In the day's dying light, Lady Timandra Lotterby peered out the coach window at the
dark and shuttered house and wished she had never offered to accompany her friend, Eliza
Tilbury, to Perfidious Brambles. A cold shiver crept up her spine, and she squiggled
uncomfortably on the padded seat cushion. Eliza's trembling hand slid over hers, and Timandra
felt instant shame. She was here to support her friend, not give way to silly, baseless fears. Yes,
the estate grounds appeared unkempt, and the house foreboding, but an old man living on his
own might find little need to keep up appearances.
