The Homecoming by M. C. Beaton, Marion Chesney Page A

Mr. Bond is an exceptional young man,” said Miss Trumble. “Ah, here he is.”
    “I have a letter from your father, Miss Moon,” said Peter. “He thanks us for our hospitality but is much engaged with farm work and cannot join you.”
    Relief lit up Tiffin’s eyes.
    “The day is too fine for you to be indoors,” said Miss Trumble. “Mr. Bond, why do you not take Miss Moon down and introduce her to the other guests?”
    Tiffin shrank back in her chair. “Oh, I could not. I dare not.”
    “Nonsense, child,” said Miss Trumble. “Run along. I will sit with your aunt.”
    Peter smiled and held out his arm.
    “I am quite terrified,” whispered Tiffin as she and Peter made their way downstairs. The sheer richness of Mannerling, from painted ceilings to cornices and down to the marble tiles of the entrance hall struck fresh fear into her heart. “Does His Grace know I am here?”
    “Yes, of course. I informed him of your aunt’s accident as soon as he returned.”
    When they approached the party, who had just finished a game of croquet, Tiffin quailed before the battery of curious eyes. Peter led Tiffin up to the duke.
    “I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” said the duke. “You are welcome to stay until your aunt is well enough to complete her journey home.”
    “Thank you,” whispered Tiffin.
    “Perhaps, Mr. Bond,” said the duke, “you would be so good as to show Miss Moon the gardens? They are very fine at this time of year.”
    Peter bowed and led Tiffin away. Tiffin almost skipped along beside him. As soon as they were out of earshot, she said, “What a relief!”
    “To get the introductions over with?”
    “Oh, no, the duke. He is so old!”
    “He is thirty-four, Miss Moon.”
    “Yes, but that is old indeed, so neither Aunt nor Papa can entertain any ambitions there.”
    “I would be surprised if they entertained any ambitions at all,” said Peter drily.
    “You do not know them. When it comes to social ambition, I think people go a little mad.”
    “You have the right of it,” said Peter gloomily. The duke on his return had given his secretary a brief and pithy account of Miss Walters’s disgraceful behaviour and Peter had not been able to find the courage to tell his master that Sarah was unrepentant. As they turned into the rose garden, Peter had a desire to confide in someone. He had been hoping to have a private word with Lizzie, but that might not be until the evening, and the desire to unburden himself was great. He found himself telling Tiffin all about Sarah Walters.
    “Really. How terrible!” exclaimed Tiffin. “If she cannot appreciate you for the fine and brave man you are and worth a hundred dukes, she is not worth knowing!”
    And although Peter smiled sadly, the large eyes turned up to his own warmed his heart.
    “What a little charmer,” said Gerald after Tiffin was led away. “Such eyes!”
    Lizzie felt cast down. The duke was walking a little way away with Lady Verity. She had to admit to herself ruefully that she had had a little hope that Gerald might turn out to be the amiable husband that she sometimes longed for.
    “Who was that odd creature?” Lady Verity was asking the duke.
    “If you mean the pretty and charming Miss Moon,” said the duke, “the pole of her carriage broke outside the gates and her aunt was knocked unconscious. Miss Moon will be staying until her aunt is recovered.”
    “How very convenient that her carriage broke down where it did,” said Lady Verity acidly. “A farmer’s daughter, too! But I, too, am used to the machinations of pretentious people.”
    “Miss Moon appears sweet and innocent,” he said coldly. What had Gerald Parkes said to take the sunshine from Lizzie’s face?
    Sarah Walters looked moodily off in the direction that Peter had gone. She had decided to use Mr. Bond for her own ends. He must know his master better than anyone and she planned to pump him for information.
    Her father, who had been sitting with his