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the carriage and into the heaven of fresh air. As soon as her feet were planted on the rocky Cornish soil, Mira found her gaze drawn to the tower, the tower in which she knew Nicholas resided. A dim and flickering light shone through the narrow windows encircling the top of the tower. From there, her eyes drifted inexorably to the curtain wall running between the tower and the main house.
    With a sudden, icy blow, the realization struck her: Olivia had died there.
    Mira stood staring at the merciless rocks that had ended Olivia’s life. She shivered with a sudden chill and, looking up from the rocky ground, saw a figure atop the curtain wall, standing in the gap between two battlements.
    Despite the dark, Mira knew it was Nicholas, and she felt his stare on her even from that great distance. His presence held her captive. Of its own volition, her hand rose to her breast, and she gently brushed the tips of her fingers over the bulge of the blue enameled pendant she had worn inside her gown since the day she had received it. After a few moments, she timidly raised a hand in greeting.
    She thought she saw a shiver of movement, as though perhaps Nicholas had waved back at her, but she could not be certain, and he abruptly turned and retreated toward the tower, his movement exaggerated by his limp, his figure flashing erratically between the battlements.
    Clasping her hands to still their trembling, Mira forced her attention back to her family. Aunt Kitty was directing the coachman and a footman who had emerged from Blackwell in the unloading of luggage, while George strutted about shaking the cramps from his legs and Bella leaned against the side of the carriage in weary misery, her chest heaving as she took in great gulps of clean air.
    Just as the last of the luggage was laid out on the drive, a short, square figure appeared at the door. Atop a solid body, with a bosom like an anvil, the woman had a dark Cornish complexion and a dour look to match.
    In a flat, heavy voice she announced, “Mrs. Murrish. Housekeeper.” When no one else appeared behind her, Mira determined that the woman was introducing herself. Before Mira could return the courtesy, Mrs. Murrish executed a sharp, almost military turn, and forged a path back into the house. Kitty grabbed Bella’s hand and hurried to follow Mrs. Murrish. George, too, tottered up the steps and disappeared into Blackwell Hall.
    With one last glance to the now-vacant curtain wall and a silent prayer for strength, Mira followed her family into the intimidating house that would, one day soon, be her home.
    …
    The Fitzhenrys had arrived.
    Mira had arrived.
    When they had not shown up on the appointed day, Nicholas had decided that they were not coming. Perhaps Mira had run away, perhaps the whole family had. Whatever the reason, they were not coming.
    Nicholas had told himself it was for the best that Mira should stay away. He should not marry her, or any woman, yet he did not know if he could bear to push her away. Yes, it was for the best, Nicholas told himself as he tried to ignore the pain in his gut and the urge to saddle a horse and ride like the devil for London to fetch her.
    But now they were here— she was here—and Nicholas wished them gone again.
    He sat before the fire in his cavernous tower room, his left leg propped on a small upholstered footstool. He was alone with the rhythmic roar of the waves and the cracking of the sappy wood in the hearth. He was often alone in this room, his personal sanctum sanctorum .
    Nicholas sighed and took another deep pull on his port. His leg burned like fire, the twisted bone and tortured sinew pushed past their limits by his recent travels and his late-night wanderings.
    With his father home, Nicholas got little sleep, and now, when he finally had a chance to nap a bit and give his shattered leg a chance to rest, the troubling Miss Fitzhenry had arrived.
    She was never far from his mind. The rare sunlight flashing on the waves