They start out with Williams on the box with Fanny and Bob, no doubt watching the young driver's skills with the high-strung team enviously. He should see Bob navigating the narrow streets of London with the entire team. And the boy is in the carriage with them, a lot less awkward than a normal servant would be. His father may be a paid stablemaster, the son was not raised a servant but a free spirit. Elizabeth cannot imagine the father being pleased at his son's choice of a position, he must prefer his son to just hold a job like he does himself. The boy is a little excited, though, and he soon tells his companions why.

'I never thought I'd ever get to ride behind real thoroughbreds, I never even thought I'd ever get to see one for real. Bob let me groom one, it was all muscle. They're not actually very beautiful horses, are they? Merely very athletic and very fast. Your new stallion is much better looking, Colonel Drummond.'

Ah, to be young again and say everything that pops into one's mind, Elizabeth remembers how she shocked Miss Bingley and Lady Catherine with her own frankness, not knowing that meanwhile, someone was brought to his knees by her impertinence. And he still doesn't mind it one bit, he likes this kid and is not insulted at what might be seen as a slight towards his prize team.

'If Bob finds a suitable track of road you may sit beside him on the box as he lets them have their heads. If Colonel Drummond can handle another fast ride.'

The colonel grins and replies, 'I'd never live it down if I refused. I'll get used to it.'

Then Fitzwilliam continues, 'That's all set then, provided Bob says it's safe. And no, they are not beautiful, Smith, I agree with you on that. They're made for running, like Mr Miller's horses are made for warfare. You told me they weren't beautiful either, didn't you?'

'They're nags, ugly colours and square necks and angles everywhere. Big blocky heads, too.'

Colonel Drummond is not used to impertinent youths, of course he is a high-ranking army officer, he is used to young men who have been drilled into obedience by sergeants. He feels called upon to defend his trusted horse.

'My blocky-headed horse has saved my life countless times in the heat of battle. Surrounded by musket fire, blasting cannons, shrieking, dying horses, the smell of blood everywhere, he went where I asked him to go, with just one hand on the rein and a squeeze of my legs. Do you really think that a soldier cares what colour his horse is, Smith? Can you imagine what Bucephalus would have done under those circumstances?'

The image his master has painted right before his eyes makes a profound impression on young Smith, he is struck totally dumb. Elizabeth can see his thoughts racing, this old man with grey hair, who is a bit afraid of riding the new stallion and some of the more spirited mares, has really seen battle? With people shooting at him, and people dying?

'Were you wounded in action, sir?' is the first thought that apparently has come to his mind.

His attitude softens the colonel considerably. Maybe the older man doesn't realise what a different person he is at home, compared to the camp.

'I have been, repeatedly, yes. But my Blaze always managed to keep me seated and he has brought me back to base safely the last two years. He was wounded, too, but I never noticed until afterwards, he didn't even flinch. He is a brave horse, the best I've had so far, and I've lost quite a few, boy. To a stray bullet, or to someone targeting officers to weaken a regiment.'

'I never realised you were in actual battles, sir. And on a horse, with people fighting everywhere. How did he stand that?'

'It's what Mr Miller breeds them for, boy, and your father helps train them to withstand. Do you understand now why they don't care what colour a horse is?'

'Yes, sir, your stallion would have thrown you and ran off, he would be of no use at all, even if you got the best stablemaster to train him. But he is so beautiful!'

'Which is why we will try to capture his beauty and the smartness and solidity of Mr Miller's horses. It will be years of work, but then we'll have the best of both worlds. Are you in? Can you look at your father's charges for their unique traits? Beauty too, hunters need to be beautiful if we're to sell them all over the country. But they have to be strong, fast and level-headed first.'

'Mr Miller's horses won't run from a boar either, sir. Or a frenzied pack. I can see what you want to do.'

Now the boy's expression becomes sly.

'But your stablemaster will hate it. He will say hunters served the old master well enough and then he'll try to stop the changes. Not openly.'

'Are you suggesting he'd hurt the new horses on purpose?'

'He doesn't like your stallion. If he didn't know that saddle was a mismatch he's not worth his salt as a horseman, let alone a stablemaster. I can't prove it, but I think he meant you to take a fall and sell the horse in disgrace.'

