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right—as far as anyone knows, Brightmore has left England with no plans to return.”
    Baxter nodded. “Still, always pays to be careful. But I hafta say, this bloke don’t look like any sort of investigator type. Acts more like a damn lovesick suitor is what, movin’ in just this mornin’ and not wastin’ any time to call on ye. Says he’s come to introduce himself since ye’ll be neighbors for the next two weeks.” He flexed his sausage-sized fingers. “I were tempted to toss him out on his gift-bearing arse, but seein’ as how yer just a bit lonely, I suppose I could resist the temptation if some company might make ye smile.”
    “It’s always best to avoid arse-tossing, unless it’s absolutely necessary,” Genevieve said in her most serious voice. Then she raised her brows. “Gift-bearing?”
    “Brought a bouquet of flowers with him.” Baxter’s lip curled. “Bloke should know a woman like you is worth diamonds.”
    Genevieve laughed. “And of course you wouldn’t be the least suspicious of a man I’ve never met who called upon me bearing diamonds.”
    A sheepish expression momentarily softened Baxter’s rough-hewn features. “Suppose I would be, now that ye mention it.” Then his scowl returned. “But ye can’t trust anybody nowadays. Bloke musta gotten wind of the fact that a beautiful woman lived here, so wot’s the first thing he does? Comes callin’ with flowers, that’s wot.”
    Genevieve barely squelched the incredulous sound that rose in her throat at what Baxter was implying. “There’s no need to worry about that.” Indeed, that part of her life was over. She glanced down at her gloved hands and pressed her lips together. The doctors called her affliction arthritis. She called it the curse that had robbed her of the man she’d loved. The man who couldn’t bear to have her less-than-perfect hands touch him. Why would another man look upon her affliction differently? The answer was, they wouldn’t. It didn’t matter if Mr. Simon Cooper, or anyone else, called upon her. She had no intention of ever allowing herself to be hurt again.
    When she looked up she saw that Baxter’s gaze had followed hers. There was no missing the flash of sympathy in his eyes as he looked at her gloves. She quickly clasped her hands behind her back. While she appreciated Baxter’s concern, she damn well didn’t want his pity.
    “What does this Mr. Cooper look like?” she asked.
    He raised his gaze back to hers and frowned. “Like a flower-carryin’ bloke who should be tossed out on his arse.”
    “I see. What sort of flowers?”
    “Roses.”
    Her favorite. Of course Mr. Cooper would have no way of knowing that.
    Under normal circumstances, she would have told Baxter to inform Mr. Cooper she wasn’t in. She didn’t care much for socializing outside her small circle of friends, and except for occasional visits to the village, she kept to herself. With Catherine gone, however, circumstances were no longer normal. A visit with a bloke bearing roses might not be ideal, but at least it broke up what had turned into a monotony of dull, dreary, solitary days.
    “You may show Mr. Cooper in,” she told Baxter.
    After Baxter quit the room, she rose and crossed to the window. Nostalgia and loneliness stabbed her at the sight of the golden leaves floating past the glass panes. Normally at this time of year, she’d be strolling through her beloved garden with Catherine, discussing which plants needed to be pruned back and what should be added in the spring. And she should be looking forward to Little Longstone’s annual autumn festival tomorrow instead of wallowing in loneliness.
    She heaved a sigh that fogged the glass. Leaning back, she wiped away the condensation and forced aside the unwanted envy that welled inside her. She was happy for Catherine, truly she was. This desperate, aching emptiness would subside. When her inner voice whispered that she was fooling herself, she lifted her chin and