Though he was fit enough now, his body still needed time to rest and heal. It was rather a bother.

A wooden-faced butler opened the door to them, bowed, took their names, and, before either could say a word, ushered them into a parlor, quite as if they had been expected. It made them glance at each other in surprise; it made unease prickle down his spine.

The parlor, however, dispelled some of that discomfort. In spite of the warmth of the day, a fire burned merrily in the wide, paneled fireplace. It was reflected on the board floor, gleaming with the patina of wax applied over many years, and glowed on the white plaster walls, crossed by dark beams and hung with cheerful, amateurish paintings. A huge mastiff unfolded himself from the worn, but fine, Turkey carpet, giving out one “woof,” though his tail wagged furiously. “Oh, do be quiet, Toby,” a woman said from a sofa upholstered in a rose-patterned chintz, as she stabbed her needle into her tapestry work. She was so pleasant, so welcoming in her sturdy, somewhat outmoded gown of twilled cotton, that the last of Charles’s discomfort faded. They were safe at last.

“Oh, my dear.” The woman bustled toward them, her hands outstretched to Serena, with only one quick, disparaging look thrown at Charles. It made him draw back as if he’d been slapped, and he frowned. Something was not right. “Such an ordeal as you have had,” she continued. “But come, sit down and have some tea, and we’ll soon make things right.”

“Thank you.” Serena threw a glance at Charles, apparently as puzzled as he was. “I am Lady Serena Fairchild—”

“Yes, my dear, I know who you are.”

And how was that? Charles wondered, suddenly tense. The butler hadn’t announced them. “Mrs.—I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” he began.

She gave him another quick, cold look, and sniffed. “Mrs. Holmes. Now, my dear—”

“My brother has spoken of you,” he said, relieved. Mrs. Holmes was a widow, an amiable if not overly intelligent, woman. “I am Mr.—”

“Yes, I know who you are, too,” she broke in, her eyes colder than before.

He straightened. “How can you, ma’am, when you’ve not let me introduce myself?” he said in his best parade-ground voice.

Mrs. Holmes ignored him. “Now, my dear, you may be certain you are perfectly safe here.”

Serena’s brow had puckered. Whatever else one might say about her, her understanding was quick. “I can only be grateful to you, ma’am. If you only knew what I’ve been through—”

“But I do know,” Mrs. Holmes interrupted yet again. “Your brother told me.”

Serena and Charles exchanged startled looks.