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not land on the beach below Stenton Castle. There was nothing like the painstaking examination, the charting of every minute detail of the estuary and the beach to cool an amateur’s desire for an adventure.
    “Very well.” He set the empty cup on the bricked hearth and rose. “But if you don’t care to accompany me, you’ll have to play host tomorrow morning.”
    Nicholas yawned again. “Stewart said something about taking out one of your hacks. Thought I’d ride with him.”
    Clive was not deceived by his friend’s sleepy look and casual tone. Nick was as worried as he was about Major Stewart Astley.
    “Excellent. Try to have him back by luncheon, though. Sir John and Lady Astley should be here by then.”
    “Have they seen him since he returned?”
    “No. Stewart and Juliette meant to visit them in Hertfordshire, but for some reason or other nothing came of it. I think it was Stewart who balked at the last moment, and that’s why Juliette asked me to invite his parents to join us here at Stenton.”
    “It’s a damned shame about his arm. But I never thought he’d take it so devilish hard.”
    “Stewart’s a proud man. Try to imagine yourself without an arm.”
    “By Jove!” exclaimed Nicholas, much struck. “I’d have to let Treadwell tie my cravats!”
    “And someone would have to cut up your meat.” Clive’s mouth tightened as he remembered dinner. He had wanted to shake Juliette for performing the service for Stewart. Much better to have let a footman do it. But he also had to admire her calm acceptance of the situation.
    “Adjustment will take awhile. But I doubt not that Stewart will adjust.” He turned to the door. “I’ll bid you good night. I want to be up and gone before my guests arise.”
    “No need to worry about the ladies. I’ll swallow my quizzing glass if one of them is down before ten. But Wilmott, I believe, is an early riser.”
    “I trust you to do your duty by him.”
    Clive lit one of the bedroom candles a footman had set out on the piecrust table just inside the door and left Nicholas to the pleasures of the punch bowl.
    The library as well as his chambers were located on the first floor of the south wing, but at opposite ends. Leaving the library, he must walk past the billiard room, various estate offices, the muniment room, and the so-called ducal suite, all facing the Channel. The passage then turned sharply right into the former nurseries, which had been converted into bedchambers, some of them with an adjacent sitting room. These chambers all boasted a splendid view of the estuary.
    The candles in the wall sconces had long been extinguished, and the light from Clive’s bedroom candle hardly served to let him see two or three feet ahead. The gloomy darkness was a nuisance, but quite his own fault. He should have personally overseen the renovations of the south wing and ordered the wall sconces replaced by oil lamps.
    His footsteps echoed dully on the parquet floor. Once again uneasiness stole over him. Was he imagining the second set of footsteps? Soft, whispered steps. Yet there was no stealth in them.
    Shielding the candle flame with his hand, he swung around. He saw nothing but the closed door of the muniment room, the steep darkness of the corridor, and his shadow on the wall paneling. But wait! Wasn’t there a second shadow, much paler than his own?
    Slowly he turned. As he completed the circle, he stepped closer to the wall where he had seen the shadows—and gave a snort of disgust. Only the thought of his sister Fanny and her husband asleep behind the next set of doors kept him from laughing aloud at his own foolishness. Of course there had not been two shadows. The paler image he had seen was a tapestry showing the white-capped waters of the Channel with Stenton Castle atop the chalk cliffs in the background.
    And of course there was no second set of footsteps. Just his own as he walked on and rounded the corner. He had become a doddering fool during the