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forgive me for having the effrontery
     to imagine I’m good enough to marry her.”
    “You really ought to elope,” she suggested. “I’m serious.”
    “I’ve considered it, believe you me. But it wouldn’t be fair to my mam, nor to our
     friends.”
    “I suppose you’re right. I’d forgive you, though.”
    “See?” he said, smiling down at her. “I knew there was a reason Lilly likes you so
     much.”
    “Who is the woman standing with Lilly? I know most of her other friends, but she isn’t
     at all familiar.”
    “The woman . . . ? Ah. That’s Helena, Edward’s fiancée.”
    That girl? That young, smiling cipher—she was Edward’s fiancée? It seemed impossible
     to credit. She was terribly pretty, of course, with fair hair and large, expressive
     eyes.
    “What do you think of her?”
    If Robbie thought her sudden interest strange, he showed no sign of it. “I scarcely
     know her. I’d say she’s a nice enough girl. Seems devoted to him, but . . .” He hesitated,
     frowning at his teacup.
    “Yes?”
    “I’m certain she bores him to tears. I’ve tried to ask him about her—ask about his
     intentions. But he always finds a way to wriggle out of the conversation.”
    “They haven’t set a date?”
    “No, and thank God for that. Is this the first time you’ve set eyes on her?”
    “Yes. I saw Edward once during the war, when he was home on leave, but Lady Helena
     wasn’t with him. I hadn’t expected her to be so young.”
    “She is that. Though she seems to be a bright girl, and can talk quite knowledgeably
     on a number of subjects.”
    “Would you say she’s attached to Edward?”
    “She seems affectionate enough. As far as I can tell, she’s unfazed by his injuries.
     Though I doubt she realizes that a missing leg is the least of his problems.”
    “How is he?” Charlotte asked. Although she would love to know more about Lady Helena,
     she was far more interested inRobbie’s opinion of Edward’s condition. “Today is the first I’ve seen of him since
     the day you returned from France.”
    “I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. Physically, he’s improving. I strong-armed him
     into visiting a prosthetics clinic, so he has a leg that fits him now.”
    “He scarcely even limps.”
    “They do wonderful work there. Perhaps too good. He seems to think his recovery is
     complete.”
    “And you . . . ?”
    “I think it’s barely begun. A man doesn’t recover from such injuries, from such horrors,
     in a few months. He drinks too much, for a start, and I know he doesn’t sleep well.”
    “Before the war, he was troubled—”
    Robbie shook his head. “No, this is worse. It’s like . . . like a weight he can’t
     shed. Dragging at him, pulling him—”
    He looked over her shoulder, his attention caught by something on the far side of
     the room.
    “What is it?” she asked.
    “Lilly’s asking for me.”
    Charlotte turned to follow his gaze, and saw that Lilly, now trapped in conversation
     with a clutch of elderly ladies, was tugging on her earlobe.
    “That’s my cue. Will you be fine on your own? I promise not to go far.”
    “I’ll be perfectly fine. Lady Cumberland did her worst, and I survived.”
    She set down her cup and saucer on a nearby occasional table, not willing to draw
     attention to herself by summoning a footman, and retreated to one of the lushly padded
     window seats. She would look out the window, though the formal gardens below had little
     to recommend them at this time of year,and when she had fully recovered her composure, she would join Lilly and Robbie.
    Not bothering to look at her wristwatch, she couldn’t be certain of how much time
     was passing. Only when the sound of approaching footsteps, careful and measured, intruded
     on her silent meditation did she turn her attention back to the drawing room.
    It was Edward.
    When he’d returned from Belgium, from the enemy hospital where he’d been held for
     nearly the last year of the