Brigit purred, and Elisha moved up behind her to find Rosalynn in the solar against a wall painted with diamonds and roses, a bound volume in her hands. She slapped it shut and dropped it on the desk. “You have found her then, Elisha. I take it she is the mistress of the house, now?” In her muddy gown, missing her chemise, underskirts, and veil, Rosalynn could not help but look dowdy. Her shoulders hunched, and she clutched the torn side of her gown, seeming to shrink as Brigit approached. Brigit smiled graciously. “Oh, I do hope you enjoyed our hospitality. You are free to go, and I suggest you do so. Come, Elisha.” She flicked her fingers at him. “We started off early, and I am starved.” Elisha’s stomach rumbled agreement, but Rosalynn pressed her trembling lips together. Her chatter was her most terrible defense and apparently she feared to use it. Her damp eyes traced Elisha’s scarred chest and looked away.
