He was shaking his head. He had loosened his hold on her. He held her now by the hands. Looking at him, Rachel let her voice trail away.

"No," he said. "No, Lady Rachel, we can never marry. We both know that. My life can never be yours. I have done you a great wrong tonight."

"You think I cannot give up my life of luxury?" Rachel cried. "You think that I will miss all the assemblies and all the fashionable dresses? I would live in rags in a mud hut with you, David. I would!"

He was shaking his head still, a look of great gentleness in the eyes that looked down into her earnest face. "No, my dear," he said, "you will never be my wife. And with the rational part of your mind, the part that has not been affected by the magic of the moonlight, you know that it could never be. And so we must never be together like this again. We must never think of each other this way again."

Rachel's face was becoming stormy. "Give me a reason," she said, "Give me one good reason why I may not marry you."

He looked at her in silence and squeezed her hands. "I am not asking you," he said at last.

"Oh!" Rachel recoiled almost as if he had slapped her. "But you wish to, do you not? You wish to marry me? You do love me, David. Admit that you love me."

His hands tightened on hers once more and then released them altogether. "I do not love you, Lady Rachel," he said, clasping his hands behind his back and looking her very deliberately in the eye. "For a few mad moments I wished to possess you, that is all."

"Oh!" Rachel stood very still, trying to make out the expression in his eyes. "I don't believe you," she whispered eventually. "It is not true. Why do you want to hurt me? Because you are hurting so badly yourself? I… Oh."

She gathered the sides of her flimsy gown in her hands and turned from him to stumble and then run along the winding path to the terrace and along to the front doors of the Hall. She left behind her a young man whose hands clasped each other tightly behind his back as if only by clinging together could they hold him from collapse. The pallor of his face was not evident in the moonlight.

***

It was two days later before Lord Rivers paid a call at Oakland. He had been busy the day before seeing Vicar Ferney on his way to his new home and then going with David to the vicarage. He had wanted David to stay with him for a few more days. Indeed, his original offer had been for David to live with him permanently. But for some reason his cousin had been as eager to move into his new home as if he had just inherited a grand mansion.

And Algernon was feeling restless, as he always did for a week or so after his return from town. It was not that he disliked the country. In fact, he was always glad to return to what seemed to him a more normal way of life. But the change of pace was disconcerting after weeks of constant activity.

He had decided to walk over to Oakland to take Rachel out. Though that was not as straightforward a matter as it usually was, he realized. Her guests had not yet arrived, but Miss Barnes was there. Miss Barnes must have a walking partner too. He had thought immediately of David. He was the obvious choice. He knew Miss Barnes, and it had certainly appeared when they were in London that he had a preference for that young lady. She would be a good choice of wife for David. She was a calm, sensible woman. Algernon could imagine her as a vicar's wife, soothing the ruffled spirits of those who came to the vicarage to find David from home.

However, on this occasion it seemed unlikely that his cousin would be willing to come. He would still be too wrapped up in the novelty of his new life. Algernon chose Raymond Holland instead, and the four of them decided to walk across the hills to the Red Fox Inn, where they might refresh themselves with cider or lemonade before returning.

It had seemed like a good plan. Algernon had envisaged a quiet and peaceful afternoon stroll. But it was evident almost as soon as they left the house, Celia Barnes on Holland's arm, Rachel on his, that all was not well. Rachel's manner was bright and brittle, her chatter loud and constant. She pulled at his arm and strode on ahead of the other two so that they were a noticeable distance ahead before the house was even out of sight.

"What is it, Rache?" he asked, patting her hand on his arm during one of the rare moments when he was able to put in a word.

He might as well have taken a fork and burst a bubble. She stopped chattering immediately and seemed to collapse inward on herself.

"I have missed you, Algie," she said in such a tone that he thought she was about to cry. "I did not see you for five whole days. And now I have not seen you since the dinner the night before last. I have missed you."

"I did not call yesterday mainly because I thought you would need to rest after your long journey and the busy evening immediately after it," Algernon said. "I wish I had come now, Rache."

"I feel a little lost when I do not see you frequently," she said. "That is all. I don't think I altogether enjoyed London, Algie. I feel a little frightened."

He patted her hand again and looked closely at her. "What is this?" he said. "Is this the young lady who took the ton by storm, who had every eligible gentleman dangling after her? Is this the young lady who has been the envy of every other female because the Marquess of Stanford has been paying court to her? Is that the trouble, Rache?" His tone had gentled. "Did he not come to the point?"

"Yes, he did," she said, "and I am so bewildered. I know that I should be delighted, you see, but I can't be. If I marry him, I shall have to leave home. And I am not old enough to leave here, Algie. I would not know how to go on."

"You, Rache?" he said kindly. "You will be a success wherever you go, you know. I am confident of that."

"Oh, Algie," she said, turning a face of such unhappiness up to him that he gripped her hand tightly and leaned his head toward her, "I want you to offer for me. I have always thought we had an understanding. We have, have we not? But when I try to think about when we have spoken of it, I cannot remember a time. And then I think it is all in my imagination and you do not mean to offer for me at all. And I think I would die if you do not want me, Algie. I don't feel safe with anyone but you."

