Her chest constricted. Mr. Tallboys was right, then. Banallt was going to marry Miss Fidelia Llewellyn. Why should she mind that Banallt had moved on? Hadn’t she expected and hoped he would? The couple walked, arm in arm, up the stairs, and as Sophie watched them her entire history with Banallt came back. For a time, he had been her only friend during a dark and unhappy period of her life. The way he moved was familiar to her: the elegance of his clothes, the too-long hair, the eerie flatness of his eyes. She was glad they had renewed their friendship. She ought to be equally glad he had found a woman he wanted to marry. In the courtyard, the groom clung to the back of the carriage as the coachman drove the vehicle back onto the street, heading, no doubt, for the mews. “Is it you, Vedaelin?” Banallt said, tilting his head to see who was there as he ascended the stairs with Miss Fidelia Llewellyn on his arm. The sun was in his eyes and he could not see them well, Sophie realized. He paused.
