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to London for the foreseeable future. Lucy kept to her chamber with no attempt made to rehabilitate her ankle with exercise, and Mrs Seymour took to her bed as though someone had died. Susanna guessed it was the smashing of her dreams her mother objected to. She herself steamed with impotent fury. She had compromised herself with that man, had received his promise that he would seek her sister’s hand and, instead, he had fled like the philanderer he was.

    Summer had turned to early autumn, bright crisp days and fallen leaves, when the thunder of hooves echoed up the drive and a man presented his calling card. Susanna lifted her head from her book as Mrs Seymour flew into the drawing room, hands flapping, generous bosom heaving.
    ‘Mr Storm is come back!’
    She was followed by Lucy, who seemed to have made a miraculous recovery. Both women had clearly forgotten their stupor, and were happy for the rake to come back into their lives and make his insincere apologies. Susanna curled her lip. She stood.
    ‘If you’ll excuse me, I have a headache.’
    But it was too late. Richard arrived at the door, announcing loudly, ‘Mr Elijah Storm.’
    Elijah strode in. Elizabeth and Lucy almost swooned simultaneously. He was dressed all in black, not a speck of colour about him anywhere, his hair still indecently short. His pale eyes flickered over Susanna, unreadable.
    He bowed low at the three women. ‘My deep regret at my sudden departure,’ he said, mainly addressing Elizabeth. ‘My mother was taken ill.’
    Susanna regarded him suspiciously. Was it the truth? She doubted anything this man said.
    Elizabeth made a sympathetic clucking sound like a constipated chicken. ‘Nothing serious, I hope?’
    ‘She was gravely sick,’ Elijah said, ‘but is now on the road to recovery. I hope to spend several weeks at my estate but would have to leave again should she take a turn for the worse.’
    ‘Of course,’ Elizabeth said.
    Lucy didn’t speak. She gazed at Elijah in rapture.
    There was an uncomfortable silence, during which Elijah cleared his throat. ‘Actually, it is Mr Seymour I have come to see.’
    Elizabeth turned purple. Her eyes bulged from her head and she clasped her hands at her bosom, barely able to stay upright with excitement. ‘Of course. Richard!’ She yelled to the butler, who hovered in the hall. ‘Please show Mr Storm to my husband’s study.’
    The butler bowed. Elijah inclined his head politely, threw Susanna a quick glance, and turned on his heel, riding boots tapping on the parquet floor.
    Elizabeth fell into a chair in a near faint, fanning herself theatrically with her hand. ‘Oh Lucy! This is it!’
    Susanna regarded her sourly. There could be no doubt that Elijah had come to ask for Lucy’s hand in marriage. But instead of satisfaction that he had finally kept his end of the bargain, she only felt deep, wrenching agony. She sat down, her novel clutched hard to her chest, where the worst of the pain was located. That a man like him could make her feel like this, for the first time in her life … It seemed incomprehensible. To watch him lost to her sister, a man who had stirred her so passionately. How would she ever recover from this? She looked at Lucy, pale and tense with excitement, pacing the drawing room as though waiting to hear a sentence pronounced and she felt tender. The better woman had won. She should wish Lucy well. While some of Elijah’s behaviour and temperament was suspect, her marriage would never be short of passion.
    The three of them waited in tense silence. Elizabeth called for water and smelling salts. Lucy hovered by the window, plucking at the curtains with anxious fingers. And Susanna sat perfectly still and wished with all her heart that she had never met Elijah Storm.
    It seemed an eternity before a door opened distantly. Two sets of footsteps sounded down the hall. Edward and Elijah appeared in the doorway; Edward beaming, Elijah coolly content. Both of them looked