She hung on to the steering wheel until she cleared the Noble’s gate. Down the tree-lined road, a fair distance from the security guard’s watchful gaze, she pulled up on the shoulder. Her hands shook so much she had trouble switching off the engine. When she finally did, she just sat there, trying to come to terms with what she’d learned. She wasn’t the only one needing closure. The pain in Nina’s voice had been real, the hatred in her eyes on the balcony unadulterated. A vague memory flitted in Ashley’s head. Nina had worn the same expression the night Carlyle House had nearly burned to the ground. It was obvious the actress still blamed her for the death of her husband. What about the letters they’d exchanged? She’d poured her heart out in the letters she sent Nina after the funerals. Without the kind responses she’d received from the actress, she might never have dealt with the guilt of causing Robert Noble’s death. Why then did the woman still hate her? She tried to recall the details of that night, but as usual, very little came to mind.
