“I believe so.” Genevieve's body tensed and her hands stopped moving her fork. “Why? I certainly haven't heard it from him. I only met him once or twice. I barely even knew him!” The fear and the horror were sharp in her face, and a loathing too great for words.

Hester felt ashamed for having brought up the name of the man who had taken so much from her. Instinctively she put out her hand and touched Genevieve's where it lay on the table.

“I'm sorry. I wish I had not spoken of him. There must be pleasant things for us to discuss. I met Mr. Niven in the hall yesterday as I was leaving.

He seems a very gentle man, and a good friend to you.”

Genevieve flushed. “Yes, he is,” she admitted. “He was very fond of Angus, in spite of the . . . the business misfortunes which befell him because of Angus's greater skill. He really is quite able, you know. He has learned from his incautious judgments.”

“I'm glad,” Hester said sincerely. She had liked Niven's face, and she certainly liked Genevieve. “Perhaps he will yet find a position where he can mend his situation.” Genevieve looked down. There was an awkwardness in her, but her short chin was set in determination, and there was tenderness and grief in her wide mouth.

“I . . . I am considering offering him the management of my business . .

. that is . . . that is, of course, if I am permitted to.” She gazed at Hester. “You must think me very cold. No one has yet proved what happened to my husband, although I know in my heart. And here I am discussing who I will put in his place.” She leaned forward, pushing her unfinished plate out of the way. “I cannot help Angus anymore. I tried everything I knew to persuade him not to go to Caleb, but he wouldn't listen to me. Now I have to think of my children and what will happen to them. The world won't wait while I grieve.” Her eyes were steady, and, gazing back at her, Hester realized some of the strength in her, the power of the resolve which had made her what she was and which now drove her on to rein in her own pain, guard and control it, for the sake of her children.

Perhaps some of her admiration was plain in her expression, because the defensiveness eased out of Genevieve and she smiled ruefully, a little at herself.

Genevieve seemed such a formal name for such a woman, almost an earthy woman, one with such a vivid reality. In the lamplight Hester could see the shadow her lashes cast on her cheek and the very faint down on the skin.

Had Angus called her Genny?

Genny . . . Ginny?