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unaware of his condition and was often amazed when misunderstood by his acquaintances.
    Cecily felt a certain sympathy toward the man, having been witness to many of the tragedies associated with war. She also tolerated the colonel’s unpredictable behavior, since he was a constant guest at the Pennyfoot and one of her most valued customers. As long as he didn’t exactly drive anyone crazy, she was happy to welcome him any time he chose to stay at the hotel.
    Even so, when she saw him seated in a corner of the lounge bar, she was inclined to postpone her visit for another time. Conversations with the colonel tended to be lengthy and highly unproductive. Upon occasion, however, he had accidentally provided a valuable clue in his bumbling manner to help her solve a perplexing puzzle.
    Not that she expected any help from him this time, she thought ruefully as she ducked her head to avoid the low portal. The colonel had arrived just that morning and would know nothing about Sir Richard or his family.
    Since it was yet quite early in the evening, only a half dozen customers sat in the lounge. As Cecily crossed the creaking floor, she caught sight of her new daughter-in-law standing at a corner table talking with two of the pub’s patrons.
    Simani was the daughter of an African chief and had received a British education from the missionaries. She spoke perfect English, with only a trace of an accent. At the moment it seemed that Simani was doing most of the talking. The two men were simply nodding, and both appeared to be most uncomfortable.
    Cecily could hardly blame them. Her daughter-in-law was a striking young woman, tall and slender, with smooth black skin that gleamed in the sunlight slanting across the room from the narrow paned windows.
    Her short, bushy black hair emphasized her majestic features, while her large, dark eyes, framed with long, thick lashes, dominated her face. Huge gold-and-black-enameled orbs swung from her ears, gracing her amazingly long neck.
    Her dress was equally dramatic and quite startling. Wrapped tightly in a brilliantly hued fabric from bosom to knee, her bared shoulders and arms would have seemed quite natural in the jungles of Africa. Here, in a secluded English country inn, the amount of flesh she revealed was definitely scandalous by British standards. One simply did not expose that much ankle, much less naked calves.
    As much as Cecily sympathized with the new Women’s Movement, even she drew the line at some things. Although she hated to admit it, even to herself, part of her secretly envied her daughter-in-law’s freedom of expression and apparent unconcern for public approval.
    Had Cecily been thirty years younger, she might well have emulated the bold young woman, though with a great deal more discretion, of course. She just had to keep reminding herself of the difference in cultures and that it would take time for Simani to conform.
    Simani looked up at that moment, and Cecily exchanged a tight smile with her before turning her attention to the counter. Michael stood behind it, holding up a pint of ale and examining it with a critical eye.
    She was about to call out to him when she heard a scandalized voice exclaim, “Mrs. Sinclair! Whatever is the world coming to? A lady of your station entering an establishment such as this without an escort? What? What?”
    The colonel’s ruddy face seemed to glow as he stared at her, his eyelids blinking rapidly like the fluttering of a moth’s wings.
    Forcing a smile, Cecily paused by the table. The colonel,remembering his manners, sprang to his feet. His elbow caught the glass of clear liquid sitting in front of him and spilled the contents across the table.
    “Oh, dear,” Cecily murmured. “I’m so sorry, Colonel. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
    “Startle me? My dear lady, you have shocked me. If you needed an escort, pray, why wasn’t I approached? I would be happy to offer you my protection. Indeed I would. Honored. Yes. Most