The thought produced an ache deep inside her, a pain that was both grief for her father and sorrow for her own isolation. On the verge of a sob, she curled her fingers around her mother's silver cross. She was a Mohawk, an American, and a Collins, and she would not feel sorry for herself.
But as she drifted into sleep, her last conscious thought was to wonder bleakly if her father's death meant that she would spend the rest of her life alone.
Chapter 2
The brothers shared breakfast in a silence broken only by the occasional flutter of a newspaper page. However, the news was uninspiring as well as several days old, so the Marquess of Wolverton began studying his brother over the top of his Times.
When they were boys, the fiveyear difference in their ages had been significant and Giles had been very much the elder brother. He had hoped that over the winter, they would finally have a chance to become friends as adults and equals.
That hadn't happened. Robin had revealed some of himself his first evening at Wolverhampton, but after that night, he had withdrawn. He had been the perfect guest, always ready to talk, be silent, or participate in the neighborhood social rounds when required. Yet his thoughts and feelings were concealed behind the formidable barrier of his humor and charm.
It wouldn't have mattered, except that Giles knew that something was gravely wrong. The zest for life that had been Robin's most vivid characteristic had vanished. Too often Giles had found his brother sitting silently, staring at nothing. The marquess wondered if the blame should be laid on the woman who was now the Duchess of Candover, or if the reasons were deeper and less easily defined.
Whatever the cause, he felt that something in his brother had been broken, perhaps past mending. He grieved for that, for his own sake as well as for Robin's, but he had no idea what he might do to help. With a sigh, he laid his Times aside. "Do you have any plans for the day?"