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would be wondering why she was back. How could she explain to them all that she had failed at the one thing she ever thought she was good at?
    Maybe Brendan would tell everyone and then she wouldn’t have to. No. Somehow, she knew he wouldn’t. He might dislike her intensely, but she instinctively trusted him to keep this information to himself.
    She had lost her job. The weight of her failure seemed to clutch at her chest. Who was she if she wasn’t the go-getter marketing director at NexGen?
    She made herself take a deep breath, forcing away those familiar snaking tendrils of panic.
    “I decided it was finally time to figure out what I want to do with Iris House,” she finally answered in a calm tone that left her inordinately proud of herself.
    The woman with Charlotte—blonde and slim and stylishly, if casually, dressed—lit up at her words. “Oh, you’re the one who owns that beautiful house?”
    “Yes,” she answered. It was still a tough admission. She didn’t feel she had any rights to the place. Jessica should have inherited it, should have had the chance to turn it into the B&B of her dreams. She had adored every opulent inch of it.
    Instead, Jess was gone, taken far too young during pregnancy by a heart condition no one suspected. Jess was gone, Annabelle was gone. Lucy was the only one of them left.
    “I heard there was a fire there last night. Is it true?” Charlotte’s friend said.
    That’s right. She had dozens of reasons to be embarrassed to show her face around town. “Yes. That was my fault. I arrived in the middle of the night and couldn’t get the furnace to start. I tried to light a fire in one of the rooms and ended up with a chimney blaze.”
    “Is everything okay?” Charlotte exclaimed.
    “Your brother seems to think so. He says I should be safe to return there this morning.”
    “That’s a relief!” the other woman said. “I can’t recall if we’ve met. I’m Genevieve Beaumont.”
    Ah. This was the mayor’s daughter, who could wrap him around her finger. She thought she vaguely recalled seeing her at Annabelle’s funeral, but she had been so grief-stricken, that time was a blur.
    “Hello. I’m Lucy Drake. Annabelle Stanbridge was my great-aunt.”
    “She was quite a character. I’ve hated seeing her house empty these last few months. Iris House is one of those places meant to be filled with life,” Genevieve said.
    “I agree,” she answered.
    “What are your plans for it?” Charlotte asked. “Are you looking to sell? I can think of several people who might be interested.”
    “I haven’t decided,” she admitted. “I’m actually thinking about opening it up as a bed and breakfast, if the town isn’t already glutted with them.”
    “Oh, that would be the perfect place!” Charlotte exclaimed. “People would love a chance to stay in one of the early silver mansions.”
    “I have no idea how much work awaits me. My plan after breakfast is to go through room by room and start making lists.”
    That panic began pressing in on her again. She felt completely out of her comfort zone with the whole idea—but maybe that was exactly what she needed. Maybe she had become too settled, too complacent with her life.
    “If you need any help,” Charlotte said, “Genevieve is just opening an interior design business. She does amazing work.”
    The mayor’s daughter looked pleased and a little embarrassed at the endorsement. “I’m only just starting out. I’m sure Lucy has other plans in mind for what she wants to do with the place.”
    “Not really. I’d love for you to take a look at it and give me your thoughts.”
    Before Genevieve could respond, Dermot came out from the kitchen and spotted them.
    “Why, look who’s here! It’s my lovely daughter and my lovely daughter-to-be.”
    Genevieve blushed at this, and both women greeted him with kisses on the cheek. Lucy studied the mayor’s daughter more closely.
    “You’re engaged to one of the Caine boys?