All too soon, they pulled up to the Bradley home, situated in the Asylum Hill neighborhood. Built thirty years ago in the lavish Italianate style, the house featured a deep, Corinthian-columned veranda, hipped roofs, and white-paneled bay windows. Topping the whole was a square cupola, whose curved windows took advantage of the sweep of russet-leaved trees in the distance.
She stiffened, and David patted her arm in reassurance. “I forgot to warn you about the house. Quite the relic, compared to the modern structures in the neighborhood.”
“Rather…imposing.”
“Well, you have already met my parents, so you know they do not match the house.”
She nodded. The Bradleys came from self-made wealth rather than inherited money. While John Bradley’s real estate investments downtown and his friendsh
