It was mid-September, but chilly enough to have a welcoming blaze in the fireplace. The glorious fortnight in June had rapidly deteriorated to a poor summer, and now the rain was coming down in stair rods and streaming against the windowpanes. It was only half-past three in the afternoon, but the lamps had already been lit against the gloom. ‘Oh, is that the best you can do, sweetheart?’ Charles asked fondly, and clamping the smouldering cigar between his teeth, laid his winning flush on the table. ‘You lucky devil, Charles!’ Henry chuckled. ‘And my poor Rose has lost every game! Never mind, my love. Perhaps you’ll win the next one.’ ‘No, I don’t think I’ll play any more, if you don’t mind.’ She smiled wanly at her husband as she stood up. ‘I think I’d rather get back to my book.’ ‘Well, if you’re sure, my darling.’ Rose settled herself in the window seat, wedging a plush cushion behind her back. Pride and Prejudice. One of her favourite books, but just now, even the exploits of Mr Darcy and Miss Elizabeth Bennet held no interest for her.
