She saw the roof of the old grey house showing above the last fold in the hillside. Would Adam have any news? He would certainly notice how well his uncle looked. Exercise, good food and rest… Her mouth twitched. And love, which had left them breathless.

She had often wondered if Adam resembled his father in any way. There was no portrait of Hugh in the house; and she guessed that Bolitho’s father had made certain of that after Hugh had disgraced himself and the family name. Not because of his gambling, the resulting debts from which had almost crippled the estate until Richard’s success as a frigate captain had brought prize-money to clear them. Hugh had even killed a fellow officer in a duel related to gambling.

All that, their father could possibly have forgiven. But to desert the navy and fight on the side of the Americans in their war of independence: that had been beyond everything. She thought of all the grave-eyed portraits that lined the walls and the landing. They seemed to watch and assess her whenever she climbed the stairs. Surely they had not all been saints?

A stable-lad took the bridle and Catherine said, "A good rub down, eh?" She saw another horse munching busily in the stables, and a blue and gold saddle-cloth. Adam was already here.

She tossed her head and allowed her long dark hair to fall free on her shoulders.

As she opened the double doors she saw them standing by the great log fire. They could have been brothers, black hair and the Bolitho features she saw repeated in the portraits, the faces she had studied while this house had become a home around her. Her eyes settled only briefly on the table, and the canvas envelope which bore the Admiralty’s fouled-anchor cipher. She had somehow known it would be there. It was a shock, nonetheless.