Morning sunlight shining in the window woke Frances to find herself spooned against her husband, his arm resting lightly across her breast. She turned to cuddle into him and looked into delighted brown eyes already widening in arousal, "Good morning, wife," he said, before kissing her. "How do you feel this morning?"

"Hungry!" came the prosaic answer. He laughed and was about to get reluctantly out of bed, when she pulled him back down with a teasing smile, "Hungry for you, my lord."

"I love it when you call me that," he groaned, taking her in his arms again. They were very late downstairs for breakfast that morning but no-one seemed surprised!

Their two servants and companions had already eaten and were packing their bags, and John offered to help Carleton with his boots if he wished it. Frances dressed herself in a sprigged muslin gown that Mrs Pearson had salvaged from her room at Lady Murray's; once settled at Chatswood, she would require the urgent services of a dress maker, for the second time in as many weeks. In a short time the party was on their way again, this time to Chatswood, Carleton riding again to give the ladies more space in the carriage. He hoped Fanshaw had already taken Mrs Madden to Theo.

The afternoon sun was glinting on the windows of Chatswood when they arrived, Williams braced on the steps at the front to greet them, a polite, if rather fixed, smile on his face. What bumble-broth had his lord got himself into this time? He was reassured to see Mrs Pearson's respectable figure descend from the carriage, and looked past her with an unexpected degree of optimism that his new mistress would not be too far beneath his master's touch. His first impression was hopeful, the young woman now descending was elegant and graceful and then he caught a good look at her face.

He froze. Surely that wasn't? No of course it could not be, a chance resemblance only. He gathered himself together as Carleton came towards him, his wife's hand on his arm. "Frances, this is Williams, Williams my wife Lady Frances, and her companion Mrs Pearson. I am sure you will serve my wife as well as you have served me."

"Welcome, my lady," he murmured, still staring after her as they all went into the house. He had almost convinced himself the resemblance was less strong than he had thought, when he caught sight of Fanshaw, who was waiting to greet his new mistress. He looked like nothing more than a stuffed pike, his mouth was even gaping open slightly. "Ah, Fanshaw," Carleton greeted him smoothly, "Let me present my wife to you, as I said earlier, she has recently come from abroad."

Fanshaw looked blankly at his master for a moment before understanding dawned on him. He gulped. "Of course, my lord." He looked at Frances and blushed involuntarily, "Welcome ... er ... my lady," he managed.

Carleton frowned at him but Frances drew him away to introduce her to the rest of the staff before he could say anything. "Richard, you will need to give them time to grow accustomed to me," she said quietly.

"I will dismiss anyone who is insolent to you!" He said angrily under his breath.

"Very well, but let's make allowances for a few days; you must admit it is quite a shock. Thank goodness we have Mrs Pearson with us to lend us some respectability!" She added with a wry smile.

The next few days went better than Frances had expected. There were numerous sideways looks when they thought she was unaware, but none of the servants were openly hostile to her as Mrs Madden had been. She thought the real test for Richard would be in his relationship with the squire. If Squire Herbert gave either of them the direct cut, not only would it bring home to Carleton that he was now on the outskirts of society, but it would be very uncomfortable for the whole neighbourhood, forcing the local people to take sides.

She remembered the squire had been a blunt man, who she thought would appreciate an honest approach. She suggested to Richard that they invite the Squire to call on them one morning by himself to discuss an item of business, so that he did not have to make an immediate decision as to whether he would recognise the new Lady Carleton socially or to bring his family with him. "After your business is concluded, you may introduce me and I shall tell him a little of our story, then it will be up to him whether he chooses to be our friend or not."

Carleton agreed this was a sensible idea and sent off a messenger requesting the squire to call on him in the next day or so.

When Squire Herbert had heard the news that there was a mistress at Chatswood he had been thrown into disarray. Was it the French girl he had met a few weeks ago or not? He was relieved to get the message from Carleton asking him to call, now he could go and see for himself, he hoped Carleton had not been gulled by a bit of muslin.

He presented himself the next day and his heart sank when he recognised the woman with Richard. However he was pleasantly surprised by her modest appearance and graceful manners as she invited him to be seated and take some refreshment while she explained her situation in perfect English.

"Richard and I thought we should explain a little of our circumstances to you, Squire. Your suspicions are correct, I was here before, masquerading as Peter Francis. I had recently arrived in England from abroad and was trying to establish my identity of which there was some question. I now know that my real name was Frances Metcalf and my parents were from Sevenoaks in Kent, my mother was Lady Amanda Murray and my father her second cousin, Henry Metcalf."

Squire Herbert was listening, eyes wide.

"My grandmother is Lady Anna Murray and she is attempting to deny my claim to my mother's estate, which is the sum of ten thousand pounds!" At this he glanced in amazement at Richard for confirmation and saw him nodding his head. "Now Richard and I are married, he will be able to confront my grandmother and insist on my inheritance. I would not marry him until I was certain I was legitimate," she confessed, giving a reason he could understand for the masquerade.