Her voice was thin and breathless, quite unlike her usual bright and happy prattle.

Algernon turned quite pale. He continued to grip her hand but said nothing for a moment. "Rache!" he said at last. "Don't upset yourself. Of course I am very fond of you. You know that, you little goose. And of course you are safe with me."

"But that is all?" She looked back at him distraught. "There is no understanding between us? It has all been in my imagination? You are not going to offer for me?"

"I don't think this is the time to talk about such a thing, Rache," he said, patting her hand, trying to soothe her. "You are upset about something and of course you turn to me. As you should. We have always been dear friends. But I think perhaps that is all I am to you, Rache. You are very young, and you have had great success this Season. When you have calmed down, I am sure you will find that you wish to be free to choose a husband far more dazzling than I am."

"No," she said. "No, it is not true, Algie. I love you. You are the very dearest person I know. And I am sure I will only ever be happy with you. I will make you happy too. You do love me, don't you?"

"Of course I love you," he said. "You have always been my dearest little Rache. You know that."

"Then marry me," she said, her face suddenly bright and eager again. "Marry me, Algie. Let us not wait any longer. I am nineteen and I have made my come-out. Marry me so that I may be with you all the time and be safe. I will make you happy, Algie. I swear it. It will be my life's work to make you happy. And we will have children. I will give you children."

He looked down into her eager face, his own still pale. "Let us wait just a little while before making anything official," he said. "We will keep all this to ourselves until summer is over and all your guests are gone, shall we? We can decide then what is best to do. In the meantime, you have houseguests to entertain, and you may well be glad of your freedom yet."

"And in the autumn we will be betrothed?" Rachel's face was lit up with happiness. "We will, Algie? And you will speak to Papa? Oh, I am so happy. I do love you so." She stopped in her tracks, flung her arms up around his neck, and hugged him so hard that he thought for one moment that she was trying to strangle him.

"Do have a care, Rache," he said, glancing back in some anxiety to be sure that the other couple was not yet in sight. He put his arms around her and hugged her briefly and comfortingly, his pale face hidden against her shoulder for a moment.

"Kiss me, Algie," she said suddenly, taking him by the lapels of his coat and looking at him with bright and urgent eyes. "Hold me and kiss me. Please."

"I say, Rache," he protested, his hands going to her waist. But he put his mouth to hers and kept it there for a few moments before lifting his head and glancing uneasily back the way they had come.

Mr. Holland and Celia were just appearing over a rise. Rachel waved her hand to them, took Algernon's arm again, and walked on with him. Soon she was talking away happily, much more her usual self again, an uneasy Algernon noticed.

They reached the Red Fox soon after and were regaled by the landlord's gossip until the other two joined them there. And Rachel was determinedly and loudly gay all through tea and then bore off Raymond Holland for the walk back home.

Lord Rivers tucked Celia's arm through his and held it comfortably against his side. "Will you be content with a sedate stroll home, Miss Barnes?" he asked with a smile. "Or would you prefer to stride along so that we may keep up with Rache and Holland?"

"The stroll by all means, my lord," Celia replied, "unless you have an appointment that necessitates our hurrying. Rachel has always been the same ever since I first knew her. She will never walk if it is possible to run. It was a good thing that Mr. Holland and I knew we were to take tea at the Red Fox, or we might have lost the two of you among the hills an hour ago."

Algernon relaxed somewhat as he matched his pace to that of his companion and listened to her quiet and intelligent conversation. Miss Barnes was not a particularly pretty young lady and her company was not especially exciting. But there was something very comfortable about her presence. He was glad of her company at that moment. She was the sort of person with whom one did not have to make any effort at conversation-not because she was dull, but because her conversation was easy and matched his own thoughts so nearly.

"Did you find yourself greatly fatigued yesterday?" he asked abruptly.

"Rather," she said. "We were actually glad of a quiet day at home. I of course took great delight in exploring the house."

"Rache was tired too?" he asked.

She smiled. "It is almost hard to believe, is it not?" she said. "I have never known quite such a bundle of energy as Rachel. But she was quite out of sorts yesterday."

"And today?" he asked.

She hesitated. "You have noticed it too?" she asked. "She seems almost dangerously high-spirited. And yet not happy." She frowned, her own words making no sense to her.

Algernon sighed. "I sometimes think Rache is more nymph than woman," he said. "There is no use in our worrying, Miss Barnes, and wondering what we can do to help her. I daresay she will be herself again by tomorrow."

"Yes," she said, "I do hope so."

"I thought I might ride over tomorrow and escort the two of you into the village to see if we can find David at home," he said casually, watching her from the corner of his eye. He was satisfied to see her color up and drop her eyes before agreeing calmly that that would be very pleasant.

Chapter 6

Oakland looked more festive than Rachel remembered seeing it. There had been formal dinners there before, and even some balls. But there had been nothing on quite such a lavish scale as this. All the neighbors for miles around had been invited, but the big attraction, of course, was the presence at the house of a dozen guests, all freshly arrived from the Season in London. Under the circumstances there was not a single refusal of the invitations sent out. Only a select few had been invited to dinner, but there would be a respectable crowd at the ball, considering the fact that this was not London.