the two women, "I am sure Meredith worked very hard on this particular painting because it is quite beautiful, as anyone can see."

"Do you really think so, Augusta?" Meredith hovered eagerly as Augusta examined the work.

Augusta held the child's painting out in front of her and tilted her head to one side to study it. The painting consisted largely of a great deal of pale blue wash. Some interesting slashes of green and yellow were scattered about in an apparently random fashion and in the background was a huge blob of gold.

"Those are trees," Meredith explained, pointing to the green and yellow slashes. "The brush wobbled a great deal and the paint tended to drip."

"They are wonderful trees. And I especially like your sky." Knowing the green and yellow bits were trees made it a safe guess that the wash of blue was sky. "And this is quite interesting," she added, pointing to the blob of gold.

"That's Graystone," Meredith explained proudly.

"Your father?"

"No, no, Augusta, our house."

Augusta chuckled. "I knew that. I was just teasing you. Well, you have done an amazing job on this, Meredith, and if you will allow me, I shall see that it is hung immediately."

Meredith's eyes grew very round. "You are going to hang it? Where?"

"Why, right here in the gallery would be a very suitable place, I believe." Augusta glanced down the row of intimidating portraits. "Perhaps right here beneath the picture of your mother."

Meredith was elated. "Do you think Papa will approve?"

"I am certain he will."

Clarissa cleared her throat. "Lady Graystone, I am not at all certain this is a wise suggestion. This gallery is reserved for family portraits that were painted by renowned artists. It is not the sort of space in which one hangs schoolroom work."

"On the contrary, I think some schoolroom work is just what this gallery needs. It is a rather somber place, is it not? We shall liven it up with Meredith's picture."