"Upon my word that sounds an astonishing tale!" exclaimed the Squire candidly, not meaning any insult.

Frances nodded in agreement, leaning forward, "Yes indeed, I would scarcely believe it myself, if it had not happened to me! Mrs Pearson, who is staying with us, has letters from my parents announcing my birth. She is my mother's old nurse and was companion to my grandmother before coming to me," she explained. "My parents' marriage is recorded in the parish register at St Martin's in Brasted."

"I realise our earlier conduct must seem rather ... unconventional," Carleton ventured earnestly, "But I can assure you-" He broke off as the Squire hastily put out a hand to stop him, "Not my business!" he said quickly, going slightly red in the face. "No need to explain anything to me, Carleton."

"Very well," conceded the other man. He did not want to put the Squire on the spot, but he also wished to start as he meant to go on, to let people know that he and his wife would not be shunning society. "Frances and I will hold a dinner party in a couple of weeks to introduce her to our local society, I do hope you and Marianne will be free to attend, but I will send an invitation once we are more settled."

Will Herbert murmured something non-committal and took his leave of them both politely.

"I think that went well, for the most part," offered Frances.

Carleton was frowning, still uncertain whether he should have insisted on telling the Squire he had not laid a hand on Frances until after they were wed. Frances stepped close to him and whispered in his ear, "Don't let it worry you, no one with eyes in their head is going to believe I didn't have my way with you as soon as I had the chance."

Carleton gave a startled laugh, then kissed her, "Now that you mention it, perhaps you could have your way with me again," he said suggestively.

~~~

Lady Murray was fuming. Her plan to control Frances had gone terribly astray, and not only that, but she had been forced to dismiss Mrs Pearson, her sole companion for the last twenty five years.

Mr Pilkington, standing gravely before her, had been unable to offer any real solution to her difficulties. "There is little we can do, my lady," he told her, with a long face. "Lord Carleton is obviously prepared to put her under his protection, and if he marries her as Mrs Pearson seemed to think, she will be quite beyond our reach. I assume there is no possibility of a reconciliation between the two of you?"

She snorted, "Over my dead body!"

"In that case, the only advice I can give you is to continue to deny her claims and stretch the settlement of the inheritance out as long as you can."

Lady Murray dismissed him and sat considering, there must be something else she could do.

Unbeknownst to her, the Comte Duverne was scheming along similar lines. After his unsuccessful attempt to injure the youth he had known as Louis Caron, he had sent his manservant to the Pelican the following day to find out what was happening and he had been regaled with a highly coloured account of the attack and the subsequent departure of 'Peter Francis' to somewhere in the country. 'Peter Francis' had then dropped out of sight.

The Comte had other business to occupy him in London, but his desire for revenge kept simmering in the background. He did not fully understand why he had taken such insult at this particular incident but there was something about the boy that aggravated him intensely. He remembered the name of the man the boy had accompanied to the opera, and kept an occasional eye on his comings and goings. Eventually his patience paid off, and his informant had seen Lord Carleton leaving for his country estate with the boy's servant driving his coach, surely the boy must be somewhere at hand.

A few days later he followed discreetly and took rooms in nearby Guildford, declaring that he was seeking to buy a small property in the area. He sent his manservant out daily to observe Carleton and his household, with orders to report back immediately if he caught sight of a young man in his company. He was just starting to attract unwanted attention for his lengthy stay in the neighbourhood, when his servant reported he had seen a young man out riding with Carleton that very morning on their way to the village. The Comte dressed in his plainest clothes and rode off to Chatswood himself, leaving his servant at the inn, he wanted no witnesses to his revenge.

He had familiarised himself with the locality the first day he had arrived in the area, and lost no time in making his way to the woods overlooking the pathway between Chatswood and Selby. If only they had not already returned! His hopes were based on the supposition that the two men would have stopped and spent some time on errands or business in the village. He tethered his horse out of sight and then walked until he found a vantage point where he could see a good way down the path, but stay unseen himself behind the hedgerows. He checked his pistol and waited impatiently.

Frances had ventured forth for the first time, dressed in Peter's clothes, accompanied by Carleton to pay a visit to the village, she considered it time to live up to her growing reputation as an Original. Unsurprisingly, she had received a mixed reception, although once the word got around that she had lived most of her life abroad, many just shrugged knowingly. That would explain it! They would wait and see how she conducted herself, before making up their minds about her. The fact that she was happy to put in a standing order for both food and household items from the village shop keepers was a point in her favour. It seemed like her new Ladyship was a right 'un, not too high in the instep to buy honest local goods instead of sending to London.

They were returning home, well content with the expedition, letting the horses amble along as they chatted to each other, when Carleton, who was looking ahead to see how much further they had to go, caught sight of a gun muzzle protruding from the bushes and flung himself towards Frances shouting, "Look out!"

Almost simultaneously there was a loud report. Carleton slumped against her, a patch of red blossoming on his shoulder, as Frances grabbed hold of him with her left arm and drew her pistol in one fast motion with her right. She brought it up in an automatic reflex and fired at the spot where the shooter had been hiding in less than a second.