Surrender. Brenda Joyce

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      Evelyn entered the salon and turned immediately to her closest guests. A big, bluff man with dark hair bowed awkwardly over her hand, his tiny wife at his side. Evelyn fought to identify him.

      “John Trim, my lady, of the Black Briar Inn. I saw your husband once or twice, when he was on the road to London and he stopped for a drink and eats. My wife baked you scones. And we have brought you some very fine Darjeeling tea.”

      “I am Mrs. Trim.” A tiny, dark-haired woman stepped forward. “Oh, you poor dear, I can’t imagine what you are going through! And your daughter is so pretty—just like you! She will love the scones, I am certain. The tea, of course, is for you.”

      Evelyn was speechless.

      “Come down to the inn when you can. We have some very fine teas, my lady, and you will enjoy them.” She was firm. “We take care of our own, we do.”

      Evelyn realized that this Cornishwoman considered her a neighbor, still, never mind that she had spent five years living in France, and that she had married a Frenchman. Now she regretted never stopping by the Black Briar Inn for tea since moving to Roselynd. If she had, she would know these good, kind people.

      And as she began greeting the villagers, she realized that everyone seemed genuinely sympathetic and that most of the women present had brought her pies, muffins, dried preserves or some other kind of edible gift. Evelyn was so moved. She knew she was going to become undone by all of the compassion her neighbors were evincing.

      The villagers finally drifted away, leaving for their homes. Evelyn now saw her aunt and uncle, as only her family remained in the room.

      Aunt Enid stood with her two daughters by the marble mantel above the fireplace. Enid Faraday was a stout woman in a beautiful gray-satin gown and pearls. Her eldest daughter, Lucille—the initiator of so many of Evelyn’s childhood woes—also wore pearls and an expensive and fashionable dark blue velvet gown. She was now pleasantly plump, but she was still a pretty blonde.

      Evelyn glanced at Annabelle, her other cousin, who remained unwed. She wore gray silk, had brownish-blond hair, and while once fat, she was now very slim and very pretty. Annabelle had always followed Lucille’s lead and had been very submissive to her mother. Evelyn wondered if she had learned how to think for herself. She certainly hoped so.

      Her aunt and cousins had seen her, as well. They all stared, brows raised.

      Evelyn managed a slight smile; none of her female relations smiled back.

      Evelyn turned to her uncle, who was approaching her. Robert Faraday was a tall, portly man with a rather distinguished air. Her father’s older brother, he had inherited the estate, while her father had taken his annual pension and gone gaming in Europe’s infamous brothels and halls. In appearance, Robert hadn’t changed.

      “I am terribly sorry for your loss, Evelyn,” Robert said gravely. He took both of her hands in his and kissed her on the cheek, surprising her. “I liked Henri, very much.”

      Evelyn knew he meant it. Robert had become friendly with her husband when he had first come to stay at Faraday Hall. When Henri wasn’t courting Evelyn, he and Robert had been hacking, hunting or taking brandy together in the library. He had attended the wedding in Paris, and unlike Enid, he had enjoyed himself extremely. But then, he had never shared his wife’s antipathy toward Evelyn. If anything, he had been somewhat absent and indifferent.

      “It is a damned shame,” her uncle continued. “I so liked the fellow and he has been good to you. I remember when he first laid eyes on you. His mouth dropped open and he turned as red as a beet.” Robert smiled. “By the time supper was over, you were strolling in the garden with him.”

      Evelyn smiled sadly. “It is a beautiful memory. I will cherish it forever.”

      “Of course you will.” He remained grave, his gaze direct. “You will get through, Evelyn. You were a strong child and you have obviously become a strong woman. And you are a very young woman, still, so in time, you will recover from this tragedy. Let me know what I can do to help.”

      She thought about the tin mine. “I wouldn’t mind asking you for some advice.”

      “Anytime,” he said firmly. He turned.

      Enid Faraday stepped forward, smiling. “I am so sorry about the count, Evelyn.”

      Evelyn managed to smile in return. “Thank you. I am consoling myself by remembering that he is at peace now. He suffered greatly in the end.”

      “You know we wish to help you in any way that we can.” She smiled, but her gaze was on Evelyn’s expensive black velvet gown and the pearls she wore with them. Diamonds encrusted the clasp, which she wore on the side of her neck. “You must only ask.”

      “I am sure I will be fine,” Evelyn said firmly. “But thank you for coming today.”

      “How could I fail to attend the funeral? The count was the catch of your lifetime,” Enid responded. “You know how happy I was for you. Lucille? Annabelle? Come, give your cousin your condolences.”

      Evelyn was too tired to decipher the innuendo, if there was one, or to dispute her version of the past. Now she hoped to end the conversation as quickly as possible, as most of her guests were gone and she wished to retire. Lucille presented herself. As she stiffly embraced her, Evelyn saw that her eyes glittered with malice, as if the past decade hadn’t happened. “Hello, Evelyn. I am so sorry for your loss.”

      Evelyn simply nodded. “Thank you for attending the funeral, Lucille. I appreciate it.”

      “Of course I would come—we are family!” She smiled. “And this is my husband, Lord Harold. I don’t believe you have met.”

      Evelyn somehow smiled at the plump young man who nodded at her.

      “It is so tragic, really, to be reunited under such circumstances,” Lucille cried, jostling in front of her husband, who stepped backward to accommodate her. “It feels like yesterday that we were at that magnificent church in Paris. Do you remember? You were sixteen, and I was a year older. And I do believe D’Orsay had a hundred guests, everyone in rubies and emeralds.”

      Evelyn wondered what Lucille was doing—certain that a barb was coming. “I doubt that everyone was in jewels.” But unfortunately, her description of the wedding was more accurate than not; before the revolution, the French aristocracy was prone to terribly lavish displays of wealth. And Henri had spent a fortune on the affair—as if there were no tomorrow. A pang of regret went through her—but neither one of them could have foreseen the future.

      “I had never seen so many wealthy aristocrats. But now, most of them must be as poor as paupers—or even dead!” Lucille stared, seemingly rather innocently.

      But Evelyn could hardly breathe. Of course Lucille wished to point out how impoverished Evelyn now was. “That is a terrible remark to make.” It was rude and cruel—Evelyn would never say such a thing.

      “You berate me?” Lucille was incredulous.

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