Item added to cart
USCecilia Grantalways knew she’d do something with that English degree. After waiting tables, composing software help files, and answering the carpool-lane-violators hotline, she’s delighted to be writing stories. Cecilia makes her home in the Pacific Northwest with her fellow-writer husband, two bookish children, and unliterary cat and dog.Chapter One
Not once in ten months of marriage had she wished for her husband’s demise. Nor would she be glad of the occurrence even for a moment. Even for this moment. To do so would ill become her.
Martha sat straighter in her chair, smoothing her black skirts. One’s conduct might owe more to principle than to sentiment at times, admittedly. But principle could be relied upon. Principle steadied a person; braced her up through those same occasions, in fact, where sentiment made only a sluggish kind of mire to sink into.
She finished with her skirts and folded her hands on the tabletop. “Well,” she said into the silence of her sunlit parlor. “This is all legally sound, I don’t doubt.”
Mr. Keene gave a little bow from his place at the table’s foot, affording her a glimpse of the bald spot atop his head. He did not meet her eyes and had not done so since beginning to read. A faint sifting sound came from the papers before him, as his hands lined up the corners and made other adjustments of no particular purpose. Really, he ought to stop that.
Across the table her brother sat tight-lipped, his jaw working as if to swallow something of fearsome dimension. His temper, that would be. To his credit, he always did try.
“Speak, Andrew.” She knew well enough what he would have to say. “You’re liable to do yourself some injury otherwise.”
“I’d have done injury to Russell if I’d known what he was about. A thousand pounds!” He spat out the sum like a mouthful of spoiledlC=
Copyright © 2018 - 2024 ShopSpell