I told myself that I must never go to that house again; but I could not keep away. We had planned to spend four more days in London. Four more days! I could not help it. I sought every opportunity to be with Jake.

I was shameless, I supposed. I realized that I had been starved of love. I was wildly happy in some moments, filled with remorse in others. I would experience a deep sadness when I contemplated Amaryllis who had made such a success of her life—the happy wife and mother. I often thought how happy I could have been if I were married to Jake.

As for him, he was less burdened by guilt than I. Indeed I believe he felt none. But then I was deceiving my husband. He had no such matrimonial burdens to consider. He constantly tried to lift my spirits. Mine was no ordinary marriage, he insisted. It was understandable that this should happen some day. Edward would understand if he ever knew.

“He must never know,” I cried vehemently. “He has suffered enough.”

“He would realize …”

I shook my head. “He would be kind, understanding, forgiving, but he would be wounded … deeply wounded.” Then I added: “I must not come here again.”

I said that often, but I did go … again … and again, and I waited through the days for the opportunities, so that I could slip into that house in Blore Street.

They were such strange days—days of exultation, days of shame. The hours flew by as they never had before and yet those four days seemed like a year. I had experienced so much; grown up, I supposed. I had ceased to be an innocent girl. I was a vital woman, scheming for meetings with her lover—eager, passionate … and then suddenly remembering what I was doing.

I felt my guilt must be written on my face for them all to see. But no one noticed. Not even my mother.

One day I had been to the house and Jake was escorting me back to Albemarle Street, and as we walked along we came face to face with Peter Lansdon.

Hastily I withdrew my arm from Jake’s. I think I flushed a little.

“Peter!” I cried. “I didn’t expect to see you. I didn’t know you were in London.”

He smiled at me. “Business,” he said. “Trouble at one of the warehouses.”

“This is Sir Jake Cadorson. Sir Jake, this is Peter Lansdon—my niece’s husband.”

The two men acknowledged each other.

“I was just returning to the house,” I floundered. “I had been out… and I met Sir Jake.”

“You will be going back to Eversleigh soon, I believe.”

“Have you been to Albemarle Street?”

“No. I have just arrived. I went straight to the warehouse.”

“Peter is a very busy man,” I said to Jake.

“Trouble has a habit of cropping up,” said Peter. “I must be going. More business to attend to. I’ll be coming on to Albemarle Street later.”

We said goodbye.

“Do you think he knew?” I asked. “Was it obvious that we had been together?”

“I think he had one thought in mind … his own affairs.”

“He is very absorbed in them,” I replied with relief. “I am afraid it might seem a little obvious.”

“You must silence that uneasy conscience of yours, my dearest,” he said. “Everything will be all right.”

But Peter Lansdon had put a blight on the day. He had brought home to me more forcibly the wrong I was doing.

Edward was pleased to see me. “It has seemed so long,” he said.

“It was not really very long.”

“How were the celebrations?”

“Very enthusiastic.”

“I wonder how long the mood will last.”

“We are at peace. People are going to remember that for a long time.”

“People have short memories.”

“Edward, how pessimistic you have become!”

He laughed. “Well, it is nice to have you back.”

“James has showed his usual efficiency?”

“Oh yes, we played a lot of piquet and I’m teaching him chess. I think he’ll be quite a good player.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“Jessica … you look different.”

I felt my voice falter. “Different? How different?”

He looked at me with his head On one side. “You look … radiant. It was obviously a good holiday.”

“Yes, I think it was. All the excitement… There was such adulation for the Duke. One gets caught up in all that.”

“It’s a very happy state of affairs. We should all enjoy it while we can.”

After a while I said: “Oh, an interesting thing happened. It was at the Inskips’ ball.”

“That was a grand affair, I imagine.”

“Very grand. We met a Sir Jake Cadorson. Guess who he turned out to be. I’ll give you three guesses.” I gave a nervous little laugh, trying to be merry. Did it sound artificial?

“Some businessman?”

“No … not exactly.”

“I was going to say a friend of Peter.”

“No, I’d better tell you. Do you remember Romany Jake?”

“The gypsy, yes. I’ll never forget him. It was through him that we met each other.”

“Well, he has become Sir Jake.”

“How did he manage that?”

“He was no real gypsy. He ran away to join them. He comes from an old Cornish family. He went to Australia and served his seven years and then heard he was heir to estates in Cornwall. There was a title too. And there he was at the Inskips’ ball—quite an honoured guest.”

“I never saw him. Did you recognize him?”

“After a while, yes. We had a talk together … several talks. My father asked him to the house.”

“That must have been interesting.”

I was glad I was sitting with my back to the light.

“You know he is Tamarisk’s father,” I said.

“Good Lord, yes. Dolly, of course.”

“I have had to ask him to come down here for a short visit. He wants to see his daughter.”

“That’s natural enough.”

“I am wondering how to break the news to Tamarisk. What will her feelings be, do you think?”

“She can be unpredictable.”

“I want to get her used to the idea before he comes.”

“Of course. What sort of man is he … this gypsy cum baronet?”

“Well, I suppose he is in his late twenties … maybe thirty. He’s dark …”

“I didn’t mean his appearance so much.”

“He … er … fitted very well into the Inskips’ circle.”

“That’s just about top notch, isn’t it?” he said with a laugh.

“I suppose so. He told me that he had run away from home to join the gypsies because of family disagreements.”

“And now he has apparently stepped back into his rightful niche.”

“I suppose you could say that.”

“Tamarisk ought to be pleased to have such a father. I wonder if he will want to take her away.”

“I wonder if she would want to go.”

“With Tamarisk, one never knows. One thing I know is that you will do what is right… and for the best.”

He smiled at me lovingly and in that moment I felt the burden of my guilt was almost unbearable.

Tentatively I approached the matter with Tamarisk.

“Tamarisk,” I said, “have you ever missed not having a father?”

She looked surprised and thought for a moment. Then she said: “No.”

“What would you say if you suddenly found you had one?”

“I don’t want one,” she said.

“Why not?”

“He’d tell me what to do. Old Mr. Frenshaw still tells young Mr. Frenshaw what to do and he’s quite old.”

I laughed. “Old Mr. Frenshaw tells everybody what to do. You might like your father.”

“I don’t think I need one.”

“It’s nice to have one.”

“What for?”

“Well, everybody had a father at some time.”

“I haven’t.”

“You couldn’t be born without one. There has to be a mother and father.”

She looked puzzled, and feeling I was getting into difficult ground, I started again. “As a matter of fact you have a father.”

“Where?”

“In London. He wants to meet you.”

She stared at me in amazement. “How can he, when he doesn’t know me?”

“He knows of you.”

“Why isn’t he here then … like other fathers?”

“It’s rather complicated. He had to go away. He’s been away for a long time, right to the other side of the world. Now he’s back and he wants to meet you.”