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‘Mayhap they light a fire occasionally to drive off the damp—’ Ran broke off as the door opened and Meavy came in with a tray of glasses and a decanter. He was followed by a plump woman in a white apron and with a snowy lace cap over her grey curls. She introduced herself as Mrs Meavy, the housekeeper.

‘The coffee will be ready in a trice, my lord, but I thought, in the meantime, you might like to take a glass of wine.’ She put a tray of cakes and biscuits down on a side table and turned back to the Earl. ‘Well, my lord, this is a to-do,’ she said cheerfully. ‘If I’d known you was coming, I’d have prepared a dinner for you, but with Her Ladyship being out for the day, all I have ready is an egg-and-bacon pie—’

‘Wait a moment.’ Ran raised one hand to stop the garrulous flow. ‘Her Ladyship?’

The old lady blinked at him. ‘Why, yes, my lord. The Countess.’

It was Ran’s turn to blink. ‘Countess? You mean the old Earl’s widow is in residence here?’

He swore silently. He had not considered that possibility. Damn Chislett for not warning him!

The housekeeper gave a fat chuckle. ‘Why, no, my lord. I means your Countess, o’ course!’

Randolph ignored the choking sound coming from Joseph and concentrated on concealing his own astonishment.

‘Ah, yes. Lady Westray,’ he said, not betraying himself by the flicker of an eyelid. ‘She is gone out, you say?’

‘Aye, my lord. She went off to Meon House this morning to ride out with Lady Meon and then she is to dine there and stay the night.’

‘Is she indeed?’ He felt a laugh bubbling up and grinned at Joseph, who was still red in the face from coughing. ‘Then we shall join her there, once we have eaten something. Please bring us some of that pie, Mrs Meavy, and after we have dined, Joseph, you had best unpack and brush my evening coat!’

Ran gazed at himself in the long mirror, taking in the black coat with its gold buttons bearing the Westray crest. He had looked at it askance when he had pulled it out of the trunk of clothes the Gilmortons had procured for him, but now he gave a nod of approval.

‘Deb and Gil have surpassed my expectations,’ he declared. ‘Coat, knee breeches, the finest linen shirt, even footwear! Everything that is needed to convince doubters that I am indeed the new Earl.’

He was in the master bedroom, where a fire had been hastily cobbled together. Joseph was tenderly brushing the new chapeau-bras that would complete his ensemble, but he threw his master a frowning look.

‘Aye, my lord, but who is this mysterious lady masquerading as your wife?’ He kept his voice low even though they were alone in the room. ‘I’ve asked a few questions, discreetly, of course, but all the servants can tell me is that she arrived two weeks ago along with her maid and took up residence. Gave some taradiddle about your being on business at t’other end of the country.’

‘And they believed it?’ Randolph fixed a diamond pin into the folds of his snowy cravat.

‘Why should they not?’ Joseph spread his hands. ‘They’d heard the new Earl had been found and summoned to come home and claim his inheritance. Nothing more.’

‘I suppose I had ordered Chislett not to blab,’ said Ran, fairly. ‘And the lady’s maid, the one person who might be able to tell us what is going on, has accompanied her mistress to Meon House.’ He took the hat from Joseph and adjusted it at a rakish angle on his fair head. ‘This could prove an interesting evening.’

‘Perhaps I should come with you, my lord. In case there is trouble.’

‘I do not anticipate needing your help, my friend. You stay here and make sure the sheets on the bed are properly aired. It was made up in a hurry and I don’t want to catch my death of cold.’

‘After everything we’ve been through, it would take more than a damp sheet to carry you off, my lord,’ muttered Joseph, as he opened the door for his master to go out.

Meon House was situated just a few miles from Beaumount Hall, but Randolph’s coachman was unfamiliar with the territory and took a wrong turn. It was therefore nearly nine o’clock before the carriage arrived at its destination. Light poured from every window and the number of carriages he could make out on the drive suggested there was something more than a quiet dinner in progress.

It had started to rain and Ran hurried up the steps to the door, which a servant was holding open for him. In the hall a cheerful fire burned and Ran could hear the buzz of voices coming from the rooms beyond. The footman looked a little bemused when Ran gave him his name, but a lady, crossing the hall, stopped and came forward. By the way she dismissed the servant, Ran guessed this was Lady Meon. She was on the shady side of thirty, but taking in the voluptuous figure sheathed in gold satin and the glossy dark curls piled on her head, she dressed to advantage. She was an attractive woman, he thought, and she was well aware of it.

