Chapter TwentyMy horse chestnut tree was bare of leaves now, stark and sorrowful as it spread its branches across the slope of Roman Camp Hill. I stood beneath its friendly shadow, looking over the dark Midlothian plain towards the Pentland Ridge and wondered what had happened to my life.
After glimmers of promise, I had found only failure. I had hunted for a husband and found none. I had tested and enquired after every eligible man I knew, and those whom I had not discarded had caught somebody else or had spurned me. I was wounded, unwanted and lost. While Andrew had proved vastly unsuitable, Amy had captured Mr Pringle before I had the opportunity to know him. Mr Beaton was a decent man for whom I could not muster even a spark of love and Matthew, for whom I had entertained high hopes,
