Captain Langthorne's Proposal. Elizabeth Beacon

would steal the Dowager’s stubborn old mare, of course, but Serena didn’t want to lose her lovely Donna, the one present she had received from George she had truly appreciated.

      ‘Gently, lovely girl,’ she murmured, as the fretting thoroughbred grew frustrated with the slow pace. ‘It’s much too dark to risk our necks tonight, but next time it’s clear moonlight we’ll have a good gallop, and to the devil with propriety,’ she promised recklessly.

      Donna shook her dark head sagely, as if she understood every word, and suddenly Serena felt like laughing out loud. In the darkness, with nobody awake for miles around to see her, she felt young and carefree again for a few precious moments. Maybe the fact that she was still only four and twenty was breaking through the pall of respectability George had insisted on at last. Indeed, she was enjoying herself so much that she might have let her horse find her way as she chose until dawn came if not for Sir Adam’s lone watch for villains unscrupulous enough to disturb the dead.

      Nagging concern finally nipped away her euphoria in the most disturbing fashion, and if Sir Adam had been nearby he might have received a mighty scold for his recklessness even as she managed to ignore her own. Such a protest might be interpreted as caring for the wretch’s well-being, of course, so she would just make sure he was safe, then go home without him ever knowing she had been there. She checked Donna and wondered how on earth she could conceal her from any watchful ears and eyes.

      Farmer Grey’s barn was far enough away from both farm and village for her to leave Donna there in safety and walk the rest of the way in silence. When they got there she found it already tenanted by Sir Adam’s raking grey, and Serena sighed even as her mare pushed impatiently at her shoulder. Donna might not get a gallop tonight, but the exclusive company of her beloved Silver Birch was probably even better to her way of thinking.

      Serena unsaddled her mare and rubbed her down. No doubt she would have a job catching her when it was time to persuade her to leave her favourite companion behind, but that was a problem for later.

      Afterwards she would have no idea how she’d managed that walk through the dark countryside. Before she had had the warm breathing presence of her horse to keep her company, but now she suddenly felt horribly alone in the deserted lane. Or at least she fervently hoped it was deserted. All of a sudden her imagination was ready to believe almost anything was lurking just beyond the limits of night vision. The furtive movement of some living thing off to her right made her freeze in her tracks, almost expecting a heavy hand to fall on her shoulder, or an angry fist to club down on her head. She softly cursed herself for an over-imaginative fool when she heard the sharp, hoarse call of a vixen and forced herself to carry on, despite the shiver of primitive fright it gave her.

      Once a hunting barn owl went past her on pale wings and she recalled the country superstition insisted that they were omens of death. Yes—death for some small creature going unwarily about its business, she told herself hardily, and ordered her racing heartbeat to slow down. The creatures of the night were not to be feared in this safe corner of England; it was the human beings who might be in it that she should be wary of.

      She managed to reach the churchyard wall in safety, and once she’d furtively clambered over it there were a whole new parcel of fears and superstitions to overcome.

      Luckily Serena had never been terrified of the peaceful dead. To her way of thinking a churchyard set in a sunny countryside was far too quiet a place for the dead to bother haunting. If they walked at all, they would look for more promising places than hallowed ground, and she quite enjoyed a stroll among the gravestones while she was awaiting the Dowager after church on Sundays. Fortunately George was interred in the Cambray mausoleum at Windham—which reminded her, she must make sure nobody ever put her with him when she reached the end of her earthly span.

      She reassured herself that her fascination with the worthy inhabitants of the village in days past didn’t make her morbid, as the Dowager insisted, but this place certainly had no horrors for her by daylight. Now it felt curiously alien, though, and the sweep of a furtive breeze in the yew and holly trees sounded like someone whispering dark mischief to an imagination that had suddenly grown annoyingly vivid. There was nobody here, she assured herself. Well, nobody but Sir Adam Langthorne, and she might well give him a large piece of her mind when she finally tracked him down and found him perfectly hale and hearty.