CHAPTER ONE
1892“No! No!”
A long wail like that of a wounded animal came from the small frame of Anthea Preston as she let the sheet of paper fall to the floor in the fashionable drawing room of her home in Mount Street, Mayfair.
“Darling! What on earth is the matter?”
Lady Preston came hurrying into the room, her eyes staring with fear as her daughter slowly crumpled in a heap by the blue silk-covered sofa.
“Anthea! Speak to me. What is the matter?”
Sobs wracked her slender frame and tears flooded from her blue eyes. She raised her face to her mother and, unable to speak, simply gestured at the letter on the floor.
Picking it up, Lady Preston scanned the lines of the familiar handwriting. She knew at once who it was from, having seen many an envelope addressed in the same han