Well, there is no comparison for bravery to this boy, bluntly stating such an accusation towards his direct superior without any proof. But then, he's sixteen, what does he know?

'As an army man I greatly disapprove of insubordination, Smith. It can bring down a whole regiment without any enemy involved. If you want to continue to work for me, you will have to learn to show some respect for your betters. Even if they make decisions you do not approve of. On the other hand, you were right about the saddle, and you may be right about Kendrick using it on purpose. He has had his way too often and too completely. Why don't we make the following arrangement: you show everyone the respect they are entitled to. Then when you see something amiss and the consequences may be severe, you talk to Williams. I suppose you trust him to do what is right?'

'I'm sorry sir, I suppose I am a bad servant, my dad has always taught me to think for myself. I will try to improve myself. And I do trust Williams, yes, he is honest and fair, and he truly knows horses. Hunters, not sturdy army-horses, but I think he will like your plan, he'll consider it a challenge.'

Elizabeth doesn't want this boy to become a true servant, obeying mindlessly. She wants him to stay just as he is, but she knows that will be difficult working for any master. Mr Hugo is worse than the old stablemaster here, except his honesty is beyond doubt. One might say Mr Hugo is a better servant than the stablemaster here, who thinks he knows better than his own master. But she did not like to hear Fitzwilliam's report on how Mr Hugo had punished Bruce ruthlessly all winter. Bruce almost seemed to have had his spirit broken when they saw him again at Pemberley. It would pain her to see this boy treated that way, though of course he has not bullied anyone, and according to Fitzwilliam he has an extraordinary skill with horses, maybe giving him more right to a mind of his own.

Meanwhile, the boy talks readily about the stud-farm where he grew up minding the horses, helping with their training, learning a lot under his father's guidance, and even more by observing everything going in a busy stables. Colonel Drummond is very impressed, he must feel a right fool to have thought this boy a mere stable scrubber. And she thinks she can see Fitzwilliam entertaining the same thoughts she was just now, this boy must not be forced to submit to someone less skilled, he must be supported to help him grow even more. If he doesn't give the boy his address to write to if he should fail to be happy with the colonel, Elizabeth will be very much surprised.

Mr Miller himself is not adverse to bowing and scraping at all, he receives his visitors eagerly, he probably thinks they have come to view horses for the army, but when he hears of their real reason for coming over he'll probably swoon at the very thought. A trained, tested army horse fetches quite a nice price, but selling some of his best breeding stock will most likely be a very profitable start of his new year. A mare doesn't need to be trained to be valuable as a breeder, and his older mares are probably already in foal with one of his own stallions. The colonel will be looking mostly for young mares who can be bred this spring, and maybe even a promising young stallion to service his hunter mares.

As a true horseman, Mr Miller cannot help checking out the thoroughbreds first. They take to him wonderfully, approaching him curiously and whuffing his offered hand and his coat. A very good sign, this man does not let others do the hard work, horses know him and like him. Soon, another man joins him, a medium-sized, slender man in his middle years, whose eyes light up as he spots the thoroughbreds, and again as he spots a sixteen-year-old boy with a snub nose.

'Daniel! My vagrant son arriving with the owner of the most coveted team in all of England. I must have done something right. C'mere, boy, give your father a hug!'

And only after hugging Daniel, a fitting name for a rascal like him, very thoroughly, does he shake hands with Fitzwilliam first, then the colonel, and then Williams, not overlooking Elizabeth, but saving her for the last.

'Mrs Darcy, you are even more ravishing than the papers say.'

'It's the fresh air, Mr Smith, I had the pleasure of riding Bernice on the moors this morning, she's from here, isn't she? Tall mare, bay with two white socks in front and a white blaze in the shape of a lightning bolt.'

With the last statement, he remembers.

'We have hundreds of horses moving through here, ma'am, but I remember that blaze. She was born here, one of our best, except she grew a shade too tall for her boning. Couldn't carry an adult man plus gear all day, you see, though she would have killed herself trying. Very fine horse, I'm glad you liked her, you must be used to the best.'