‘Lord Westray, this is indeed a surprise.’ The smile on her full red lips and the appraising look in her dark eyes suggested it was not an unpleasant one.

‘Yes, I am Westray.’ He smiled at her. ‘I beg your pardon for coming unannounced, but I have just arrived at Beaumount and learned my wife is here. I hope I have not interrupted your dinner?’

Ran took her outstretched hand and bowed over it, then worried that perhaps it would be considered an old-fashioned gesture. To his relief, the lady was clearly charmed. Her smile grew.

‘No, no, we are quite finished and everyone is in the drawing room. I shall take you in myself. That is—’ She stopped suddenly. ‘Have you dined, Lord Westray? If not, I am sure we can—’

‘I dined at Beaumount, ma’am, thank you.’

‘Ah, good.’ She tucked her hand into his arm. ‘Come along, then, my lord. Let us go in. But I must warn you, it is only a little party, just a few neighbouring families, which is all the society this isolated place can provide. Lady Westray was eager to meet her neighbours and I was delighted to oblige her. Heavens, how pleased she will be to see you!’

‘Not nearly as pleased as I shall be to see her,’ murmured Ran.

He accompanied his hostess into an elegant drawing room full of glittering light from the chandeliers and the jewels that adorned the necks of the ladies present. It might be a small party, but it was clear the guests considered it an important occasion.

There were only about a dozen persons gathered there, but from the level of noise in the room Ran thought the wine had been flowing freely. Two elderly matrons conversed on a sofa by the fire and an aged gentleman dozed in a chair. Everyone else was gathered by the large window bay. Lady Meon led Ran across the room towards them. The group consisted of three ladies and double the number of gentlemen, their attention fixed upon a lady who had her back to the room. She was talking in an animated fashion that set the skirts of her red silk gown shimmering.

As they approached, Ran took the opportunity to observe her. Even from the back the view was attractive. She had an elegant figure and her shoulders rose in smooth, creamy slopes from a low-cut bodice. Her graceful neck was adorned with a diamond collar and above that fair curls were piled artlessly upon her head. They glinted with her every movement, like newly minted sovereigns.

Ran glanced at the two other females, both matronly and grey-haired. Too old to be his Countess. His lips twitched and he felt a sudden kick of pleasurable excitement as they drew closer. By heaven, surely this vision in the red gown could not be...

Lady Meon reached out and lightly touched one scarlet sleeve.

‘Well, well, Lady Westray, you do not know how delighted I am to be the bearer of good tidings, for here is your husband, arrived in Devon this very night and come to find you!’

The lady turned quickly and Ran was dazzled by her smile of delight. It quickly faded as her lips formed a little ‘oh’ of surprise. She regarded him with a shadow of fear in the depths of her emerald-green eyes. His own smile grew.

‘Well, my dear, I believe I have surprised you.’

He reached for her hand, but even as he clasped her fingers she collapsed into a dead faint.

Ran did not hesitate. He scooped her up, the red silk skirts sliding with a whisper over his arm.

One of the matrons laughed. ‘There now, no one can doubt her astonishment! Poor little thing. Take her somewhere quiet, my lord, until she has recovered herself. We will happily wait for the pleasure of an introduction!’

‘Yes, yes, this way,’ cried Lady Meon, leading him away from the group. ‘There is a little room across the passage. Here we are.’ She opened a door and Ran stepped into a comfortable sitting room, where candles were already burning and there was a small fire in the hearth. ‘Lay her on the sofa, my lord. I shall send for her maid.’

‘No. No need for that.’ Ran put his burden down gently and sat on the edge of the sofa, beside her. ‘I shall take care of her now.’

‘Ah, of course you will. Who better to do so than her own husband?’

His hostess looked on with approval as he began to chafe the little hands and Ran shot her a smile.

‘No need for any fuss, Lady Meon. Her pulse has already grown steadier. Pray go back to your guests and assure them my lady has merely fainted. We shall join you again very soon.’

‘Very well, my lord. I shall leave you to look after your wife. I can see she is stirring. Good, good. But you must ring if there is anything you need, anything at all.’

Lady Meon departed, leaving Randolph alone with his lady.

