On the main floor of the house there was a large formal dining
hall, a small family dining room, a reception room, and the apartment
set aside for Jean and his wife. The second floor consisted of a
library, a smaller room for Jean’s work, and two big reception rooms
that could be opened into one large room for dancing. The third
floor of the house held Skye’s bedchamber, dayroom, and dressing
room, besides two guest chambers and the nursery apartments.

The house was built near the river’s edge, but set back enough
to allow for a rear garden, the walls of which rose up from the water.
Skye had her own private quai. This was a distinct advantage, for
it allowed Skye her own barge. She immediately commissioned one
built, and, shortly thereafter, a bargeman was added to the staff.
Everyone in the house was delighted by this, for river travel was
often preferable to land, especially so in times of unrest.

The tradesmen with whom Skye did business were eager for the
bonuses promised. Within the week the house was filled with all
the things she had ordered. Everything was of the best quality. Skye
had warned the tradesmen that she would not accept shoddy goods.
She was not aware that many of the goods had been made for others.


Merchants had sent her things that other customers would now have
to wait several months for.

She hurried from room to room, directing the hanging of drap-
eries, tapestries, and pictures, the placement of furniture. The rooms
began to take on life and, finally contented, Skye walked slowly
throughout her house. It was well after midnight, and the exhausted
servants had long since sought their beds. She entered each room
and looked about with satisfaction.

The oak furniture gleamed with a polish that only hand rubbing
and pure beeswax could give it. Upon the dark wide floorboards
were thick Turkey carpets. The use of carpets was unusual. Many
homes, even those of the wealthy, still used rushes mixed with herbs
upon the floors. There were colorful tapestries and paintings through-
out the house, for Captain Small was clever at ferreting out those
noble but impoverished families who were willing to discreetly sell such items. Heavy draperies in velvet and silk hung from the leaded
casement windows. Brass sconces adorned the paneled walls. Silver
twinkled on the sideboards. The scene was one of elegance and
wealth.

As Skye departed each room she snuffed out the beeswax candles
carefully. She would not allow fat or tallow in the house, even in
the servants quarters, for she disliked the smell. There were porce-
lain bowls of potpourri in all the rooms. The river was known, after
all, to stink occasionally.

She entered her apartment and found Daisy, who had arrived
several days ago, dozing by the fire. The girl jumped when she saw
her mistress.

“Daisy, you didn’t have to wait up. But since you’re here, unlace
me, and then off to bed with you.”

“I don’t mind, mistress,” said Daisy as she undid Skye’s gown
and helped her out of her petticoats. She wisked the clothing into
the dressing room and soon was back dipping water from the fireplace
kettle into an earthenware pitcher. “Are you sure you don’t need me
further, ma’am?”

“No, Daisy. Go to bed.”

The little maid was quickly gone. Skye sat down wearily and
carefully rolled off her gossamer stockings. Naked, she walked
across her room and had a leisurely wash with her favorite damask
rose soap. Sliding into an embroidered pale-blue silk caftan, she
extinguished the candles and went to sit in her bedroom window
seat, facing the river.

The moon silvered the water. She could see a barge pull into the
quai two houses down. Two figures, a man and a woman, climbed
out of the boat and went slowly up the steps to the garden. At the
top of the stairway they kissed for a long moment. Then the gentle-
man picked up the lady and they were lost to view. Sighing, she
sought her bed, and slept badly. The memory of the romantic scene
she had watched bumed into her and made her ache. Skye was
twenty years old, and for the first time since Khalid’s death over a
year ago, she deeply wanted a man to love her. She rose, weeping
softly, and took a bottle of blackberry brandy from her dayroom
sideboard. She then crawled back into the window seat and drank
herself to sleep.

Next door, the owner of the small riverside palace was also wake-
ful. The Earl of Lynmouth paced his bedroom floor excitedly,
scarcely able to believe his good fortune. Not only was his new
neighbor the beautiful Senora Goya del Fuentes, but he had found
a way to victory over de Grenville. He chuckled. He would pay his
respects to the lady, but if she had not willingly succumbed by

Twelfth Night, then he would blackmail her into submission.

