” “Lady Ferringhall—alone?” Ennison exclaimed. ’ Chapter Twelve In the elegantly appointed blue saloon, Melusine sat disconsolate, gazing out of the window at the dull sky. “I cannot but conclude,” he said, “that your errand involved the recital to my wife of some trouble in which you find yourself. She tended the twins while the Clotilde was in Sebastian’s private chambers, a place she gave a wide berth. “It’s odd,” said Ann Veronica, re-entering the flat. Wood uttered something like an imprecation.
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