Arabella surfaced from the dead faint, but kept very still, afraid the pain behind her eyes would be worse if she opened them. Someone was rubbing her hands, and a deep voice, rich with amusement, was speaking to her.

‘Gently now, my lady. You are safe.’

Safe! Her heart began to pound as memory returned. She was at Meon House and had been regaling her new acquaintances with some tale. Then Lady Meon had said her husband was there. For one brief, blissful moment she had forgotten that George was no longer alive. She had turned eagerly, only to find herself looking into the face of a stranger. That had been a cruel blow. Shock, heartbreaking disappointment and alarm had combined to render her senseless, but now she was awake and all too aware that she was in trouble.

The pain in her head had faded and she risked opening her eyes. The stranger was still there, holding her hands in a firm, sustaining clasp. He was nothing like George. He was older and his hair was fair, not brown. It was lighter than her own and, unlike George in those last months, this man positively glowed with health and vigour.

He smiled and something twisted, deep inside. She wanted to smile back at this handsome stranger, to lie still and enjoy his ministrations for a little longer. She quickly closed her eyes again. Heavens, what an alarming thought!

‘We are quite alone,’ he said. ‘There is no need for pretence.’

‘My fainting was no pretence,’ she told him crossly as she struggled to sit up. ‘Who are you?’

‘I am Westray,’ he told her. ‘More to the point, madam, who are you?’

She bit her lip. He was dressed fashionably and a diamond twinkled from the folds of his neckcloth, but he wore no other jewellery save for a gold signet ring. Could he really be the missing Earl? A felon. True, the reports said he had received a full pardon and she knew that people were transported for crimes as trivial as stealing a length of cloth, but he was a convict nevertheless.

She looked at him now, the candlelight gleaming on his mane of fair hair, his skin glowing with the golden tan of a man who spent his time out of doors. Or on a long sea voyage.

‘Well?’ he said, when she did not speak. ‘Personation, that is, pretending to be someone you are not, is a crime, you know. I think I am entitled to an explanation. Let us begin with your name.’

She looked at him defiantly and wanted to retort that he was the criminal, she had read about him in the newspapers. He was waiting patiently for her to respond and her defiance faltered. He did not look like a villain. Yet whatever he had done to earn his pardon, it did not mean she could trust him.

He appeared relaxed, even amused, but there was a steely strength about him. She knew he would not be fobbed off with anything less than the truth. She had no choice but to answer.

‘I am Arabella Roffey.’

‘Go on.’

His blue-green eyes were glinting with laughter but they were not unkind. She said impulsively, ‘I needed to be here. It is very important. Pray do not expose me!’

She moved to the end of the sofa, not trusting her legs to support her if she tried to stand. He shifted his position to face her, sitting back, his arms folded and smiling as if he was completely at his ease, but a second glance confirmed her original thought: he was as relaxed as a cat watching its prey.

‘How intriguing,’ he said cheerfully. ‘You had best explain it to me.’

‘I...’ She clasped her hands, squeezing them together to steady her nerves and gazing down at the white knuckles. ‘I am trying to find out who killed my husband.’

Chapter Three

It was not the answer Ran had been expecting. She did not look old enough to be married, let alone a widow. A closer look at her face made him reconsider. She would be one-or two-and-twenty, he guessed. She was very pale; there were dark smudges beneath her eyes and faint lines of strain around them. Young she might be, but he could believe she had known grief.

‘You think Lady Meon is responsible?’

‘No. Possibly. George was staying here with friends, you see. Before he died. From what he told me, when he was sick, I suspect, I believe something happened here.’

‘Why did you not write to the lady and ask her?’

She lifted her shoulders in a tiny shrug. ‘If my suspicions are correct, I doubt Lady Meon would have told me anything if I had approached her as Mrs Roffey.’

‘You decided you might have more success as a countess.’ When she did not respond he continued. ‘How long have you been masquerading as my wife?’

‘Just over two weeks.’ She added, as if in mitigation, ‘But only here in Devonshire and until this evening I had met only Lady Meon. Then she invited me to her party and I thought I might learn something.’

Loud voices came from the passage beyond the door. A burst of laughter and heavy footsteps.

She looked at him, her green eyes wide with alarm. ‘Will you tell them I am an impostor?’

‘Not here,’ he said, getting up. ‘Not tonight.’

