So Edie took Susannah back upstairs, to her bedchamber. She sat down and pulled her cello forward. After a while, Susannah sidled over. “What are you doing?”

“I’m cleaning the strings of my cello.”

“Why?”

“I need to remove the resin that collected on them.”

Susannah sniffed. “It smells nasty.”

“I’m using distilled spirits.” Edie didn’t elaborate; she was determined not to make embarrassing overtures to the little girl. The doll hadn’t worked. She had tried smiling at her, and complimenting her hair. She’d gone to her knees and tried to play with toys. Nothing had worked. She was done.

Susannah watched her for a while, as Edie swept a soft cloth up and down the strings. Then the child started to ask more questions, and before she knew it, Edie was plucking a string and telling Susannah the pitch, and then letting her pluck it. She could still remember her father patiently doing the same with her.

A few minutes later, she looked down and discovered that Susannah was leaning against her knee. “Can you play me something?” the little girl asked.

“What would you like?”

“Three Blind Mice.”

They worked out how to pluck the strings correctly for the nursery rhyme. “That’s my favorite,” Susannah announced.

“Why?”

“Because the farmer chops off their heads,” she said. “And then they’re dead, see? All dead.”

Edie thought for a moment about whether she should express concern to Layla, but decided it was probably just the way things were. Your mother dies; you think about death. Your marriage dies; you think about . . . She quickly made herself think about something else.

After an early supper, Bardolph escorted her down the hill, Layla and Susannah trailing behind.

“You’ve done a wonderful job, Bardolph!” Edie exclaimed, as she emerged from the stairwell into the tower’s first habitable room. The previously empty chamber had been transformed into a cozy dining room, including a small sideboard with a stack of ducal china. On the next level was a sitting room, with a pretty Aubusson rug on the floor, and chairs upholstered in brocaded silk. “This is so much nicer than my bedchamber in the castle!”

“These are the late duchess’s things,” Bardolph said, thawing a bit at the unaccustomed praise. “They have been in the attic since her untimely departure.”

Edie cast him a sideways glance. Could it be that Bardolph did not approve of the bedroom furnishings in the castle?

Her new bedroom, another flight up, was as charming as her sitting room. A large bed took up most of the room, but there was enough space on the side for a comfortable armchair, as well as a straight-backed chair, and her cello—which was there, in its stand, waiting for her. “Oh, Bardolph,” she said, with sincere gratitude. “Thank you so much.”

“I know better than to ask whether you’d like company for luncheon tomorrow,” Layla said. “Her Grace will undoubtedly practice all day, Bardolph; you can send a footman out with a light luncheon. I shall join her for supper at night after Susannah is in bed.”

A little pang hit Edie’s heart, but it was better not to spend any time with Susannah. What was the point?

“Although we shall pay you a visit every morning,” Layla continued. “And you will simply have to put your cello aside to greet us.”

Edie’s heart lightened. She would get used to living alone, but for the moment, it was reassuring to think that Layla would visit.

“Will you be afraid, alone here at night?” Layla was standing at the door, holding Susannah’s hand, about to descend the steps.

“I will not be afraid. I shall be perfectly happy here.” That was a lie, but what was another lie, given all the lies she’d already told?

“There may be vagrants about,” Bardolph said. “I would feel much better if you would allow me to station a footman near the entry door, Your Grace.”

“Absolutely not,” Edie said firmly. “Now, shoo, all of you. Bardolph, if you could ask Mary to attend me, I am longing for my bed.”

“We could stay with you,” came a little voice. It was Susannah. “We could all fit in that big bed.” She nodded toward it.

Edie felt the first real smile she’d had all day cross her face. She went over to the door and knelt down in front of Susannah, and it was an utterly natural gesture. “I so much appreciate that you offered.”

Susannah backed up, just a single step. Clearly, she was still afraid that Edie would try to keep her from Layla, so Edie stood up and put a finger on her nose. “If you visit me tomorrow, we’ll work out another nursery rhyme.” She smiled at Layla. “I hate to say this, knowing your poor opinion of musicians. But the moppet has a lovely soprano voice.”

Susannah, who had no idea what that meant, beamed up at Layla. “I got it,” she said.

Layla scooped her up and put her on her hip. “You need to go to sleep.” She blew a kiss to Edie. “Good night, darling. Oh, listen to that! It’s started to rain again.”

“Footmen are waiting below with umbrellas,” Bardolph said. “It could be that the ground will become soggy,” he said to Edie, “but you have no reason to worry. This tower has stood since 1248, and although the river floods, it has never in its long history threatened the tower. No matter what, the tower will stand; His Grace had the foundations reinforced and the stonework newly pointed.”

Gowan was nothing if not thorough. Edie insisted on accompanying them all the way down to the ground floor, where she gave Layla and Susannah quick hugs before climbing back up to her new bedchamber. There were lamps everywhere, and a fire burning in the fireplace. But for the occasional crackling log, the tower was utterly silent.

“This is just right,” Edie said aloud, reassuring herself. Beginning tomorrow morning, she would pick up her cello and return to the practice regimen that had once, in less complicated times, made her so happy.

For the moment, though, she threw open the window that faced the castle. There it sat, up on the hill, looking even more fairy-tale-like now that twilight was settling over it like a gentle blanket. Lights shone from many windows, a sign of the hundred souls within. She could see Mary trotting down the path, coming to prepare for bed.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like the servants, or appreciate what they did for her. But this tiny room was peaceful, and so quiet she could hear every note of birdsong coming from the orchard below.

Yet all she could think about was Gowan. She had no doubt that he would be livid when he found that she had countermanded his order as regards the tower.

She would be clear, direct, and mature.

She would be calm, sympathetic, and yet resolute.

Hours later, lying in bed, she was still thinking about it. By now, Gowan would have bent his problem-solving abilities to the task. His wife was a problem. That problem was exacerbated by his failure in bed—not that she saw it that way, but he did, and she had a shrewd notion that failure was not acceptable to Gowan. He would tie her to the bed if he had to. He would solve the problem.

The outcome wasn’t hard to imagine. She would lie there tense, while he went on and on. She would have no way to stop him, unless she got drunk and then she would just embarrass herself by doing . . . whatever it was that put revulsion in his eyes. After he kissed her, the first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was his face, utterly transformed by disgust.