“I have known that you don’t like me, but the Prince values your friendship and I know that you are a good influence on him, not like some who claim the same position. That is much more important to me than anything that concerns myself.”

She faltered over the last words.

The Marquis stared at her with a strange expression on his face and then he said suddenly,

“Dare I ask you to forgive me, madam? I was utterly wrong in all I thought and in all I imagined about you. May I humbly beg your pardon and ask you when you think of me again to think of me not as an enemy but as someone who not only wishes you well but is always at your service?”

Maria’s smile lit up her face.

“I have nothing to forgive, my Lord. I can understand and respect your feelings. Both the Prince and I are greatly in need of friends whom we can trust.”

She held out her hand as she spoke and the Marquis raised it to his lips.

“I swear I shall not fail you,” he said quietly.

For a moment Maria’s fingers tightened on his.

“And you will find Gretna?”

“I will find her and bring her back to you,” the Marquis vowed.

*

Mrs. Merryweather took two freshly baked brown loaves from the oven and set them down on the long wooden table which stretched nearly the whole length of the kitchen.

Then she fetched a pat of freshly churned butter from the marble slab in the dairy and set a large home-cured ham down on the table beside it.

She glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner of the kitchen, saw that it was getting on for five in the afternoon and called for her youngest son, a boy of some nine summers who was plucking a chicken outside the door,

“Colin. Are you there? Run down to the cellar and bring up the ale. The men will be back from the fields in a few minutes with their bellies a-rattlin’ for their tea.”

“Aye, Mum, I’ll go in a minute,” was his answer and then, just as Mrs. Merryweather was about to admonish him for not obeying her more quickly, there was a clatter of horses’ hoofs in the yard.

Looking through the window she had a sudden glimpse of a spanking pair of greys pulling a black-and-yellow curricle and she saw young Colin run excitedly to the horses’ heads as the driver stepped down into the yard.

She waited for him to come through the open door with her hands on her hips and her jolly fat face unsmiling and unusually severe.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Merryweather.”

She looked up at the Marquis, her brown eyes taking in the calm elegance of his appearance.

Then she replied with undisguised hostility,