Gray stones could be made cheerful by flowers, greenery, gracefully curving arches, or pretty mosaics, but Rothhaven Hall was devoid of those touches. Lichens encroached on the wall supporting the front terrace, weeds added to the neglected air, and moss climbed the corner where the north and west walls joined. Every curtain was pulled closed despite the fine weather, and the brass lamps on either side of the front door were tarnished.

“The neglect served a purpose,” Althea replied. “A bleak façade discourages callers. The past five years have not been happy at the Hall. That can change now.”

She drew the carriage to a halt, and no groom appeared to take the horse.

“Let’s drive to the stables,” Constance said. “The staff is apparently out of the habit of watching for guests.”

The day was sunny, but Constance’s mood was increasingly dark. How could anybody thrive in surrounds like this—negligent staff, desolate grounds, no beauty or grace to be seen? Especially for a man burdened with a chronic affliction, such a setting was all wrong.

Althea gave the reins a shake. “I know you are entitled to your privacy, Con, but I have to ask: If you are acquainted with Rothhaven from some previous situation, does that make him unfit company for you now? I can say something to Nathaniel—something vague—and you need not deal with Rothhaven again.”

Protective family was a blessing—also a curse. “His Grace and I are cordially disposed toward one another, as people with a prospective family connection should be. Stop worrying, Thea. Spinsterhood is almost within my grasp and I will be fine.”

Much to Constance’s surprise, she was looking forward to seeing Rothhaven again. He’d taken the sketch she’d left for him after their previous encounter and sent a polite thank-you note. That note was in her jewelry box, the first thank-you note she’d ever received.

An older fellow of diminutive stature shuffled out of the stables as Althea drew the horse to a halt.

“Mornin’, your ladyships. Fine day, is it not?”

“A fine day indeed, Mr. Elgin,” Althea replied, climbing down. “We will stay for luncheon, and we might walk home.”

“I’ll await your orders, your ladyship.” He touched the brim of his cap and led the horse away.

The stable was in better condition than the Hall, the whitewashing fresh, the ground raked. Half barrels of heartsease sat on either side of the barn doors, and the earthy smell of equine wafted on the breeze.

“You will not stay here and sketch,” Althea said, taking Constance by the arm. “You do know if Quinn ever finds out that you ran away to elope with some man, and that man broke his word to you, Quinn will see the fellow held accountable?”