Having said that, he can no longer control himself, he must touch those thoroughbreds he has apparently heard about. Well, Fitzwilliam did drive around London a lot those last few days before they left for Newcastle, and Elizabeth suspects their house is under constant observation from reporters. This man also lets himself be felt and smelled by the inquisitive horses, and he strokes every single one of them, examining the muscle like his son apparently did. Then he rights himself and commands his son, 'Daniel, you show Mr Darcy's man the loose stables, or you can put them in the far paddocks, whatever he thinks is best. Give them whatever he says they need.'

It seems rude, commanding another man's servant, but Elizabeth thinks this man is very shrewd. He must know his son will be insubordinate wherever he goes, or maybe the boy's posture gave him away, and now the father proves to his current master that the boy can be obedient when handled the right way. And he shows his visitors he trusts Daniel to handle those valuable horses as they deserve to be. Daniel does not object or talk back, he merely helps Bob loosen the traces, Williams giving a hand as well. Very soon, Fitzwilliam's pride and joy are led off towards a place where they can eat and rest, Bob handling two, Daniel and Williams both a single horse.

'Now, Colonel Drummond,' Mr Miller says, 'I received your message saying you wanted to view my farm, but though we speculated quite a lot during dinner and again during breakfast, we couldn't for the life of us come up with a reason why you'd come out here yourself. So, what do you want us to show you?'

So much for the man's grovelling, he's back to business.

'Well, I'd like to see your best horses, to show my friend Darcy why we dare trust our lives to these noble creatures. And then we'd like to see any young mares you have for sale, preferably ready to be bred coming season. I'm thinking of buying up to three new mares, to bring some of your horses' superb qualities into my line of hunters. Their loyalty and their steadfastness mainly, preferably without losing too much in the way of speed and looks.'

Both Mr Miller and Mr Smith look thoughtful. They probably don't see why one would want a hunter in the first place. Mr Smith speaks first.

'For a hunter I suppose you could do with a little less endurance? I mean, no-one hunts all day, do they? Or with a heavy load, on bad foraging or rationed water?'

The colonel nods eagerly, this is what he hoped for, someone to think along with him. These men know their own horses best.

'We never carry a load, hunters are fed too well rather than too little, and though some huntsmen are overweight, those never last more than half a day in the saddle. You know hunters, don't you? They don't have to be of sturdier build than that, as long as they have some will to exert themselves. And because people buy hunters for their beauty as well as their usefulness, they should be of a clear colour, a pleasing build, and if at all possible, with a pretty head. But not at the cost of their disposition, I have plenty of gorgeous hunters in my stables, but they're too nervous and high-strung, I want them more solid and easy-going, without losing their fire.'

The men look at each other, then Mr Miller says, 'Let's start with the young mares, then I'll have one of my men saddle our finest stallions and they can demonstrate their abilities. Daniel too, if he still deigns to ride a nag.'

'I think he has a little more respect for your work by now, Mr Miller. I described a battle scene for him, and I think he pictured himself in my place, riding my new hunter stallion. Blaze saved my life more than once, and his predecessors gave their lives for me without hesitation. I like my hunters but I love my Blaze.'

Mr Smith laughs broadly and claps the colonel on the shoulder. There is no submission in him, none at all. Daniel is clearly his father's son.

'Then you've taught him a lesson I couldn't, Colonel, and I'm real thankful to you. Do you want your men present when we look at the mares?'

'Yes, please,' the colonel says, 'your son, too. I'm very interested in his opinion, he seems to know the difference between a beautiful horse and what he calls a nag in one glance, and since I think my customers judge their horses much the same way I'm keen to know what he thinks of each horse first of all. Just his honest opinion on its looks. Then we'll decide on the rest together.'

That is a very shrewd idea, and Mr Smith especially seems to be rather curious what his son will decide.

After a ten minute wait, they decide to go find the men themselves, and taking Fanny along as well they march towards the stables where the loose boxes are. But the horses aren't there, nor are the men. So it's to the paddocks, a lot of large heads greeting them as they walk past.

A whole row of stablehands is sitting on a broad fence right ahead of them, among which the three missing men. The thoroughbreds are enjoying their freedom, they have been rolling in the sand, and two are trotting along the fence, the other two scratching each other's itchy places. It's quite a sight, apparently those skinny brown horses are really something.

'Williams, Smith, get off that fence and come look at some horses with us.'

