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dramatic as fainting. Her life was normally quiet and she wanted to keep it that way. Unlike many of her more outgoing friends, she hated to draw attention to herself. An incurable introvert, she enjoyed her privacy and solitude away from the bustle of society.
    After they all finished their fruit course, footmen pulled back the heavy chairs for the ladies, and the group finally dispersed for the afternoon. Hoping to steal an hour for writing, Lilly headed for the doorway, but Harlan blocked her exit.
    “May I speak to you for a moment?” His expression looked grim. But Harlan was a serious man, so his countenance might not signify displeasure. He lightly touched her forearm.
    “Yes, of course.”
    Lilly followed him down the hall and into the empty drawing room. She paused before the marble fireplace, her face stiff from smiling. He appraised her and she squirmed beneath his scrutiny.
    “Is there something wrong?” she asked.
    He looked more puzzled than angry, but the set of his features, hard as a plaster mask, left her with a sense of foreboding. He dismissed her question with a shake of his head. “There ’s nothing wrong with me, I can assure you.”
    She gave his hand a reassuring pat. “I’m glad to hear that.” The ticking of the mantel clock measured several seconds of silence.
    Harlan tweaked the corners of his sparse blond mustache. “This is awkward.” He cleared his throat. “It’s Mr. Grail. He seems to be unusually—devoted—to you.”
    She gave a shrill laugh. “I hardly think so.”
    “Do you know him well?”
    She’d never seen Harlan’s jealous side before and she didn’t like the change.
    “I’ve known Mr. Grail since he and my brother were students at St. Luke ’s. Of course, he was mainly George ’s friend, not mine.” Another misleading denial that speared guilt into her heart. But she couldn’t admit her past with Jack without creating a melodramatic scene too distasteful to even contemplate. “I haven’t seen him in years.”
    Harlan’s face relaxed. “Mr. Grail’s attentions disturb me. However, if it’s only interest on his part and not yours, then I’m satisfied.”
    Lilly smiled. “Please don’t be concerned about him.”
    Harlan’s lips curled upward. “Then I shan’t worry.”
    “Good.”
    She couldn’t forget how her family’s long-time friend had brought her contentment when she believed only her writing could provide satisfaction. When he began to court her and suggest they might share a future together, her pipe dream of Jack returning to claim her as his bride finally faded. She needed Harlan’s affection and enjoyed it—until today. She pushed that thought away.
    He rubbed his hands together. “Now, I have something for you. It’s only a trifle, but I think you’ll like it.”
    “Thank you, but there ’s no need to shower me with gifts.”
    “But I like to spoil you.”
    Harlan strode out of the drawing room. Lilly collapsed into one of the antique chairs, newly upholstered in white brocade threaded with gold. A pool of sunshine flooded through the wide windows facing the front lawn. It cast a glow throughout the loveliest room in the house, but it certainly didn’t reflect her darkening mood.
    How could she reassure Harlan of her love and loyalty? And how could she reassure herself? She ’d begin by staying far away from Jack and close to Harlan. Such a simple solution might work if she stayed in her bedroom and wrote her dime novels.
    Harlan returned, followed by Irene. As usual, her sister-in-law’s eyes glinted with secret amusement.
    He thrust a book at Lilly, red-faced. “It’s merely a small token of my esteem.”
    Irene snickered at his discomfort. “Don’t fret, Mr. Santerre. We women adore gifts, large and small.”
    Lilly accepted the volume. “Thank you so much. Sonnets from the Portuguese by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. I’ll treasure it.”
    “Perhaps we can read it together.” His voice held a note of vulnerability