His gaze drawn, Gerald watched him dip to pick up a crushed square of white linen and a starched object that resembled a helmet. ‘But what is it that amuses you, Jacques?’ Kimble’s grin spread wider. ’ ‘Ah, but there’s the little matter of your presence here,’ said Gerald on a note of apology. Her husband quickly joined the fray, making her giggle and laugh. She had known that Remenham House would be deserted, for Martha—released, as she had carefully explained to her charge, by her vows to God from servitude and obedience to Nicholas Charvill, a mere mortal—had begun a correspondence with a friend of her youth, Mrs Joan Ibstock, née Pottiswick.
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