The colonel is an army man and his voice carries really well. Elizabeth wonders whether Colonel Fitzwilliam can holler like that. Probably, he must have started out in the lower ranks. Bob catches Fitzwilliam's eye, and with a look of regret decides to stay with his charges. Well, Fanny is here to make up for what he misses. They set off towards a different barn, this one with a large paddock at the back of it.

'We do not keep the young horses in separate stalls, they're in two large groups, fillies and colts. These are the fillies, all of two and three years ago, plus two adult mares to keep them in check.'

The barn has no stalls, it's just a large open space, well, they have plenty of that here. This time, they all follow the stablehands' example and sit on the fence, watching the horses. There are about twenty, in different sizes and different colours. Mr Smith hops down the fence with great agility, then closes a gate between inside and outside.

'Now, Daniel, sort them out, nags inside, possible candidates outside. And mind you keep soundness and speed in mind as well.'

They all sit back as much as possible on a wooden fence, while Daniel starts inside, leading two fillies out, keeping the remaining six inside. Two of them have a hideous colour, one a ram's nose, the rest seems fine to Elizabeth's layman's eye. Daniel checks the horses one by one, and quickly, feeling their body and legs, stepping up to them suddenly to see whether they shy away, lifting hooves, he's done this before, that is obvious. Then he steps back a few paces and watches the filly in question carefully, once he asks one of the curious stablehands to set one in motion for him, which the man does without challenge. Apparently, Daniel is respected here.

Elizabeth notices the mares following him with little guidance, they are either very easygoing or well-trained. Soon, fourteen fillies are inside and six remain, all good-looking and more or less the same height and build, and of a spotless colour. Now the colonel looks at Williams, who starts with the six outside, then moves inside, to bring one back out, then a second one. They are easily recognisable, for they are both grey. It seems Daniel doesn't like grey horses, but these are very handsome, dappled, with long tails and manes. Mr Smith faces his son, he is proud of him, that is obvious.

'Why did you leave the greys, Daniel?' he asks.

'You can't know what colour they are so they can give mud-coloured offspring. And they go through many ugly stages, making them difficult to sell. Besides, this one is skittish. She reacts to every little noise, not a lot, but when bred to Bucephalus it would get worse in her offspring.'

Without comment, Mr Smith takes that one back inside, and then he strokes the remaining grey, commenting, 'You ought to remember this filly, she was born inky black, she was one of your favourites. You called her Spectacles, because of the white rings around her eyes. She will not give a hideous colour to her offspring.'

'Spectacles? But I've been away for a mere six months! She was still black when I left! I thought you had her in foal or something. You'd sell her, Mr Miller?'

'I'd rather not, but she is perfect for breeding beautiful horses. And she'd be priced accordingly. You know we'd train and sell her anyway, Daniel.'

'Well, Spectacles was perfect, though I hate her turning grey all of a sudden. And what about the rest? Did we choose well?'

Mr Smith leads one black mare to the front.

'This one is headstrong. We'll train it out of her, but I'd not use her for breeding easygoing horses.'

He leads her back inside. And comes back with a gorgeous red bay with an arched neck and lovely rounded hindquarters.

'Why did you both keep her inside?'

Well, even Elizabeth can see that from this close: she has a blue eye. Williams dares voice it.

'She has a blind eye, sir.'

Mr Smith does not gainsay that, he merely stands beside the mare on the side of her blue eye and makes a tiny gesture. The horse immediately reacts and the stablemaster observes, 'Do you agree this proves she is not blind? A blue eye like this is a tiny blemish on an otherwise beautiful horse. You want her for breeding, and chances are she will never inherit it to a foal. And even if she does, someone will want it for its uniqueness. This mare is a bit too sensitive for use in the army, but I think she will be perfect for you.'

Then he picks out another mare, and brings her back inside. Mr Miller explains, 'That is our pick of the lot of them, she's staying with us. She'll save countless soldiers' lives by passing on her traits to her daughters and hopefully a son. We cannot sell her. That one, too.'

Another mare is taken back inside, five mares are now left outside for the colonel to choose from.

Then Mr Smith fetches a large whip and chases the mares into a fast walk, then a trot. Last of all, a gallop. They buck and kick and start chasing each other, and Elizabeth is glad she doesn't have to choose which ones to buy, for to her they all look beautiful. After a lot more talking and examining and discussing, they decide on two sorrel mares and the grey.

