Lucia confined herself to her quarters, wondering when they would flee to the country as so many other houses had done. “Oh, my dear!” she cried, and suddenly flung herself, kneeling, into her husband’s arms. . Annabel a murderess! It was not possible. His gaze drawn, Gerald watched him dip to pick up a crushed square of white linen and a starched object that resembled a helmet. I’ve never had a homemade Thanksgiving meal like that. Seeing the footman about to follow her in, Gerald clamped a hand onto his shoulder. Just a formal marriage. The air became hot and swollen with June humidity.
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