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almost before they did themselves. Who would have thought she would feel so at peace in such a short time! Happy, yes she was happy and it was all due to this little scruffy library, still struggling with the upheavals she had brought on and which she had not yet finished.
    Suddenly she found herself longing to be back to her restorative attacks. The writing desk had been cleared. No doubt because, as discreet and understanding as the housekeeper was about her masters’ personal habits during their honeymoon, she had no mercy for the dust that would surely take advantage of the inertia and invade her space. In the centre of the cleared area, respectfully keeping its distance from Holly’s piles of books, random classification notes, cards and purchase lists, lay a silver tray, glittering in the restless light from the fire and drawing attention to itself as the harbourer of messages from abroad. It was a fair pile and it illustrated their neglect of the outside world in a very poignant manner.
    “It can’t be all business, surely,” Holly muttered and fingered the letters, hoping to be reassured that her husband was not showing too much laxity for his affairs at her delighted expense, but she instantly was calmed. It turned out that their neglect had been mostly to their private correspondence and she silently wondered whether her husband had not shown remarkable and quite unusual foresight and directed his letters of business to some other agent than himself for the time being. On the other hand, perhaps he had known better than she that it would be necessary.
    Seeing as they had not really given any preferences for the separation of the mail, Holly carefully set about to sift through them. A most welcome, and in truth long expected, letter from Derbyshire caused her to coo and sigh and stuff it into her pocket.
    “Oh, Eliza,” she smiled, “how you must scold me! I have been neglecting you most shamefully considering how I long to talk to you about . . . everything!”
    She thought she heard a noise in the hall and she quickly worked her way down the pile until she came to a small envelope, marked in a masculine hand that she also recognised very well.
    “‘Lord Baugham of Clyne Cottage’,” she read and pulled her ear lobe in confusion.
    It was so obviously Dr McKenna’s writing and judging from its place in the pile it had been received some time ago. She sighed. This must have to do with the talk between he and his lordship about her work. She had put the subject out of her mind, not wanting to be a quarrelsome wife, but honestly, Dr McKenna’s business was with her and her husband should not insist on interfering unduly.
    She turned the letter and slipped a finger beneath the seal to break it open. In any case, it concerned her and she was determined to set aside some time for Elizabeth very soon so she might as well use some of that time for Dr McKenna as well. The seal snapped open but at just that moment she heard her husband’s steps in the hall. However much she missed Elizabeth and however much she knew she owed the doctor her attention, it was nothing to the fact that she had not seen or touched her husband in . . . oh, at least a quarter of an hour! An indecent amount of time on one’s honeymoon, really. Holly stuffed Dr McKenna’s note into her pocket to lie next to that of her cousin’s and flew out the door to catch him on his way to dinner.
    T HE OTHERWISE QUIET AND UNOBTRUSIVE Mr McLaughlin apparently had amazing powers of persuasion when it came to drainage issues, for Holly found herself alone at breakfast the next morning after her husband airily told her he just needed to sort a few things out before he joined her. Holly decided that, as going down for meals appeared to be the new way of things; she would gladly take advantage of this new order and give her cousin some long overdue attention.
    Pemberley
Derbyshire
    My dearest, dearest cousin
    I know. You must be inundated with appeals