'I love the bay with the blue eye,' Fitzwilliam says, 'but I think it would be a mistake to risk getting too many unique colours. People can be very conservative, and you wouldn't want them to think of you as a breeder of curiosities, you want your hunters to be known for their soundness and their willingness.'

They all more or less agree, though of course Mr Miller and Mr Smith are more inclined to overlook the exterior of the horse if the other qualities are all right. Colonel Drummond and Mr Miller haggle like farmers about the price to be paid for each mare, and soon reach an understanding. It's clear Mr Miller is very happy with the day's proceedings, and just not because he makes a small fortune, Elizabeth thinks he's flattered the colonel plans to use his stock for such an ambitious project.

'Let's look at my three best stallions first, and then you can check out the young fry to see whether there is one you like for the future. I've only a few still-intact stallions over three years of age, but every breeder has a favourite he cannot bear to take out of breeding though he knows he should because he has plenty of horses already.'

In a large riding paddock, Mr Smith rides first a bay, then another bay, both solid horses who know a lot of impressive commands, as if Mr Smith is a knight and not a stablemaster, and his horse is not meant to merely carry him to and from the battlefield and give him a steady place from which to direct his men, but to fight along with him. They show kicks to the front and to the back, and rear up to their hind legs. Everyone present is impressed, except Daniel, who seems to be used to seeing his father ride these magnificent athletes. And then Mr Smith requests him to ride a midnight black horse for them, which he readily does. The black is the most beautiful one so far, he is very elegant and he has a beautiful head. His mane and tail are long and wavy, to Elizabeth he looks as if he has come straight out of a fairytale. His movements look more like dancing than walking or trotting, though he apparently doesn't know any of those kicks or other fancy manoeuvres.

Mr Miller explains.

'Colonel, meet our Cavort, the horse we should have had gelded and sold as a riding horse, but couldn't, not yet. Instead we decided to train him as far as we could, to promote our stud farm, and maybe use him on our sturdiest mares to make our horses a little more elegant without losing strength. But now you've told me about your plans, I have a proposition to make. I want in. I want to be part of your breeding program, I think there is a demand for cool hunters. I am prepared to let you have Cavort on loan, and I will throw in the bay mare with the blue eye, if you will loan me your stallion next breeding season. I'll let him cover my most elegant mares, and we can exchange foals to keep the best ones for breeding. I have more than enough young horses coming up to keep my trainers busy for a a few years, and Smith and I are ready to try our hand at a project that is less labour intensive and more lucrative. We both have some money to invest in new breeding material, hunters are the crown of English horse breeding.'

Silence follows, while the colonel considers their offer. That stallion is so beautiful, he is almost a hunter already.

'Daniel can train him further, sir, he knows nearly all I know. We were just starting on the battle moves when he snuck out and sent word a few days later he'd taken service with you. Cavort is very easy to ride despite his prancing and preening. You could probably use him as a hunter if you're not going too fast or jump too high. Of course he's too valuable to do that anyway.'

Well, after seeing such a magnificent stallion, checking out the young herd is of little use. Those young stallions cannot breed any mare this year, they're not even half-grown, and Cavort will be imprinted on their minds for weeks. So they go inside the house instead to drink tea, Daniel obeying his father's orders to take that time to see his mother at their own little cottage, but not before asking permission of his new master to do so.

'Of course you should greet your mother, Smith. That is why I took you along in the first place, I didn't know you were such a talent because you never told anyone. Take your time, if Mrs Drummond approves of what Mr Miller proposes you will become very busy.'

And that gives Mr Miller an answer as well, Colonel Drummond likes his business offer, but he wants to run it by his wife before accepting it.

After tea they return, Daniel on the box and Fanny and Williams inside the carriage, since they are going to set a record time returning. Williams proves himself the solid, knowledgeable fellow he appears to be, and Colonel Drummond offers him the position of stablemaster of a stables more resembling a normal household, with all the servants sharing the servants' part of the house and one general common-room.

