![]() ![]() A widower thirty years her senior, James had paid attention when her father, William Stokes, Lord Ratliffe, had shared her miniature around his circle of acquaintances and promised her to the highest bidder. She hadn’t missed James for a minute, but no need for the neighbors to know. She would dress in gray this afternoon, signaling a departure from black, which she hoped fervently, if unrealistically, never to wear again. It was a year since death had released Sir James Taunton from the apoplexy that had turned him into a helpless infant, and made her his nurse for the previous three years. Laura had dressed with deliberate care for the tea. She merely wanted to drink tea and share a happy event. Lady Chisholm probably had no idea of Laura’s feelings. She blamed her change of heart on her nearest neighbor, who had invited her to tea. She shoved them back in the desk before continuing her restless slumber. ![]() She had thrown them away one evening, but retrieved them before the maid did her early morning tidying. ![]() For several months Lady Laura Taunton had avoided the desk in her sitting room because of two letters, one inside the other, she had not the heart to destroy. ![]()
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