Now for a few more moments she was alone in the room where they had loved so demandingly, as if they were trying to make up for the lost years.

She thought of Valentine Keen, his troubled face when he had spoken to her of his hopes and fears for his marriage to Zenoria. Another mystery: so close a band of brothers-poor Oliver Browne's "happy few"-and yet there was a coldness between Herrick and Keen. Because of Bolitho, or because of Zenoria?

She had never mentioned to Richard what she had seen in Adam's face at Keen's wedding. She might after all have been mistaken. In the same heartbeat, she knew she was not; she was too experienced not to recognise that Adam, Richard's nephew and the nearest to a son he would ever know, was in love with Keen's Zenoria.

But Adam was a captain now, albeit a very young one, and his first frigate, the Anemone, was somewhere at sea with the Channel Fleet. It was just as well, at least until things settled down again.

She tossed away her cloak and gazed at herself critically in a tall mirror. A woman envied, admired and hated. She cared for none of it.

She saw only the woman who was loved by England's hero. The man. She smiled, remembering Allday's sage-like confidences. Not the King's officer.

She was waiting for Bolitho when he reached the house in the late evening, although she had had no forewarning of the time of his arrival. He strode through the doors and gave his hat and cloak to the new maidservant, before taking Catherine in his arms.

They kissed, and he studied her for several seconds.

"Thomas Herrick is to be court-martialled."

She put her arms around his neck. "My news is not good either."

He held her away, searching her face anxiously. "You're not ill, Kate? What has happened?"

She said, "There was a woman here today."

"Who?"

"She left a card." Her voice was husky, almost despairing. "It was 'expected' that you might be here, she said." She looked at him directly. "Your daughter is unwell. The person sent as messenger would tell me nothing further."