Tell me again why I let you talk me into this?” Drew Farthering tugged at the starched cravat tied high under his chin and made a face at the little boy sniggering at him from the back seat of the Morris Eight passing on the other side of the road. He felt all kinds of fool driving through Hampshire dressed like a Regency buck, beaver hat, walking stick and all, but those were the rules. At least it wasn’t a long drive.

Madeline swatted him with one white-gloved hand. “Leave that alone. Plum?eld did a beautiful job tying it, and I don’t want it ruined before we even get there.”

He sighed, and she leaned over to kiss his cheek.

“You let me talk you into this, darling,” Madeline said, “because you adore me and it was the only thing I wanted for our anniversary.”

“Ah, yes, the ever-glorious tenth of December, 1932. Still, six months isn’t a proper anniversary, you know.” He huffed, hiding his smile from her. “You’re just trying to set Nick up with your friend Carrie again.”

She did look perfectly fetching in her white muslin dress and short Spencer jacket. A broad-brimmed straw hat, trimmed with silk violets and held on with a wide cherry- colored ribbon just the shade of the jacket, finished the pic- ture. She obviously knew just how tempting she was.

“Not again,” she said. “Still. And this time he won’t have to be running around seeing to everything at the estate. They’ll both have a whole week of enjoying themselves and getting to know each other better.” She slipped her arm through Drew’s and snuggled against him. “I’m glad your friends don’t mind if we bring them along.”

“Old Cummins? Of course he doesn’t mind. The more the merrier, that’s his motto. His wife’s a bit quieter, but I’m sure you’ll like her. They’re both perfectly grand. A bit Victorian, mind you, yet not stuffy. Oh, Tal and his ? ancée will be there, as well. He and Nick and I will have a chance to catch up. Haven’t seen him since Oxford.”

“What’s he like?” Madeline asked, resting her head on his shoulder.

“He’s a good chap. Good at history and languages, though no head for figures at all. He’d have punked out in mathemat- ics if Nick hadn’t pulled him through. Can’t tell you I was much better. Oh, I say!”

The Rolls-Royce crested a hill, giving them a glorious view of Winteroak House, the Cummins estate. It gleamed white in the lush sea of green grass surrounding it, a grand manor house in the Georgian style, three floors high and at least fifteen windows wide. The entrance was grander still with columns and a marble bas-relief of the family coat of arms above the doorway. No matter if the family belonging to the coat of arms happened to have sold the house decades before.

“I’ve always thought it a nice view of the Solent,” Drew said, and she frowned.

“What’s that?”

“The Solent? It’s right there, between this shore and the Isle of Wight over there. We used to go bathing in the water every day when we came down here. And we’d dig fossils on the beach and in the old caves. It was grand.”

Madeline sat up, eyes shining as she looked down on it all. “How long has it been since you’ve been here?”

“Oh, several years now. I’d forgotten how nice it is. Tal had Nick and me down from school during the hols a few times. That is when we weren’t up at Farthering Place. I think my parents spent some time here with Mr. and Mrs. Cummins when they were ?rst married, but mostly the Cumminses came up to visit us.”

“I hope Nick won’t be late,” she said, looking back at the road behind them. “Carrie’s ship was supposed to be in at two-ten.”

“Don’t worry, darling. There’s no chance he’ll miss that ship. Not since he knows Carrie’s on it. Once they get in, though, they’ll all have to change into the right togs before they come out here. And you know how girls are about taking forever to dress.”

She pursed her lips. “And you swore it was worth the wait.” “I said you were worth the wait.” He squeezed her a little closer to him. “And I’ll stand by that statement, but I can’t answer for anyone else. I suppose they could have gotten here before us, but we won’t know till we get inside.”

By then they were at the park gates. A bewigged and liveried servant bowed deeply as Drew brought the Rolls to a stop.

“Good afternoon, sir.”

He held out his hand, and Drew gave him their invitation.

“Welcome to Winteroak House, Mr. and Mrs. Farther- ing.” He opened Madeline’s door and handed her out as another servant swung open the gates. “If you would go through, madam, sir, Dryden will drive you down to the house.”

Dryden, standing beside a vintage barouche pulled by perfectly matched bays, tipped his hat.

Drew frowned and got out of the car. “Wouldn’t it be easier if we drove to the house? I mean, I wouldn’t want anyone to have to bother with the Rolls and all that.”

“Beg pardon, sir,” said the ?rst man, “but Mr. Cummins is very particular on this point. He says we’re not to allow anything less than a hundred years old past the gates. Guests excepted, of course. Jimmy here will see to your car and have your luggage brought up nice as you please.”

Drew glanced at the boy, who couldn’t have been older than sixteen, then at the Rolls, and then pleadingly at Madeline. Eyes twinkling, she took his arm and drew him toward the barouche.

“It’ll be fine, darling,” she murmured as the boy handed Drew his beaver hat and walking stick and then hopped behind the wheel.

“Not to worry, gov,” said the boy as he revved the engine. “I’ll treat ’er better than me own gran.”

Then with a spatter of gravel he and the Rolls were gone. Drew looked longingly after them and sighed. “All right,

Mrs. Farthering, shall we?”

She made a brief curtsy, head modestly lowered. “Thank you, sir.”

Before they reached the barouche, another car came over the rise and pulled up to the gates. It was Nick in the Daimler, with Carrie Holland in the front seat beside him. Drew didn’t recognize the young man, perhaps sixteen or seventeen years old, who sat in the back.