Hardly believing his luck the man accepts, and promises to keep quiet until matters have been resolved with the men currently placed over him. Then they all hold onto their seats as Bob lets the thoroughbreds run for a few minutes, after which he keeps them in a really fast but controlled trot. As their companions leave the carriage, the colonel wisely refrains from asking them to dinner, he must be aware that Fitzwilliam is aching to have some time alone with his wife, and besides, their landlady is counting on her four guests, they could not have accepted anyway.

Sitting at the breakfast table with Frederick, Eric and Georgiana, Anne is a bit nervous about meeting Lieutenant Talbot today. What if he is a disappointment? How will she get rid of him? What if he is even nicer than she thinks? Take time, she hears Simon say. That's right, she can take all the time she likes.

Johnson enters with the mail, there is a letter for Georgiana from Darcy, and an invitation from Mr Clementi for Eric and Georgiana. It's a card, and Eric reads it straight away and comments, 'He wants us to have coffee this afternoon, then step by Mr Zumpe's showroom to try some instruments: he wants to buy himself a Zumpe! If he can't find one he likes, he plans to order one made to his own requirements! Can you believe that? Mr Clementi buying a Zumpe? It's the world upside down, he makes fabulous pianos himself, and they fit his style of playing much better. But he says romantic music is the new thing and he should at least be able to teach it properly. Incredible. Of course he can easily afford a Zumpe, he can just sell one of his own pianos and use the proceeds, they must cost about the same, if not a tad more.'

'My Clementi was a lot more expensive than my Buntebart, I know that much,' Georgiana observes, 'but I can't imagine a master like Mr Clementi being satisfied with the kind of piano one finds in a showroom. Won't it be rather awkward for you, Eric, to go back there? Isn't it too much to ask of you?'

'I think Mr Clementi wants me to try it for him, Georgiana, he wants to learn the romantic style, but he has been playing his own pianos for so long he'll have to practise before he can overcome his decades' long habit. If he hears me play it, he'll know instantly whether it's the right instrument to teach himself the romantic style. He may even ask me to teach him, which would be a great honour.'

'As well as save some tutoring fees,' Frederick reminds Eric of practical matters.

Meanwhile, Anne has also received an envelope, and quite an official one. There is a similar one still on the silver tray Johnson is carrying, and he offers, 'It's for your maid, Miss de Bourgh.'

He hands Frederick another letter, then bows and leaves, probably to deliver Dora her envelope. The seal explains why they would both get such a formal looking letter, it's from Mr Blackwood, it must have to do with his case against his former butler. Breaking the seal carefully, Anne removes two sheets of paper, an official document bidding her to be present at the courthouse tomorrow at three, to give testimony in the case of Blackwood against Wellesley. Anne reads it, then hands it to Frederick, who reads it carefully and states, 'I'll come with you, of course, I guess that's what Mr Blackwood begs of me in this letter. It bears his seal. What does the other bit say?'

Anne reads it, it's in Mr Blackwood's own handwriting, and it begs her to allow her maid to go the courthouse to give testimony, and to possibly be heard herself as well. Mr Blackwood excuses himself for not being able to send Nick Fowler over to protect them, since his trusted servant is the victim of the assault and therefore an important witness himself, and not allowed to talk to any of the other witnesses until the verdict has been spoken.

'But I've written to Mr Manners to ask him to accompany the two of you to keep you safe and calm should the procedure prove to be upsetting.'

Well, that shouldn't be a problem for Dora, she can just tell the jury and the judge what she has seen, but Anne cannot. She cannot tell anyone that Nick came into her bedroom, sorely hurt. And that she treated his wounds, then spent the rest of the night in his arms! She'll have to lie and hope Nick won't tell the exact truth.

'Don't worry, Anne, I'll make sure you'll be just fine.'

He must have seen her distress, but what can Frederick do to help? She'll either be committing perjury, or disgracing herself in front of witnesses.

'Giving testimony is nothing to worry about, Anne,' Frederick now insists, 'let's go to the confidence room and I'll tell you exactly how it works so you can prepare for it. I've read Mr Blackwood's note and he wants to see the man who molested his favourite servant punished for his cowardly deed. Apparently the poor fellow didn't even try to defend himself, which is truly heroic since I'm certain young Nick can handle nearly any man in a one-on-one fight.'

