Rosalyn came in, closed the door, then sank back against it as if to shut out the fact that her husband was somewhere about. “Thank you very much,” Graham said. He swirled around the last of a brandy he was holding in his hand. “What a delightful surprise.” “I couldn’t help it, Gray.” As if this were something to count on, she offered, “He’s having a ship built in Lyme. They expect him there. He’s already late. He has to go soon.” Outside, a lady’s skirt dropped over her ball. She walked. Magically, when she lifted her dress again, her ball was in line with the wicket. Graham glanced at Rosalyn. “Where is he now?” “Upstairs. He’s tired. I think he might take a nap.” He made a snort. “Alone?” “Yes, alone. I told you, he’s tired.” She paused. “I’m dying to see you, Gray, dying to be with you. Don’t be angry. He’s nothing, you’ll see. Let him stay a day, then I’ll accompany him to Lyme, make him stay there.” Graham looked at her sidelong.
