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chipped in quickly. ‘Anyway, enough of laws. Tell our guests about some of the other countries you’ve been to, Richard. I know Charlotte has been looking forward to hearing about them.’
    Taking his mother’s cue, Richard launched into a ramblingdescription of the port of Hobart Town. So intent was he on making sure that Isobel did not get on her political soapbox again that he spent the next hour describing one port after another. John interrupted him regularly to ask him questions, and Charlotte asked him one or two; but it was Isobel he was most aware of, sitting on the sofa in her black dress and white lacy cap, silent as a sphinx, watching him with those intelligent brown eyes of hers. He had the distinct feeling that she was playing with him, playing with all of them in fact, making them all sit on the edge of their seat while they waited to see if she would raise another contentious issue. Would she or wouldn’t she? Keeping them guessing.
    By ten o’clock, he was starting to feel that it was high time that someone else did some talking. Let the sphinx fix her beady eyes on someone else for a while!
    ‘Anyway, enough of my sea voyages,’ Richard said and turned to smile at John. ‘My parents and I would like to hear about the encounter with the boar.’
    ‘Yes, tell them about it, John,’ Isobel prompted.
    ‘Oh, there’s really nothing much to tell,’ John evaded.
    ‘Nonsense,’ Isobel said. ‘I’m sure they’ll find the story extraordinarily interesting.’
    The look John shot her spoke volumes, but a look was not sufficient to keep Isobel silent.
    ‘Charlotte killed the boar. Singlehandedly, with a spade.’ Isobel’s thin lips curled into a crooked smile as she looked from face to face, at the Steele family’s stunned expressions. ‘What do you think of that?’
    When the Blakes finally left, shortly after eleven, Richard breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief. Isobel Wyatt was not only rude, she wasexhausting. It was impossible to relax in her company. God alone knew how her family coped with her.
    ‘I can see why you warned me about Mrs Wyatt,’ he remarked as he poured two large rums—one for himself and one for his father, who had collapsed in his favourite armchair and looked as if he could use several stiff drinks. His mother was finishing off the last of the tea.
    ‘John was terribly vexed with her,’ Letitia said. ‘I could tell from his face. I expect he’ll have a few things to say to her on the way home.’
    ‘I’m sure he will,’ Ben agreed. ‘Not that it’ll make a jot of difference. If Isobel thinks it, she says it, and the devil take the consequences. Damned if I know how John tolerates her. An evening in Isobel’s company is worse than spending an evening sitting bare-arsed on a bed of nettles!’
    ‘Ben!’ Letitia raised her brows reproachfully, but she couldn’t keep back the smile.
    Richard laughed and walked over to hand his father his rum. Given the choice, he’d take the bed of nettles any day. ‘She’s a widow, I presume?’
    Letitia nodded. ‘She’s been widowed for over thirty years. In fact, I think she’s been widowed twice.’
    ‘That doesn’t surprise me. Isobel would drive any man to an early grave,’ Ben said shortly.
    ‘Ben, that’s a wicked thing to say!’ Letitia raised her brows again.
    ‘She’d have driven me to an early grave,’ Ben returned, unabashed.
    ‘She has some very strong views about adultery,’ Richard commented. ‘I can’t help wondering if one of her late husbands, or maybe both of them, kept a mistress.’
    Ben pulled a sour face. ‘Well, if they did, who could blame them? Poor devils. A man would need some respite from a woman like her.’
    Lifting his glass, Richard took a large swig of rum. He closed his eyes, savouring the satisfying heat as it travelled down his throat.
    ‘How long has she lived with her brother?’
    Ben looked at Letitia, frowning. ‘Do you know, Letitia?’ Letitia shook her head.