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Romantic
love is not necessary to form a satisfactory partnership. Though I agree
Branson Hamilton ought to abandon his revenge scheme, but only because it is
not in his best interest to continue it. It will not help him to have a
father-in-law in prison. It is social suicide. You’ll never be invited anywhere
and you’ve only just recovered from the last faux pas .”
    Trudy Delisle dimpled pleasantly and
adjusted the flounce on her smart afternoon dress.
    “I-I-suffered a c-c-collapse, it is true,
but I am quite well now, Miss Delisle. I have not had an opportunity to
congratulate you on your engagement. I wish you every h-h-happiness.”
    “Of course you do, dear,” Mrs. Brockville
said kindly.
    Trudy Delisle gave a small shrug. “You seem
perfectly within the bounds of sanity to me. I don’t fear you will try to kill
me in my sleep. You won’t, will you?”
    Clara blinked rather rapidly, wondering if
she was being insulted. A teasing smile twitched at the corners of Trudy
Delisle’s mouth, as though she was sharing a private joke with a friend.
    Clara wasn’t fooled. Miss Delisle did not
regard Clara Hamilton as her friend. Her presence in this house and Strachan’s
sudden interest in her well-being had unsettled his fiancée and put Trudy Delisle
on the attack.

 
    §

 
    THEY SET out from Petherham in the fog and drizzle.
The weather had turned with the approach of October, now only a few days away. The grand sweep of the tree-lined drive led to the symmetrical stone house.
Windemere Hall was beautifully proportioned but lonely and lifeless in the fog.
    Clara climbed out of the carriage onto the
gravelled drive. They had stopped a distance away from the main entrance to
allow the trunks to be loaded. She was grateful for the brief delay to have a
moment alone to say good-bye to Branson.
    A light shone in his bedroom window above.
She could barely make out the front entrance in the thick fog and then
suddenly, the door was flung open and a man stepped out.
    Clara dashed forward, her heart lifting in
spite of herself. Branson didn’t see her. His eyes swept the horizon, watchful
and tense.
    She slowed her step. He was the same as
before. Unchanged. Perfect. How does one stop loving one’s soul? The many hours
in Strachan’s company had left behind a thin, vague impression on her mind compared
to the short time she had shared with Branson.
    Her cousin was well-dressed this morning in
a black coat, his broad shoulders pulled back. The high white collar of his
shirt was formal but he was hatless. His thick hair gleamed in the pale light
that formed around him, though she could not see the source of this light. Only
that he seemed to be enveloped in it for her benefit.
    Clara’s eyes had had time to adjust to the
dark morning. She saw him before he spotted her. The fog swirled thick and grey
between them, muffling her approach.
    She was only a few feet away when she
stopped, suddenly uncertain, and reluctant to address him.
    “Who is there?” His voice was deep and his
tone brusque. “What do you want?”
    She took a step forward. The fog swirled
about her but he could see her plainly.
    His face quickened and then settled into a
mask. “It’s you. You were out all night. I was concerned. Where did you sleep?”
    “The Colonel and Mrs. Brockville put me in
one of their guest rooms. The driver is loading my trunks onto the carriage.”
    He glanced away. “You are leaving then.”
    “I said I would if given the chance. You
told me that I wandered in here on my own, I could wander back out. That is
what I am doing.”
    Branson’s indigo eyes were not cold but his
expression was tense. He jerked his chin in the direction of the carriage. “You
travel with Strachan, I see.”
    She reddened. “The captain has business to
attend to in London. His fiancée, Miss Delisle is with us, as well as the
Colonel and Mrs. Brockville.”
    “I should hope so, given your history.”
    Clara reeled back as though