Concordia checked her watch as she left Founder’s Hall. Nearly time to dress for dinner. Perhaps Mr. Maynard had returned to change by now. She could at least check on her way to the farmhouse. She hurried down the path and rang the bell of Sycamore House. After some delay, the maid answered.
“Is Mr. Maynard in?”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Miss Wells.”
“Will he return for dinner?”
The girl pursed her lips. “He didn’t say. He was in an awful hurry to leave.”
“I see.” Concordia hesitated. What should she do now? Did she dare talk to Mrs. Sanbourne alone? No, perhaps she should tell someone. But who? President Langdon? Capshaw?
Echoing in her mind was the anguished voice of Randolph Maynard. Newspapermen, peering into my private life? Writing about it in the scandal sheets? We wou
