“Mrs. Riley, is there anything I can do to make this evening more pleasant for you? It appears I have failed on all fronts.” He had to hold back a smile as he spoke. He wasn’t angry with her, and he truly wanted to know.

She froze, her fork halfway to her mouth with a lump of lobster. After a moment, she set it down and had the decency to blush. “Forgive me. I thought a man of your sophisticated palate would be looking for a lady who shared it.”

She seemed horribly embarrassed, and he did his best to set her at ease. “I spent most of the last twenty years on a ship, eating canned food and hardtack. If a meal is hot and fresh, I’m usually over the moon.”

She returned his laugh. “And I actually love bacon,” she said, stirring the pile of bacon back into the lobster salad. She dropped the pretension and ate with gusto.

Maybe they could work something out after all.

Ever since their experiment with the vanilla pear cake, Elaine had become obsessed with cooking. She checked out braille books from the library on all aspects of the culinary arts and regularly presented Annabelle with recipes she wanted to try.

Today’s recipe was a rhubarb chutney. It wasn’t the sort of dish Annabelle imagined she would enjoy, but Elaine was adamant.

“I’ve heard that the combination of sweet and sour fruitiness is the perfect combination to accompany a nice sharp cheese. Perhaps a cheddar or an aged gouda.”

Annabelle didn’t know what to make of such extravagant food combinations, but these experiments in their kitchen always cheered Elaine, so Annabelle dutifully bought the rhubarb, red wine vinegar, onions, and dried cherries to prepare the dish. It filled the kitchen with an odd scent as Elaine stirred the mix over a low heat.

Annabelle worked on mincing the onions while, on the other side of the kitchen, Elaine kept sniffling. Which was odd, because Annabelle was the one cutting onions.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

Elaine’s back was to her, but the sniffling continued, and Elaine shook her head.

Annabelle dropped the knife and went to her sister’s side. “What’s wrong?” she asked, for Elaine was tense and her breathing ragged.

Oh no. These fits of panic were rare now, and Annabelle couldn’t imagine what had triggered it, but she moved the pot to the back of the stove and put a reassuring arm around Elaine.

“Come, sit down,” she urged. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Elaine fanned her face with her hands, struggling to breathe normally. “I don’t know how to tell you,” she finally said.

“Tell me what?”

At least Elaine seemed to be getting her composure back as she beat back the panic. She dried her eyes with her cuff and took a calming breath.