Ran noted the slight lessening of tension in her dainty form.

‘I am most grateful, thank you.’

‘I will send for your cloak and order the carriage.’

That startled her.

‘But I cannot go now,’ she protested. ‘I have accepted Lady Meon’s invitation to stay the night!’

A grin tugged at his mouth. ‘Our hostess would hardly expect me to leave without you, but if you would rather I stayed, we could continue this charade until the morning.’

He let the words hang, watching with unholy amusement as the implication of his words sank in. She blushed furiously.

‘No, of course I do not want that!’ She rose and shook out her skirts. ‘I came in my own carriage. I will go and find my maid and we shall follow you.’

‘Oh, no, I do not intend to let you slip away from me. We shall return to the salon together and find our hostess. And then, my lady, I am taking you back to Beaumount. Your maid can pack your bags and follow later.’

Arabella wanted to protest, but she knew it would be useless. He was still smiling, but there was an implacable look in his eyes. She must capitulate. For now.

‘Very well. I will go with you, Lord Westray.’

‘How formal that sounds.’ He grimaced. ‘Very well, then. Let us take leave of our hostess.’

Arabella paused for a heartbeat. It was a risk to go off with this man, she knew that, but what choice did she have? She could confess everything and throw herself on the mercy of her hostess, but instinct told her not to trust Ursula Meon.

Did she trust the Earl of Westray? She looked at him again and realised that she did. She felt her world shift slightly, as if something momentous had occurred. It was irrational, illogical, but looking into his sea-blue eyes, she felt a connection, as if he would understand her. Nonsense, of course. Her thoughts were confused. She was still shaken, not yet recovered from her faint.

He held out his arm. ‘Madam, shall we go?’

Taking a deep breath, she put her fingers on his sleeve and allowed him to lead her back to the salon.

The party had grown rowdier in their absence and they entered to a confusion of chatter and laughter. The noise died as they walked in and Arabella felt as if every eye was turned towards her. She could not help clutching more tightly at the Earl’s arm. He put his hand over her fingers and squeezed them.

‘Do not be afraid to lean on me, my dear. I have you safe now.’

Arabella knew the caressing tone was as much for the benefit of the gathered company as for her. Lady Meon had flown out of her chair and was beside them, begging the Earl to bring his lady closer to the fire, asking if she could fetch her anything.

‘You might send for my carriage, madam,’ replied the Earl. ‘I would like to take my wife home.’

Home. Wife.

The words sent a chill through Arabella, dispelling the feeling of unreality that had possessed her since meeting the Earl. Common sense told her it was better to stay here, in company, rather than to leave with a stranger. To ride in a darkened coach with him and then to enter Beaumount. His house. As his wife. That would be foolhardy in the extreme. She needed time to think.

‘Oh, but I am so much better now, my lord,’ she said brightly. ‘Indeed, I am mortified that I should be so silly as to faint off. I beg your pardon and hope you will forgive me. I should dearly like to remain here for a little longer yet, at least until after supper—’

‘Alas, my love, I do not think that would be wise,’ the Earl interrupted her smoothly. ‘Lady Meon will understand, I am sure, that I want to have you to myself tonight.’

Arabella flushed at the inference, but she was also angered by the teasing note in his voice. It made her long to hit him.

‘Of course I understand, my lord.’ Lady Meon gave Arabella’s arm a playful tap with her fan. ‘You naughty puss, to tease him so, when I am sure you are just as eager to be away.’

The ladies were all smiling and nodding—one of the gentlemen even laughed. Arabella found herself blushing again, but she was not giving up just yet.

‘Naturally, I should like to be at home,’ she said sweetly, ‘and yet I think it would be better if I remained here, quietly, for a little while. Perhaps I might take a cup of tea before I leave.’ She turned her head to look up at the Earl and gave him a false, glittering smile. ‘That would also give my lord the opportunity to become acquainted with our new neighbours.’

His eyes gleamed appreciatively, acknowledging she had outmanoeuvred him.

‘As you wish, my dear, we shall stay a little longer.’

The tea tray was summoned and the Earl guided Arabella to a chair. She sat down, fanning herself, and watched through half-closed eyes as Lady Meon and her guests vied for Lord Westray’s attention.

