‘It would seem that losing my Mama has made him so jaded towards the very notion of romance. I must resign myself to leaving for France.’
*
Saturday morning dawned, fine and warm.
Robina put on full mourning and spent time looking at her mother’s photograph before she went down to breakfast.
‘A whole year without you, Mama,’ she whispered, as she looked into her mother’s smiling eyes. ‘It does not seem possible.’
Downstairs her father was in a solemn mood. He barely acknowledged her as she entered the dining room.
Laura was nowhere to be seen.
“Where is Stepmama?” asked Robina, as she sank down into an armchair. The bombazine-crepe dress rustled as she made herself comfortable.
“She is out again – yet more charity work,” said her father with an exasperated tone creeping into his vo
