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watching and pulled away. Jessica pouted, miffed by his propriety.
    “Tell me about your childhood.” He led her down the path towards the house.
    “I was very well educated if that’s what you’re wondering, Your Grace. Mother made sure I had the best governesses. I can cross stitch, play pianoforte, speak Latin and although I’m not one to boast, my friends would say I’m an accomplished painter. I have all of the qualities a husband could wish for.”
    “Indeed, Ms. Grier. Tell me more about your family.” Geoff needed to turn this conversation towards his aim.
    “I can assure you my lineage is unquestionable. My father’s side, the Griers, goes back nine generations…”
    “No, you mistake me, Ms. Grier. I am not concerned with your peerage. I was attempting to know you better. I wondered about your Mother and Father. What type of people are they?”
    Jessica stared at him as if he had sprouted multiple necks. She had obviously been coached to impress upon Geoff her marriageable qualities and not her personality.
    “Do you really care to learn about my family, Your Grace?” Jessica was clearly treading in unfamiliar waters now, being wholly unprepared to talk about personal matters.
    “Yes, I’m interested. If the topic does not make you too uncomfortable.”
    Jessica suddenly grew very interested in one of the roses, studying it up close. “Not at all.” She paused. “You have the pleasure of knowing my mother, of course. She is quite accomplished. A beautiful painter. Knows all of the best modistes. She has many friends. Oh, and she throws the most extravagant masquerade each March. Everyone always says it is the event of the year. I do hope you’ll attend this spring,” Jessica rambled.
    “And your father?” Geoff interrupted.
    Jessica unlocked her hand from the rose and wrapped both of her forearms about her own waist, hugging herself unconsciously.
    “He passed away when I was a child.” She paused and inhaled deeply before continuing on. “My mother ensured that my brother and I both had proper upbringings and I can assure you we would never embarrass you.”
    “You mistake me again, Jessica. Do you mind if I call you Jessica?” She immediately softened as he hoped she would.
    “Of course not.” She smiled.
    “Jessica, how did your father die?” He knew he was pushing her to speak about something she clearly had no desire to discuss but he needed to understand Rafe better. Siblings were always the best informants.
    “It was an accident.”
    “Horse riding?”
    “No…there are some ruins on our property where Rafe and I used to play as kids although our parents told us repeatedly not to. We paid no attention, you know, as children rarely do. We would pretend we were King and Queen of a land we made up. I’d hold grand balls and Rafe would slay dragons. Usual child’s play.
    One day we were at the ruins preparing for a battle against our neighboring enemies when we heard an enormous cracking noise. A piece of the ruins came tumbling down on Rafe’s arm, trapping him underneath the rock. I ran to get my father. He came and got Rafe free, but not before…there was another rock fall…he was crushed.”
    “I’m so sorry,” Geoff said. He was too. Although he never knew his father, he certainly knew how the absence of one could shape a person.
    “I think poor Rafe always felt responsible for his death although no one blamed him. My mother and I told him so many times it wasn’t his fault, but he became such a serious child after it happened. No more make believe. No more laughter.”
    Jessica had also grown serious retelling the story. Gone was her usual lightness and gaiety. He wondered then how much of her constant talking was just a tactic she’d developed to avoid silence where grief might creep in. In his years of investigation he’d found people’s inner selves were rarely how they presented outwardly.
    “I don’t mean to make Rafe sound depressed. My brother is a