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Chapters (56)
  1. Cover
  2. RITA BRADSHAW
  3. Acknowledgements
  4. Prologue
  5. PART ONE
  6. Chapter One
  7. Chapter Two
  8. Chapter Three
  9. Chapter Four
  10. Chapter Five
  11. Chapter Six
  12. Chapter Seven
  13. Chapter Eight
  14. PART TWO
  15. Chapter Nine
  16. Chapter Ten
  17. Chapter Eleven
  18. Chapter Twelve
  19. Chapter Thirteen
  20. Chapter Fourteen
  21. Chapter Fifteen
  22. PART THREE
  23. Chapter Sixteen
  24. Chapter Seventeen
  25. Chapter Eighteen
  26. Chapter Nineteen
  27. Chapter Twenty
  28. Chapter Twenty-One
  29. PART FOUR
  30. Chapter Twenty-Two
  31. Chapter Twenty-Three
  32. Chapter Twenty-Four
  33. Chapter Twenty-Five
  34. PART FIVE
  35. Chapter Twenty-Six
  36. Chapter Twenty-Seven
  37. Chapter Twenty-Eight
  38. Chapter Twenty-Nine
  39. PART SIX
  40. Chapter Thirty
  41. Chapter Thirty-One
  42. Chapter Thirty-Two
  43. Chapter Thirty-Three
  44. Chapter Thirty-Four
  45. Epilogue
  46. Dancing in the Moonlight
  47. Beyond the Veil of Tears
  48. The Colours of Love
  49. Snowflakes in the Wind
  50. A Winter Love Song
  51. Beneath a Frosty Moon
  52. One Snowy Night
  53. The Storm Child
  54. The People’s Friend
  55. The Winter Rose
  56. By Rita Bradshaw

‘William, please.’ Arabella’s voice was low and urgent with a plea in it he ignored. He was furiously angry; with Arabella, with the couple still sitting in the drawing room and even with this child who was looking up at him with a slight frown as though he had committed a faux pas of some kind.

He strode off, and as he went Betsy said in a very small voice, ‘He doesn’t like my mammy and me, does he.’

‘Of course he does, my dear,’ said Arabella, completely at a loss. ‘He’s just – just not himself today, that is all. A – a touch of indigestion, I fear.’

A pair of big brown eyes surveyed her unblinkingly, and it was Arabella’s gaze that fell away as she said brightly, ‘Let us go and see Flossie and her babies, shall we?’ The feel of the little hand in hers had brought a lump to her throat and she was as angry with William as she felt he was with her. He was being positively churlish, she told herself indignantly, and his curtness with this dear little child was unforgivable. She would have words with him later but for the moment she would forget about him and try to make the afternoon pleasant for Betsy.

In the drawing room, Rose was voicing the same sentiments as her daughter. ‘Your father doesn’t like me.’

‘Nonsense. He doesn’t know you.’

‘Nevertheless.’

‘Rose, even if that were the case, which I am sure it is not, it doesn’t matter, not really.’ There was a long pause in which she just stared at him, and then, his words seeming to come from deep in his throat, he said, ‘Nothing matters except you and me, and Betsy of course.’

‘That’s not true—’

‘It is true.’

‘Your mother was being kind but underneath she feels the same way your father does, and I don’t blame them, Alexander. If you were, well, moderately wealthy, that would be one thing. Even then our relationship would be difficult but not insurmountable. As it is’ – she waved her hands expansively – ‘all this . . .’

‘Is my parents’, not mine, remember.’

‘You are your parents’ only child.’

‘That doesn’t mean I have to inherit. If I make it plain I am walking away from this, then there are cousins and other family members who would be only too happy to step up.’

She stared at him, horrified. ‘And you think I would let you do that for me?’