Edward held out his own hand. Miss Chapple saw the missing fingers, hesitated for a brief fraction of a second, and then clasped it. Her handshake was as warm and welcoming as her smile. “Toby spoke often of you.”
“And he spoke often of you.”
“He did?” He saw something in Miss Chapple’s eyes—a dark flicker of grief—before she released his hand. “He was the best of cousins.” She turned towards the pretty blonde. “May I present Mrs. Dunn?”
He was shaking hands with Mrs. Dunn when the thump thump of a cane heralded Arthur Strickland’s arrival. Strickland entered the parlor leaning on the ebony cane, an elderly woman on his arm. “My sister,” he said. “Lady Marchbank.”
Lady Marchbank was as cadaver-like as her brother. She was dressed entirely in black, from her black lace cap to the black
