It was the marked change in the mood of everyone at Graystone that brought home to Harry just how much of a transformation the household had undergone during the time Augusta had been its mistress.

The servants, always a punctilious, well-trained lot, had, since Augusta's arrival, begun to go about their duties with a cheerfulness that Harry had never before noticed. It had brought to mind Sheldrake's comment on Augusta's habit of being kind to staff.

Meredith, that miniature scholar of serious mien and obedient temperament, was suddenly painting pictures and going on picnics. Her simple muslin dresses all seemed to have grown flounces and ribbons lately. And she had begun to wax enthusiastic on the subject of the characters in the novels Augusta was reading to her.

Even Clarissa, that dour, sober-minded female of irreproachable character who had once devoted herself to her duties as a governess, had altered. Harry was not precisely certain what had happened during the few weeks of his marriage, but there was no doubt that Clarissa had definitely thawed toward Augusta. Not only had she thawed, she had been showing definite signs of having developed some passionate enthusiasm that, in another woman, might have signaled a romance.

Lately Clarissa frequently excused herself from some planned outing or from joining the family in the drawing room after dinner to rush upstairs to her own bedchamber. Harry got the impression she was working on a project of some sort, but he hesitated to inquire. Clarissa had always been an intensely self-contained, unapproachable female and he had always respected her privacy. It was, after all, something of a Fleming trait.

Harry was quite certain there was no romance in Clarissa's narrow, constrained world of the schoolroom, but the unfamiliar sparkle in her eyes had made him exceedingly curious. He had attributed that change, along with all the others, to Augusta.

But during the two days following the outbreak of hostilities with Augusta, the household visibly altered once more. A frigid, correct atmosphere reigned. Everyone was painstakingly polite and formal, but it was obvious to Harry that the inhabitants of Graystone were collectively blaming him for the chill.

That knowledge was vastly annoying. He contemplated it as he went up the staircase to the schoolroom on the third day. If the various members of the household were inclined to take sides in the silent battle of wills going on between himself and Augusta, it was patently obvious they should have taken his side.

He was in command here at Graystone and everyone's livelihood on the estate depended on him. One would have thought the servants and Clarissa, at least, would have been acutely aware of that feet.

One would have thought Augusta would have been aware of it.

But it was becoming increasingly clear that Augusta gave her loyalty where she gave her heart and her heart had been given to the memories of the past.

Harry had spent the past two nights alone in his bed contemplating the closed door of Augusta's bedchamber. He had told himself it was his wife who must open that door and he had been certain she would eventually. Now, as he faced the prospect of a third night alone, however, he was beginning to question his assumption.

At the top of the stairs Harry turned and walked down the hall to the schoolroom door. He opened it quietly.

Clarissa glanced up, frowning. "Good afternoon, my lord. I did not realize you would be visiting today."

Harry heard the distinct lack of welcome in her tone and decided to ignore it. He knew he was not particularly welcome anywhere in the house lately. "I had a spare moment and decided to see how the painting lessons are going."

"I see. Meredith has started early today. Her ladyship will be along in a moment to take over instruction, as usual."

Meredith looked up from her watercolors. Her eyes brightened for an instant and then she looked away. "Hello, Papa."

"Continue with your work, Meredith. I only want to observe for a while."

"Yes, Papa."

Harry watched her select a new color for her brush. Meredith moistened the bristles carefully and put down a great wash of black paint on the pristine white paper.

Harry realized it was the first time he had ever seen his daughter select such a dark backdrop for her work. The paintings that showed up regularly now in the picture gallery were generally bright, energetic creations that glowed with sunny colors.

"Is that going to be a picture of Graystone at night, Meredith?" Harry went forward to examine the painting in more detail.

"Yes, Papa."

"I see. It will be rather dark, will it not?"

"Yes, Papa. Augusta says I must paint whatever I feel like painting."

"And you feel like painting a dark picture today, even though it is sunny outside?"

"Yes, Papa."

Harry's jaw tightened. Even Meredith was being affected by the silent warfare in the household. And it was all Augusta 's fault. "Perhaps we should take advantage of the beautiful day outside. I shall send around to the stables to have your pony saddled. We shall ride to the stream this afternoon. Would you like that?"

Meredith glanced up quickly, her eyes uncertain. "Can Augusta come with us?"

"We can ask her," Harry said, wincing inwardly. He had no doubt about Augusta's response. She would politely decline, of course. She had somehow managed to ensure that she spent no time in Harry's company during the past two days except at the dining table. "She may have other plans for the afternoon, Meredith."

"As it happens," Augusta said calmly from the doorway, "I have no other plans. I should very much enjoy riding to the stream."

Meredith brightened at once. "That will be fun. I shall go and change into my new riding habit." She glanced quickly at Clarissa. "May I be excused, Aunt Clarissa?"

Clarissa nodded with regal approval. "Yes, of course, Meredith."

Harry turned slowly to meet Augusta's eyes. She inclined her head politely.

"If you will excuse me, my lord, I, too, must change. Meredith and I shall join you downstairs shortly."

Now, what the devil is this all about? Harry wondered as he watched her disappear after Meredith. On the other hand, perhaps he should not inquire too closely.

"I do hope you enjoy your ride with her ladyship and Miss Meredith, sir," Clarissa said very primly.

"Thank you, Clarissa. I am sure I shall."

Just as soon as I find out what Augusta is up to now, Harry added silently as he left the schoolroom.

Half an hour later Harry was still waiting for an answer to his silent questions. Meredith's mood, at least, had lightened into one of childish enthusiasm. She looked adorable in her small hunter-green riding habit, which was identical to the one Augusta was wearing, right down to the jaunty little plumed hat perched atop her gleaming curls.

Harry watched his daughter urge her dappled gray pony ahead down the lane and then he gave Augusta a considering glance.

"I am pleased you were able to accompany us this afternoon, madam," he said, determined to break the silence.

Augusta sat gracefully in the sidesaddle, her gloved hands elegant on the reins. "I thought it would be good for your daughter to get some fresh air. The house has become rather stifling of late, has it not?"

Harry cocked a brow. "Yes, it has."

Augusta bit her lip and flicked him a quick, questioning glance. "Oh, devil take it, my lord, you must know why I agreed to come along today."

"No, madam, I do not. Do not mistake me, I am pleased you chose to accompany us, but I certainly do not pretend to understand why you did so."

She sighed. "I have decided to turn Richard's poem over to you."

A surging sense of relief swept over Harry. He very nearly reached out and pulled Augusta off her horse and onto his lap. But he managed to resist the urge. He really was becoming far too prone to act on impulse lately. He must watch the tendency.