The Earl of Lynmouth entertained lavishly, and his parties were
famous. He had recently come up to London to see that his house
was properly prepared for Christmas and Twelfth Night. The Queen
herself would be attending several seasonal festivities, including his
Twelfth Night masque. Geoffrey had been quite astounded to find
mat the beautiful Mistress Goya del Fuentes was the owner of the
little jewel of a house at the end of the Strand, and had watched
with interest as the house was refurbished. A connoisseur, he noted
her choices with an approving eye as the tradesmen lugged their
merchandise into her house.

Now the time had come for him to make his first move to capture
the lady. He would woo her gently at first, and then if necessary he
would threaten her with exposure. Through a fantastic piece of luck,
he had discovered her true history. He owned a one-third share in
a ship that traded in the Mideast, and when it had returned recently
to London he had gone aboard to see to his interests. Through the
bow window of the master’s cabin he had seen Robert Small. He
asked his Captain Browne, “Do you know who that man is on the
next ship?”

“Aye, my lord. That be Captain Robert Small of Bideford in
Devon. The Mermaid is his ship.”

Captain Browne drew in on his pipe, then gently puffed out a
curl of blue smoke. “Robbie Small is a lucky devil, my lord. He
needn’t go off to sea at all, for he’s a wealthy man and was born
of gentry, too. But the sea’s a wanton bitch, and when she gets in
your blood it’s hard to rid yourself of her.”

“Was he born to wealth?” prodded the Earl gently.

“No. The family fortunes were pretty low until he went into
partnership with the great Whoremaster of Algiers, Khalid el Bey.
How they met I don’t know, but they somehow became friends and
the bey backed Robbie in several ventures. Finally when he was on
his feet, they became equal partners. And so they remained for over
ten years.”

“What happened then?”

“The bey was killed a year and a half ago, murdered by one of
his women. Bless me! He ran the finest cathouses in the East, he
did. The most famous of them was called the House of Felicity, and
the woman who ran it for him finally did him in. They say she was
jealous of his young wife, and thought it was the wife she was
stabbing. At any rate, the young widow soon disappeared and it was
discovered that she had sold everything her husband owned. The
captain-governor of the Casbah fortress went wild with rage. He’d
had his eye on the young widow. God help Robbie Small if he ever sets foot in Algiers again, for the Casbah captain knows Small helped
the lady Skye leave Algiers.”

Geoffrey Southwood felt his heart lurch wildly. “Skye?” he asked.

“The bey’s wife. Her name was Skye muna el Khalid. She herself
is another wild tale. More wine, sir?”

“Tell me!”

And so Captain Browne told him all he had heard about Skye,
which was a great deal indeed. And when Geoffrey left the ship,
he was elated. His coach clattered back through the noisy city streets
and he began to plot.

It was her! There could be no mistake! And he had her, for there
was a child. The bey’s child? Probably. Robert Small did not act
like her lover. She would probably do anything to protect her child,
for the child’s future would be determined by its family’s reputation.
As long as she was the respectable young widow, all would be well.
She would not want her true story known, for her own sake and for
the child’s. Yes… Geoffrey had her!

Geoffrey Southwood was a wealthy man. Although he seldom
discussed it, his paternal grandmother had been a rich merchant’s
daughter. Over the past few centuries many noble families had mar-
ried into the monied middle class to increase their finances. The
Southwood family understood that money was power. They were
not an important family, but their title was an ancient one, earned
on the field at the Battle of Hastings.

The first Earl of Lynmouth had been Geoffroi de Sudbois, the
third son of a noble Norman family. He had joined Duke William’s
invasion of England in hopes of winning a place for himself and his
descendants, for there was nothing for him in his native France. His
oldest brother was his father’s undisputed heir and had three sons
of his own. The next de Sudbois brother had opted for the religious
life, and was already the valued right hand of his prior. The Duke
of Normandy’s invasion of England was a godsend to Geoffroi de
Sudbois, for it offered him a chance to make a place for himself.

His father gave him war-horses and their equipage, along with
a small velvet bag of gold. When Geoffroi’s oldest brother protested,
his father said, “As long as I live, what is mine shall be disposed
of as I choose. When I am gone, and it is yours, you may dispose
of it your way. Do not be greedy, Gilles. Your brother cannot
succeed unless he is properly equipped and mounted. Do you want
him to always have nothing? To be constantly coming back here
coveting your position, his mere presence a threat to your boys? It
will be better for all if he makes a place for himself in England.”