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black, swept thickly across it with barely a wave. His eyes were set deep under dark brows, his jutting nose was straight and strong and his mouth betrayed both passion and will. It was an interesting face, unlike any other Hester could recall.
    Mary caught her glance.
    She introduced him with a smile of affection. “My son-in-law, Baird McIvor.” Then she turned to the younger man at her left, beyond Oonagh. He was obviously a family member; his coloring was too like the others’, his face had the same uncertainty, the shadow of humor and vulnerability in it. “My son Kenneth,” she said. “And my other son-in-law, Quinlan Fyffe.” She looked opposite to the remaining person Hester did not already know. He was also fair, but his hair was flaxen, almost silver in color, and cropped close to his head in tight curls. His face was long, his nose very straight and a trifle large for the rest of his features, his mouth small and chiseled in shape. It was a clever, meticulous face, that of a man who concealed as much as he told.
    “How do you do,” Hester said punctiliously. They each replied, and conversation was stilted and sporadic while the first course was served. They inquired after her journey up from London, and she replied that it had been excellent, and thanked them for their concern.
    Alastair frowned and looked across at his younger brother, who seemed to be eating with remarkable haste.
    “We have plenty of time, Kenneth. The train does not leave until a quarter past nine.”
    Kenneth continued eating and did not turn his head to look at Alastair. “I am not coming to the station. I shall say good-bye to Mother here.” There was a moment’s silence. Oonagh also stopped eating and turned towards him. “I am going out,” he said, his voice taking on a defiant tone.
    Alastair was not satisfied. “Where are you going to, that you dine here first and cannot come to the station with us to wish Mother farewell?”
    “What difference does it make if I wish to say good-bye here or at the station?” Kenneth demanded. “And I am dining here so that I can see her off properly, rather than gobefore dinner.” He smiled as if that were a most satisfactory answer.
    Alastair pursed his lips, but said no more. Kenneth continued eating, still rapidly.
    The next course was served, and while they were eating, Hester discreetly studied their faces. Kenneth was obviously intent upon his engagement, whatever it was. He looked neither right nor left, but ate steadily, and then sat with impatience plain in his face while he waited for the maid to clear his plate and the main course to be served. Twice he looked up sharply as if to speak, and Hester felt he would have asked for his portion to be served separately, ahead of the others, had he dared.
    Hector ate very little, but emptied his wineglass twice. Before filling it the third time, McTeer glanced up and met Oonagh’s eyes. She shook her head minutely, and it was only because Hester was looking directly at her that she saw it at all. McTeer removed the bottle in its basket, and Hector said nothing.
    Deirdra made some mention of an important dinner which was to be held and she wished to attend.
    “For which, no doubt, you will need a new gown?” Alastair said dryly.
    “It would be nice,” she agreed. “I only wish to do you justice, my dear. I should not like people to think that the Fiscal’s wife made do from one event to another.”
    “Little chance of that,” Quinlan remarked with a smile. “You have had at least six this year … that I know of.” But there was no rancor in his voice, only amusement.
    “As Fiscal’s wife, she goes to far more of those events than most of us,” Mary said soothingly. Then added, “Thank goodness,” under her breath.
    Baird McIvor looked at her with a smile. “You don’t care for civic dinners, Mother-in-law?” He spoke as if he already knew the answer, his dark face conveyed both amusement and considerable