There was no doubting their eagerness to become acquainted with the new Earl. Over the course of the evening she had learned that in recent times the Westray family had made little use of Beaumount. Everyone was aware of the present Earl’s history, but it made no odds to them. It was more important to be on good terms with their exalted neighbour than to worry about his past.

‘Do you intend to make this a long visit to Devonshire, my lord?’ asked Lady Trewen, wife of the local squire.

‘I hardly know, ma’am. A week, perhaps.’

‘There is good sport, sir, if you are a hunting man,’ declared her husband. ‘Plenty of fish and fowl to be had. And of course, fox and stag hunting. If you haven’t brought your own horses, I’d be happy to mount you on one of mine. I believe I have a couple that would be up to your weight.’

The Earl inclined his head. ‘Thank you, but I doubt we shall be in the area long enough for that. I have business in London that requires my attention.’

‘And your good lady is pining for society, I don’t doubt,’ said a bewhiskered gentleman. ‘You should come back in the spring or summer, my lord. Lady Meon’s house parties would be very much in your line, I am sure. Any number of young bucks from town come down, and lords and ladies, too. Ain’t that so, ma’am?’ He gave another hearty laugh. ‘Then my lady doesn’t have to rely upon country dwellers like ourselves to fill her drawing room!’

Lady Meon smiled and shook her head at him. ‘It is always a pleasure to invite my neighbours here, Mr Lettaford.’

Beneath her drooping lids, Arabella watched the exchange. The bonhomie was slightly forced. She had the impression the local families were not welcome at the Meon House parties and they resented it. She sat up a little and reached for the cup of tea that had been placed on the table at her elbow.

‘Goodness, ma’am,’ she exclaimed, ‘do people come all the way from London for your parties?’

‘It is not such a long way, Lady Westray,’ replied Mrs Lettaford, bridling in defence of her home. ‘There is a good road as far as Plymouth, because of the mail, and the roads around here are not as bad as some in the county. I am sure there would no inconvenience at all in travelling to the capital.’

‘Not that we have had any call to make the journey,’ added her husband. ‘We can find everything we need in Tavistock, or if not there, then in Plymouth.’

Mrs Lettaford glared at him before giving an angry titter. ‘Now, now, sir, Lord and Lady Westray will think we are all rustics living here.’

‘I can assure His Lordship that is not the case at all,’ purred Lady Meon, quick to soothe the ruffled feathers of her guests. ‘And it is true the road from London is a good one. My brother often comes to stay, but I confess we rarely entertain our neighbours when he is here.’ She gave a placatory smile. ‘He often brings his young friends, you see, who enjoy the break away from the constant social whirl of the capital. This is something of a repairing lease for them. We keep very much to ourselves, nothing very exciting at all.’

Arabella remembered George telling her much the same thing.

‘It is only a few close friends, my sweet,’ he had said. ‘It will be all cards and sport, neither of which interest you. You had much better remain in Lincolnshire, for you would not enjoy their company and there will be no other wives to chatter with. You would be bored within a day. Imagine then how I would feel, knowing you were not happy.’

In vain had she pleaded with him. He had merely pinched her cheek, told her he knew best and gone off, leaving her with his parents at Revesby Hall. If only she had insisted. If only.

She looked up to find the Earl was watching her.

‘You look tired,’ he murmured. ‘If you have finished your tea, my dear, perhaps we should take our leave?’

Arabella suddenly did feel fatigued. She could think of no reason to stay longer and she rose from her chair. When she suggested she would slip upstairs to fetch her cloak, Lady Meon said quickly she would send a servant to fetch it.

‘I need to tell my maid what has occurred,’ Arabella protested, but the Earl shook his head at her.

‘I am sure my lady’s footman can explain everything.’ He glanced a question at their hostess, who nodded. He continued smoothly, ‘You must not exert yourself any more than necessary. As your husband, I must insist, my dear.’

His smile was gentle, but she saw the gleam of laughter in his eyes and fumed in silence until the footman came back with her fur-lined cloak. The Earl took leave of the company, saying all that was proper, and Lady Meon insisted upon accompanying them to the door. As they crossed the hall, she gave a little laugh and touched the Earl’s arm.

‘My parties here are not quite as uneventful as I made out, my lord, I assure you.’

The lady spoke very quietly and Arabella had to strain to hear.

