Her tone should have warned him, but he was too much in earnest to regard it. Over the mantel, set into an ornately carved panel with fluted columns at each end, was a portrait of a man on horseback. Dizzily, she grabbed at the mantel for support and, resting her head on her hands, paid no heed to a betraying sound behind her—until an unexpected arm encircled her. “It is concerning—our future relations,” Sir John pronounced ponderously. “Nevertheless,” Hill said doggedly, “I am here to speak to you alone. Sheppard, whose maternal fears drew her in another direction, hurried off to the Mint. I felt—wrapped in thick cobwebs. The way it had happened was stupid, absurd. I must go somewhere into hiding, a long, long way off.
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