I heard a car tearing up the driveway faster than Mrs. Shaw ever had and swerve to a halt in front of the house. I ran to my bedroom window, anxious to get a gander. There was a handsome, blond feller behind the wheel. He must be Sinclair. He leaped out of the car, and I saw he had long legs and a lean build. He took off his cap and gloves and ran his fingers through his hair. When Mrs. Shaw came out to greet him, he grinned, showing lovely white teeth. I was in love just at the sight of him. The other feller, Ben, was short and dark, with a pleasant face and a loud laugh. Mrs. Shaw hurried over and hugged Ben but gave her nephew only a stiff handshake.

Then Teresa ran out, all smiles. I was sure she had a notion for one or the other of them. Sinclair handed her his cap and gloves to carry, while Ben waved her away, stuffing his own into his pockets. They all disappeared into the house, and I had to hold myself back from racing down the stairs. The polite thing, I realized, was to wait to be called. I paced the room on pins and needles until Mrs. Shaw knocked on the door. I took my time going to open it.

“They are here,” she said with a bright smile, “and anxious to meet you. Come downstairs when you are ready, dear.”

I counted to one hundred, smoothed out my dress, patted my hair, took my time going down the stairs and sauntered into the dining room. Sinclair Shaw, Ben and Mrs. Shaw stood in front of the fireplace, sipping sherry. Mrs. Shaw looked relieved when I appeared.

“Let’s sit down, shall we?” she said, pointing to the huge dining table.

I could hardly take my eyes off Sinclair Shaw. He was even more handsome up close. Teresa served the others politely but glared at me as she slammed down the dishes in front of me. I supposed she was jealous, and I didn’t blame her. I’d have felt the same way in her place. I ignored her slights. I was so wrapped up in watching Sinclair Shaw’s every move that I almost forgot my new table manners. I had to remind myself to cut the cold roast beef into tiny slices before eating it, but when Sinclair turned to smile at me, I spluttered some sherry onto the tablecloth. He raised an eyebrow, and I must have turned the color of a turkey cock. I began coughing to cover my embarrassment. I set down the glass and dabbed my lips with my serviette, as I had often seen Mrs. Shaw do.

“Do excuse me,” I said politely. “I’m not used to sherry. Normally, I never drink at all.”