Chapter One ~ 1817

Farica, walking through the wood very quietly on moss-covered paths, thought that the trees with their first summer foliage were lovelier than she had ever seen them.

She knew that in a moment or two that there would be an opening and she would see ahead of her the magnificent facade of Lyde Castle.

The Castle of the Earl of Lydbrooke had been to her a Fairy Palace that had coloured the stories her mother read to her and those she later told herself when she was always the heroine.

Today Lyde meant something definite to her personally, although she was not certain if it pleased her or not.

As she moved through the trees, looking in her green muslin gown as if she was part of them, she saw with surprise that there was a man sitting on a fallen tree trunk just ahead of her.

It was a trunk that she had intended to sit on herself to look at The Castle and she stopped, thinking it extremely annoying that there was someone else already there.

She wondered if she should retreat rather than encounter a stranger.

Just as she was feeling indecisive, she saw something glitter in his hand and a second later was aware that it was a pistol.

He lifted it a little and with a feeling of shock Farica was certain that he was going to raise it to his temple.

Without thinking that she might become involved, without considering what might be the consequences, she ran forward and in a low breathless voice asserted,

“No – you must – not do that! It’s a – wicked – cowardly thing to do!”

As she spoke, she put out her hand and laid it on his arm.

He turned his face towards her obviously startled by her interference.

As she looked at him, she was aware that he was a man she had never seen before and he was also a gentleman.

For a moment they just gazed at each other.

Then she said a little incoherently as she took her hand from his arm,

“I-I am sorry – I thought you – intended to – kill yourself.”

“And you considered it your duty to stop me.”

His voice was low and deep and Farica blushed as she replied,

“Perhaps you think – I had no right to interfere. But life is so precious – it should not be wasted.”

There was a faint twist to his lips before he replied,

“Where I have come from life was a very cheap commodity and of little value. But I am sure, where you are concerned, it is indeed very precious.”

She realised that it was a compliment and blushed again.

Then she said,

“I can only apologise – but we are not used to people brandishing pistols about in this part of the country, unless, of course – they are highwaymen.”

The gentleman smiled.

“And you don’t think that I am one?”

“No, I am sure you are not,” Farica replied. “At the same time please – put that dangerous weapon away. It frightens me.”

As if the gentleman suddenly realised that he was sitting and she was standing, he rose to his feet and as he did so put his pistol into the pocket of his coat.

It was of a cheap material and not in the least fashionable and yet as he stood facing her she was still sure that in spite of his appearance he was well bred.

Then he smiled and it seemed to transform his rather thin grim face.

“I suppose I should be thanking you for your consideration of me,” he said, “in what was meant, I am sure, as an act of kindness.”

Farica did not answer and after a moment he added as if to himself,

“And I am very much in need of kindness at the moment.”

Looking at him Farica saw that there was a long scar at the side of his square forehead and she said a little tentatively,

“I think, sir, that you have been – a soldier.”

“Does it show so obviously?”

“Then you have!” Farica exclaimed. “If you have just returned from France, after perhaps in the last year being in the Army of Occupation – you must find things very strange and different in England.”

“So different,” the gentleman replied, “that it made you think that, being unable to face it, I intended to shoot myself.”

Farica looked at him wide-eyed and he went on,

“Well, you are not very far from the truth. I do find things very different, but I am not sure what I can do about it.”

“I am sorry,” Farica said in a soft sympathetic voice. “I know how hard it must be for you. Papa has been desperately perturbed about the way our soldiers who fought so gallantly against Bonaparte have been disbanded without a pen