Nick. The very mention of his name has Anne close to tears. She has been avoiding him for days, and part of her is happy she will not see him at the courthouse. But part of her insists on continuing to ache for him, and she hopes desperately Mr Blackwood is doing the right thing prosecuting his attacker. Nick himself seemed to think that being sacked without references and losing any chance of finding another position in a well-to-do household was punishment enough for the former butler. A lawsuit may see him hanged or deported, and what will that bring Nick? He is not the one eager for retribution.

As Georgiana and Eric start on Darcy's letter, Frederick takes Anne's hand resolutely, and leads her to the little sitting-room where the inhabitants of this house share confidences. As soon as she is seated he pulls a chair towards her, seats himself and asks, 'Now tell me, Anne, what is it you fear?'

There is no shame in confessing to Frederick, he will not judge her, in fact he already knows most of it.

'I can't just tell them how Nick spent the night in my bed, after I washed his wounds and checked him for further damage, not neglecting any part of his body. I should have woken Felicity or Dora, not treated him myself!'

'Oh come on, Anne, you don't think a jury is going to ask Miss Anne de Bourgh which parts of Mr Fowler's body she has seen? They'll just assume you treated his face and left the rest alone, as a lady should. Everyone has seen his face black and blue, but how would they know his stomach and tackle were even worse?'

'Mr Blackwood had a doctor check him out and draw every wound on his body. He'll undoubtedly be a witness.'

Frederick nods, but not pensively, rather brightly.

'Then they won't need your testimony at all. Dora and the other girls will prove the butler did beat him up, the doctor will prove he was hurt badly, and whoever Mr Blackwood hired to catch the assailant will probably bear witness the fellow was unhurt. Anne, Nick loves you, he'll never give you away. Just tell them what you told the family, he'll have heard it from someone, and the way his face looked he can even pretend he doesn't remember, people who take enough hits on the head tend to forget things. No-one in the whole wide world will suspect you of having slept with Nick Fowler, really. I'm so proud of you, Anne, and I'm sure everything will work out in the end, not just the testimony.'

To stop herself from showing her feelings at this kind but probably untrue remark, she asks a question that also bothers her a little.

'Will they hang Wellesley, Frederick? I suppose Mr Blackwood can prove beyond all doubt he tried to kill Nick, that's a capital offence, isn't it?'

'It is, yes, but not everyone convicted of a capital offence is actually hanged, Anne. There are appeals possible, sometimes they are transported instead, I hear Australia is the thing nowadays. Or he could take service as a private. Why, do you feel sorry for him?'

'Not particularly, no, Dora said she was afraid he'd assault her, he is a mean fellow I think. But I asked Nick how he wanted to see him punished, and Nick almost fears Wellesley will be hanged. He'd feel as if he murdered him. I don't want him to be unhappy, you know. But if those girls hadn't come in when they did, Nick would most likely have been killed. I don't think a person capable of such rage should just walk the streets unpunished.'

'I guess there is little we can do about it, Anne. Let's just do our duty and hope he will get a fitting punishment. Do you want me to take you to your appointment with the lieutenant?'

'I thought I'd take a cab. Georgiana says it's really easy, I don't want to be a burden on you.'

And it would look strange, to have Frederick accompany her to a date. He should realise that.

'Of course I wouldn't go inside with you, Anne, I'm not stupid! Or you could have the carriage to yourself.'

'I kind of feel like taking a cab, Frederick. It's broad daylight, and I've never done it before.'

'Of course, Anne, I guess that's part of becoming independent. So are you less afraid of the courthouse tomorrow?'

'I am, but I'm sure Dora will be terrified. Will you talk to her as well?'

'I will, this afternoon, when you're drinking coffee with Lieutenant Talbot. Will you come to the concert with me tonight, Anne?'

Whatever is he thinking? He should be glad she stays behind to entertain Simon. If she can keep from crying, or she'll be bad company.

'Please don't, Frederick, you know why I can't come. It's hard enough knowing he's going through a whole trial on his behalf when he doesn't even want it, and there is nothing I can do to support him.'

'You can come to the concert, he'll be very glad to see you.'

'How do you know, Frederick? Most likely he's already seeing someone else. I can't face him, I miss him so much, it's so humiliating to fall in love with someone who doesn't want you to. Again. I'll get over it, just not yet.'

Frederick shakes his head, he thinks he knows better, but he doesn't.