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had ever come to a compliment. Her mother had told her she had a “sweet face” that reflected her “gentle nature.” She knew that she had unusual navy eyes and that her dark hair was thick and lustrous, but there was nothing remarkable about her features. She had been beautiful in only George’s eyes, which was really all that mattered—but perhaps she hadn’t been beautiful enough. Had Phaedra’s mother caught his attention during their courtship and taken him to bed for one fateful night? Could her beloved George have betrayed her like that?
    She must have drifted off to sleep, because when she woke up,Rosamunde was sitting on the armchair near the bed, doing her needlepoint. “I’m glad you’ve had a good rest. You look much better,” she said when Antoinette opened her eyes.
    Antoinette sighed. “Waking up is hard. For a moment I think it’s all a horrid dream. Then I realize it’s not. He’s gone, hasn’t he?”
    “Yes, Antoinette. He’s in a better place.”
    “If you believe that. I’m not sure I do.”
    “It’s a comfort.”
    “I’d like it to be true. I hope there is a heaven and that he’s there. Goodness, to think he might be with our parents. I’m not sure Daddy wholly approved of George.”
    “Only because he was suspicious of men who preferred to climb mountains rather than settle down to a proper job.”
    “George was never going to be a banker or an accountant. He was an adventurer. He adored the wild unpredictability of nature and the challenge of those terrifyingly high peaks. God knows I hated his going off all the time, and I worried about his safety when he was incommunicado for weeks at a time, but I’d have loathed him to be chained to a desk. He’d have been miserable working in an office like Joshua. Anyway, he wasn’t just a mountaineer, he was an entrepreneur. Do you remember how he imported cigars from Havana? And all those rugs from Nepal! He liked to support the communities he visited. He was such a free spirit.”
    “Daddy knew that, but he wasn’t flamboyant like George. I’m sure those things aren’t important where they are. What are you going to do about Phaedra?” Rosamunde asked, briefly halting her needlework. “Roberta’s adamant that you should contest the will.”
    Antoinette sat up. “I bet she is, even though she doesn’t know yet what’s in it.”
    “How do you feel about it?”
    “On what grounds would I contest it? If George wanted to provide for his daughter, I support him. I’m sure he was planning to introduce us, and at some point he would have told me about the will. I don’t believe he meant to keep a secret like that. He didn’t expect to die, did he?”
    Rosamunde saw the doubt in her sister’s eyes and was quick to dispel it. “Of course he would have told you,” she said firmly. “Roberta’s a greedy so-and-so.”
    “I’m going to do what I think George would have wanted and ask Phaedra to stay the weekend. If she’s a Frampton, then we must welcome her into the family. I know Margaret will be horrified, and I can’t say that doesn’t give me a little pleasure, but I want to get to know her. I have so many questions. I think we need to talk.”
    “You’re very generous, Antoinette.”
    “Well, it’s not like George had an affair with her mother during our marriage, is it? I’ve worked it out—the dates, I mean. It happened before our courtship. Just before, but certainly not during. George wouldn’t have been unfaithful, I know he wouldn’t. He just wasn’t that sort of man, and he wouldn’t have done it to me. I’m sure about that. He wouldn’t have wanted to hurt me.”
    “Of course he wouldn’t.” Rosamunde paused in her sewing.
    “I feel sorry for the poor girl. It must have been a short romance . . .” Antoinette frowned, as if the effort to convince herself of her husband’s fidelity was suddenly too much.
    “It must have been very brief and I suspect was over before she even discovered