‘I would not for the world wish to offend my neighbours,’ Lady Meon continued, ‘but as you have seen, they are not the sort one would wish to make known to more...er...worldly friends. They would be shocked by our late nights and deep play, so it is best that they do not come. However, if you should be at Beaumount the next time I have house guests, be assured you would be most welcome.’ Arabella did not miss the slight pause before her final words. ‘And your dear lady, of course.’

‘I thank you, madam,’ he replied easily. ‘We should be glad to join you. On our next visit.’

They had reached the door and Arabella could see a dusty travelling coach waiting on the drive. Another moment and she would be alone with the Earl in that confined, dark interior.

Don’t go, Arabella. Say something, now!

There was still time. She might throw herself upon Lady Meon’s mercy, but something held her back. The Earl had taken her hand, but his touch was light, supportive rather than keeping her a prisoner. Perhaps it was foolish, but Arabella trusted him far more than she trusted her hostess. She swallowed down her nerves and managed to mutter a word of thanks before he escorted her down the steps and into the waiting carriage.

Arabella pressed herself into one corner, clutching her cloak tightly about her. To her relief, Lord Westray made no attempt to question her, or even to touch her, for the short journey back to Beaumount. They travelled in silence, and when they arrived, he helped her down and pulled her hand firmly on to his arm to guide her up the steps and into the house.

Meavy opened the door and did not appear in the least surprised to see them. He beamed, bowed, and when His Lordship declared they would take refreshments before retiring, he sent a footman running to light the candles in the drawing room and to build up the fire.

To Arabella’s stretched nerves, the period since leaving Meon House and arriving at Beaumount had seemed interminable, yet it had not been long enough for her to gather her thoughts. It had been madness to come back here with the Earl. As they made their way to the drawing room, questions raced through her head. What was she going to do? What was she going to tell him?

The servant withdrew, closing the door behind him. Arabella walked across to the fire to warm her hands. The Earl poured a glass of wine and handed it to her.

‘Apart from meeting you, madam, I have to say I found nothing untoward at Meon House tonight. The lady’s guests appeared to be respectable people.’

‘I am sure they are,’ she replied. ‘It would seem Lady Meon is at pains to keep her neighbours and her house guests apart. No one would admit it outright, of course, but more than one of the ladies gave the impression that they disapproved of the house parties at Meon House.’

‘Unsurprising, if they were not invited,’ he remarked. ‘I suggest you sit down and tell me what this is all about.’

She subsided into a chair. Time to decide what to tell him, and how much.

The Earl sat down facing her and said, as if reading her thoughts, ‘It would be best if you told me everything.’

‘I did not know you were in England.’

‘I arrived in Portsmouth a few days ago. Not many people know yet that I am in the country.’

She was about to ask another question, but he caught her eye, the warning in his own very clear. He would not allow her to digress. She took a deep breath.

‘At the end of June, my husband, George, returned from a visit to Devonshire, where he had been staying with friends. He was very ill and he died within weeks. He was in a bad way, raving that he had been ill-used. Robbed and poisoned. I thought at the time that he was delirious, but later, I discovered that he had spent thousands of guineas in a matter of months. You see, the marriage settlement had been drawn up in such a way that upon my husband’s death, the money invested in Funds reverted to me. I knew exactly how much it had been upon our marriage and I was shocked to see how it was depleted.’ She took a sip of her wine. ‘George was young and...and impressionable. I think he fell in with a bad crowd who tried to take all his money, but I do not know who they are. All I know is that he had been invited to stay at Meon House.’

‘One moment.’ He stopped her, frowning. ‘Why did he not take you with him?’

‘We had only just married.’

‘I would have thought that all the more reason to be together.’

She blushed, partly out of guilt because she had thought that, too.

‘It was only a small party, a few friends meeting up for gambling and a little sport. I should not have enjoyed it.’ George had told her as much, had he not? And he knew best; she had never questioned that. She said now, with a touch of defiance, ‘He was obliged to go because he had promised his friends, but I know he would have preferred to stay at home with me. He told me so.’

What George had not told her was that Meon House had no master. It had been an unpleasant surprise for her to discover its mistress was a widow. Even worse that she was a lively and attractive widow. Arabella had wondered more than once since arriving at Beaumount if jealousy was clouding her judgement of Lady Meon.

The Earl was speaking again and she dragged her thoughts back.

‘Do you believe it was these friends who took your husband’s money?’