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the fire, she lowered the cloth.
    “Do you feel as if you could talk a bit now?” Lady Clendenen said as she returned the towel to the wash-stand. “I do not think we should put it off. Sithee, my dear, ’tis your future at stake. I’d not have you make a muddle of it.”
    The last thing Adela wanted was to have to listen to more advice. But neither did she want her ladyship to prod her more about her feelings when the plain truth was that she still felt nothing. That she had been shocked at Ardelve’s death was certainly true, but the sensation had passed with surprising speed.
    That was not a fact she wanted to admit to his cousin, regardless of how kindly the woman felt toward her. She was distressed at the lack herself and could only imagine what Lady Clendenen would think of such an unfeeling bride. So, with nothing else to say, she kept silent.
    Drawing up a second stool, her ladyship settled her-self on its cushioned seat and stared into the flames before she said, “I know things are happening quickly. You’ve scarcely had a moment to think, but people are going to want to know what you mean to do, my dear, so you would be wise to have a plan. Did Ardelve explain the settlements he made or suggest what he might expect you to do in such a case? Not that he expected any such thing to happen today,” she added with a grimace. “But he was a sensible man. I know he left you enough to insure your comfort.”
    “I paid no heed to the settlements,” Adela confessed. “He arranged them with my father. ’Tis the usual way, I’m sure.”
    “Well, they did discuss some of them with me,” her ladyship said. “For example, with regard to an allowance—”
    A double rap on the door barely gave them warning before it opened and Lady Sidony Macleod erupted into the room, her pink skirts still rustling as she said impulsively, “I just heard, Adela, and they said you had come—”
    Stopping short in visible dismay, she bobbed a curtsy to Lady Clendenen, adding, “I beg your pardon, my lady! I ought not to interrupt, but I just learned what happened and feared Adela would be all alone. I should have known someone would be with you, dearest,” she added, moving to hug Adela. “How can I help?”
    “Sit with us, of course,” Adela said, knowing Sidony would be hurt if she sent her away. “How did you hear?”
    “I was looking after Isobel’s baby, but his nurse returned and said I ought to go down,” Sidony said, pulling another stool up beside Adela’s. “So I did, but when I heard what had happened, I came right here to you. Isobel said she and Sorcha will come as soon as they can. Others have begun to ask questions, she said. I do not know how anyone thought they could conceal Ardelve’s death for long.”
    Adela suppressed a sigh. Much as she loved her sisters and respected Lady Clendenen, she longed for solitude.
    Sidony looked guiltily at Lady Clendenen. “I interrupted your conversation, madam, but I hope you do not want me to go away.”
    “No, indeed, my dear,” Lady Clendenen assured her. “Mayhap you can help me persuade Adela that she need not return at once to the Highlands.”
    “But why should she?”
    Adela said, “I must accompany Ardelve, of course. He will be buried at home, and his home is mine too now, after all.”
    “Is it?” Sidony frowned. “Must you go soon?”
    “Of course, I must. He is—was—my husband.”
    “As to that,” Lady Clendenen said, “I wonder if that need be so. Forgive my plain speaking again, Adela, but I did see you and Ardelve step into the solar before you joined the rest of us at table. You were alone there, were you not?”
    “Quite alone, madam. Why?”
    “Did he…that is, did the two of you…? Oh, mercy, I’ll just say it. Is it possible that the two of you consummated your marriage then?”
    “In Countess Isabella’s
solar
?” The words came out in a near shriek.
    Lady Clendenen’s lips twitched. “I suppose not.”
    Sidony looked