. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. Lost me place, that’s all. She had known that Remenham House would be deserted, for Martha—released, as she had carefully explained to her charge, by her vows to God from servitude and obedience to Nicholas Charvill, a mere mortal—had begun a correspondence with a friend of her youth, Mrs Joan Ibstock, née Pottiswick. She had told him, point blank, that since the Church had neither annulled the first marriage nor sanctified the second one, she was not his wife. And Gosse had been still there, so Martha said, and not in prison. She tiptoed into the entryway where some decorator had placed a live orchid upon a glassy ebony table. I can never be grateful enough. Her back had stiffened, and her hazel eyes looked steadfastly ahead. She’s as stubborn as the proverbial mule, and—’ with a sigh that felt wrenched out of him ‘—utterly captivating. ‘Ain’t my place, I know that. ‘Ah, yes,’ Gerald said, jumping down from the coach and waiting for the fellow to let down the steps for Melusine, ‘I had forgotten about you.
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