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the window, watching the wind whip the giant oak tree at the edge of the yard. “This is the kind of day that makes me want to wrap up in a blanket and sleep in front of a fire. Do you have a coat?” she asked sternly, looking at Susan’s slender form.
    Susan laughed. “Yes, I have a coat.” Emily watched over her like a mother hen, but mothering came naturally to Emily, who had five children of her own. The youngest had left the nest a year ago, and since then, Susan had received the full intensity of Emily’s protection. She didn’t mind; Emily was as steady as a rock, and had been in Susan’s employ since she had married Vance. It was in Emily’s arms that Susan had wept her most violent tears after Vance’s death.
    â€œI’ll leave the heat on, so the house won’t be cold when you come in,” Emily promised. “Where’re you going tonight?”
    â€œTo the Gages’. I believe William is planning to run for governor next year, and he’s lining up support and campaign contributors.”
    â€œHummph,” Emily snorted. “What does a Gage know about politics? Don’t tell me that Preston’s going to support him?”
    Susan lifted one elegant eyebrow. “You know Preston; he’s very cautious. He’ll have to look at every candidate before he makes up his mind.” She knew from experience that every politician in the state would be burying the Blackstones under an avalanche of invitations. Susan had tried to stay out of politics, but Imogene and Preston were heavily courted, and Preston invariably asked her to accompany him whenever he attended a party with either political overtones or undertones.
    She heard the doorbell at the precise instant the clock chimed the hour, and with a smile she went to greet Preston.
    He helped her with her coat, arranging the collar snugly around her throat.
    â€œIt’s getting really cold,” he muttered. “So much for spring.”
    â€œDon’t be so impatient.” She smiled. “It’s still only March. It’s just that these last few weeks spoiled everyone, but you knew it couldn’t last.”
    It began to rain as they drove to the Gages’ house, a slow, sullen rain that turned the late afternoon into night. Preston was a careful, confident driver, and he made the thirty-mile drive in good time. Caroline Gage met them at the door. “Preston, Susan, I’m glad you could come! Would you like a drink before dinner? William’s playing bartender in the den.”
    Despite Caroline’s easy manner, Susan caught a hint of tension in the older woman’s expression and wondered if Caroline wasn’t enthusiastic about her husband’s foray into politics. Following Preston into the den, she found the roomalready crowded with friends and acquaintances, the usual social crowd. Preston was promptly hailed by William Gage, and with a smile for Susan he allowed himself to be drawn aside.
    Susan refused anything to drink, since she hadn’t eaten anything, and wandered around talking to her friends. She was popular with both men and women, and it took her quite a while to make a circle of the room. It was almost time for dinner and she glanced at her hostess, frowning when she saw Caroline watching the door, anxiety clearly evident on her face. Was some special guest late?
    The doorbell chimed and Caroline paled, but didn’t pause as she went to greet her late-arriving guests. Susan watched the door curiously, waiting to see who it was; Caroline was usually unflappable, and it must be someone really important to have her so on edge.
    Her brows rose when George and Olivia Warren came into the room; the Warrens were part of the social hierarchy, but Caroline had been friends with them for years. Cheryl Warren followed them, her ash-blond hair a mass of carefully disarranged curls, her svelte body outlined in a form-fitting black dress…and