Free Deceptions by Judith Michael Page A

admitting to himself once again that even though it was an anachronism, more museum than home, it was as splendid as anything he had ever seen.
    The rooms led one to another in stately grandeur, hugely proportioned and fabulously detailed, from parquetry and carved lintels to muUioned windows framed in ivory damask drapes with fringed velvet ties. The castle dated from 1575, when Sir William Longworth, member of Queen Elizabeth's Privy Council, built it in Treveston Village on land granted him for loyal service. Fifty years later his grandson hired England's greatest architect, Inigo Jones, to remodel the south front and add three state rooms and a Grand Staircase. Other descendants made more additions to a total of eighty rooms, and in the twentieth century the farms and parks were improved, including the addition of a narrow-gauge steam railway crisscrossing the estate.
    Shakespeare's troupe entertained in Treveston's Great Hall, and generations of farsighted Longworths filled the castle with a priceless collection of Titians, Rembrandtsand Gainsboroughs, rare books and prints and seventeenth-century tapestries and furniture.
    'Of course, you can't just hang a picture or buy a new rug when you want to,' Sabrina told Stephanie later as they sat on the balcony of her sitting room and bedroom. They were having tea while Garth tackled the maze. That's the first rule. But isn't it exciting an3rway?'
    *You look so happy,' Stephanie said. *Is it possible for anyone to be as happy as you look?'
    They laughed in remembrance. Four years ago, Stephanie thought. Four years of being apart. In that time, while she was settling down in Evanston, Sabrina graduated from the

    Sorbonne, moved to London and went to work in Nicholas Blackford's antique gallery on Lowndes Street. She lived alone in a small flat, made new friends, helped organize two charity auctions. And in her letters to Stephanie she never mentioned her feelings. But now she might, Stephanie thought; because suddenly, it was so wonderful being together. She recalled Sabrina's look when they arrived. Love. And gratitude. 'You are happy, aren't you?' she asked.
    'Happy or excited,* Sabrina said. *l think with Denton they're the same. He's so incredible - he strolls through the world as if it's one of his Treveston gardens. You can't believe how overwhelming it is.'
    'Oh, yes, I can,' Stephanie said diyly, taking in the canopied bed covered with Sabrina's clothes, the maid folding and packing them for the honeymoon, the Regency dressing table and wardrobe, the French doors leading to the balcony where they sat.
    'No, it's not money,' Sabrina said. 'I mean, of course the money is wonderful - I've been living beyond my salary ever since I came to London. And it's not that Denton's father is a viscount, though that's part of it. Mostly it's the way Denton assumes he belongs wherever he goes. And he loves me, so by now I'm almost as confident as he is.'
    'You don't need Denton to make you confident.'
    'But I do, that's the trouble. You know how I've always tried to impress people so they'd like me ... well, look at Mother, how pleased she is with me and my spectacular marriage.'
    'Mother didn't need that to love you.'
    'Probably not, but have you ever seen her so affection-ate?'
    'No,' Stephanie admitted.
    But the next day, watching Sabrina after the wedding ceremony, Stephanie thought she had never seen anyone more sure of herself and in command. A queen, she thought. I'll never look like that. Or have a castle. She felt a quick flash of envy, and then it was gone as Sabrina looked her way and their eyes met. I just want her to be happy, she thought.
    S4

    Sabrina's lips sent her a silent thank-you before Denton nudged her to turn back to the guests in the reception line.
    'My dear Sabrina, you have taken London by storm/ the Duchess of Westford said as she reached them. She beamed with the admiration only the very secure give to those younger and more beautiful than themselves, and