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feelings toward Sir Brandon. Especially not to a woman she had just met. Yet she could not allow anyone to speak ill of him and go unchallenged. “I have known gentlemen like that, but Sir Brandon Calvert is not one of them. If anything, his character is more agreeable than his looks.”
    “I see.” Mrs. Martin began bustling about her kitchen. “So you have met him before? Can I trouble you to fetch those cups down from the shelf?”
    Cassandra turned to the task, grateful for any diversion. “I was once acquainted with him but I fear we did not part on the best of terms. The fault for that is entirely mine. I would rather not subject him to my company any more than our circumstances make necessary.”
    “Are you certain he is still angry with you?” Mrs. Martin inquired as casually as she might have asked about the weather.
    “Quite certain.” Cassandra insisted as she took the last of the cups down. She did not want their hostess to get any ridiculous ideas about her and Sir Brandon any more than she wanted to. That would only lead to more heartache—something she had suffered enough to last a lifetime.
    “I hope you will be able to keep your distance from the gentleman if that is your wish, my dear.” Mrs. Martin sounded doubtful. “But that is a lot of snow outside and this is not a very big house.”
    It appeared Lady Cassandra’s attitude toward him had not thawed after all.
    As Brandon wrapped his hands around the warm cup and sipped its spicy-sweet contents, he told himself he would not wish it any other way. When she had leapt from her place beside him to assist their hostess, a sense of relief had surged through him. Now he would not have to work so hard to ignore her when all his senses fairly screamed their awareness of her leg pressed against his.
    At the same time, a sharp pain pierced his chest, chilling in its intensity. It contradicted the wishful belief he’d cultivated in recent years that Cassandra Whitney no longer meant anything to him.
    He told himself not to be ridiculous. He was no longer a green, young fool in the throes of his first love. He had gone to war, where he’d taken lives and nearly lost his on more than one occasion. After four years he thought he had forgotten Cassandra Whitney. But seeing her again, so unexpectedly, brought back memories of their old courtship, as fresh as if it had been yesterday. It was the years and experiences since then that felt like a hazy dream he could scarcely recall.
    The stagecoach driver took a deep swig of his cider then nodded toward the window. “That is the worst snow I’ve seen this far south in all my years driving this route.”
    Mr. Martin nodded. “The winters are growing colder than when I were a lad.”
    The two men began recalling previous snowy winters, sometimes arguing good-naturedly about the precise year, with Brandon’s coachman acting as a sort of referee. The others listened, sipping their cider. Now and then one would venture a remark. Imogene sat by the fire with a stiff posture and an expression that proclaimed her desire to be somewhere else.
    Brandon could sympathize with her feelings to a point. Given a choice, he would rather not have been cooped up in a small house with the woman who’d once broken his heart. However, as with many events in life, he had not been given a choice. All he could do was remind himself how much worse the situation might have been. What could not be avoided must be endured with as much grace as one could muster.
    Perhaps the years had taught Lady Cassandra that same lesson. He could not help but contrast her behavior with his cousin’s. Though he was certain she had only offered to assist their hostess in order to get away from him, he could not help but approve her obliging manner.
    Now she returned to the parlor, following Mrs. Martin. Brandon schooled his expression to one of cool indifference. He pretended not to notice the brisk grace of her movements or the quiet, capable way