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flaky pastry as light as air. Only the hands of an accomplished cook could produce such excellence. She ate heartily at a small table near the fireplace. Except for the roll and coffee that morning, she’d eaten nothing since her wedding breakfast the day before, and she’d been too excited to do more than nibble. Her life had seemed so full of promise then. What would Anne make of this? Somehow, she must keep it from her.
    Thank goodness, the cook, Mrs. Marshall, was competent. Selina dreaded having to put anyone off. The few servants who wandered the vast mansion like ghosts seemed eager to help. She was already confident that, under her direction, they would prove to be assets. They merely suffered from a lack of authority. Devereux hadn’t come here much of late, Frobisher had told her. He’d said the place made him miserable.
    As well it might. Another thought struck her, tightening her stomach. How long before he came again?

Chapter Six

    On the outskirts of Paris, Giles barely managed to avoid a French patrol. He pulled up to water his tired horse at a stream, and changed into his American uniform. Then he rode on into Paris.
    It was a different city since the Revolution. The newly laid out streets were crowded, impressive new architecture, museums, and monuments. Stylish ladies in white dresses laced-up to the neck, and straw bonnets, strolled the pavements. The restaurants were busy with diners. Giles passed an arcade of shops. The window of one featured a green dress. It was the perfect color for Selina. A peace offering, if he ever made it home again. He ducked inside.
    An hour later he entered the house where Grant was staying, a small two-story dwelling in a narrow lane, excitement gripping his chest. He hadn’t realized he missed living on the edge. Working with the great man, Grant again, would be a privilege.
    ****
    Two weeks passed and there was still no word from Devereux. During the daylight hours, Selina was so busy she didn’t think of him so much. But the nights were interminably long as she lay awake, confused and hurt by his continued absence.
    When a rainy day kept her indoors, she sat at the desk in her bedchamber to write to Anne, breathing in the scent of the yellow lilies she’d picked the day before, which sat in a vase on the mantel.
    She dipped her pen in the inkwell and stared at the blank page. Apart from a brief note to advise her sister of her safe arrival at Halcrow Hall, and to say she was in good spirits, Selina hadn’t managed to write more. Anne’s letter in response revealed her curiosity as to why Selina and Devereux hadn’t gone on to London. Selina searched for an appropriate reply. It was impossible not to lie, and even embroidering the truth left huge gaping holes that Anne would see through. She mustn’t give her sister even a hint of what had occurred. It would bring Harry here on the double, and that was the last thing Selina wanted.
    Selina made a thorough search of the house for anything that might give her a clue to her absent husband’s whereabouts. In the nursery, cricket bats, balls, and wooden toys that once belonged to two small boys had almost disappeared under a thick layer of dust. When she picked up a much-loved, one-armed teddy bear, tears flooded her eyes. Her feelings confused her. Didn’t she loathe him for what he’d done to her? She couldn’t banish the sympathy that tugged at her heart. Had he been happy here as a child? In the carriage trip after their wedding, when she’d tried to learn why he’d chosen not to come home after his brother died, he’d merely shrugged and refused to explain. Did a guilty conscience make him behave the way he did? Despite everything, she still yearned to understand him. She couldn’t banish the kernel of hope that, when she learned what lay behind this, all would right itself. Selina shook her head. She’d always been a foolish optimist.
    Word had spread about the refurbishment of Halcrow Hall, and a line