‘That is where I really want to be,’ she mused.
She found herself wondering whether the Earl was riding every morning on the gallops and if she would ever own a horse swift enough to beat Caesar.
It seemed absurd, in fact she told herself that it was sheer imagination, but she missed the Earl, her fights with him and even the feeling of disapproval that he aroused in her whenever they met.
What was he doing now?
How many pictures had he sold?
When she went back, would there be nothing left in the Gallery?
It was agonising to think of what had been lost and yet, instead of seeing the treasures she loved, she had a different vision in her mind.
It was of the Earl himself, the mocking look in his eyes, the twist to his lips and the way that he was entirely at his ease in his untidy rat
