She stalked across to the sideboard and picked up a plate. How could he look so disgustingly healthy, when she’d hardly had a wink of sleep after she’d left his room, reviewing a continuous parade of what-might-have beens, followed by a whole troop of if-onlys? ‘Are you quite well, Mama Lyddy?’ Robert was looking at her with concern. She knew her face was pale and her eyes red from weeping on and off all night. But she hadn’t thought anyone would notice. Rose was the centre of attention, or ought to be. ‘This house party isn’t getting too much for you, is it?’ ‘I do wish you would stop treating me as though I am made of porcelain,’ she snapped, slamming the lid down on the dish of scrambled eggs. ‘I used to cater for more guests than this, at a moment’s notice, for your father and he never questioned my capability. And they were more often than not plant collectors, trudging mud through the house.’ A silence fell as she shut her eyes and drew a deep breath.
