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edge of the cliff just a few feet away, sure she’d be thrown out of the vehicle any moment and dashed against the rocks far below.
    Yet, along with the terror, there had been exhilaration in it, such glorious freedom. Julia had made her take her hat off, and thinking back on it now, she could almost feel the wind blowing back her hair. She could almost taste the tang in the sea air. She remembered most vividly the moment Julia had suggested she take the wheel, the way her throat had gone dry and her heart had begun to thump frantically in her chest. To this day she didn’t know why she had agreed to her cousin’s wild suggestion, for she didn’t consider herself an adventurous sort of person, but for some reason she had agreed and had slid behind the wheel. And there, in that one, shining moment a year ago, she’d been transformed, and there was no going back.
    What a glorious holiday that had been, reminiscent of the carefree days when Will, Paul, Geoff, and Julia had come home to Devonshire for the summer holidays, when they’d gone to Viscount Marlowe’s villa on Pixy Cove for August and they’d snuck out with Marlowe’s sisters to bathe in the sea at midnight and tell ghost stories in the caves. But though her time in Cornwall with Julia had been a bit like those blissful childhood days, she’d been surprised to discover that she hadn’t missed Will with the same heartrending pain of previous summers. Life, she’d realized, went relentlessly forward, and Cornwall was where she’d gotten over Will. Cornwall was where she’d met Aidan.
    “Beatrix?”
    “Hmm? What?” She opened her eyes and forced her mind back to the present and what Eugenia was saying.
    “Since you struck poor Sunderland, his injuries are rather our responsibility. Perhaps we should send Dr. Corrigan after him?”
    Beatrix made a sound of impatience. “Auntie, I did not hit Sunderland with the car. His horse shied when the Daimler came round the curve, and he wasn’t able to subdue the animal. It threw him—”
    “And when he landed, the horse kicked him, making it difficult for him to walk,” Geoff finished for her. “He’ll have a deuced fine bruise from it, I’m sure.”
    “Exactly!” Beatrix said, making a face at her cousin. “His horse caused his injuries, not me.”
    “No, all you did was leave him there.” Geoff shook his head in mock sorrow at her lack of compassion. “Wounded and in pain.”
    “Oh, Beatrix.” Eugenia sighed, staring at her in disappointment. “You knew he was injured, and you abandoned him? You didn’t return him to town or summon help?”
    Jilting her six years ago on the eve of their wedding, she supposed, wasn’t sufficient provocation for leaving him in the road.
    “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” she cried in exasperation. “He wasn’t really hurt. He took a tumble off his horse, that’s all, the sort of thing that might happen to anyone. It’s happened to him more times than I can remember. He’s only trying to flick me on the raw by pretending to Geoff that I injured him. And if he were in need of a doctor,” she added, turning to her cousin, “what are you doing here? Why didn’t you race into the village on that bicycle of yours and fetch Dr. Corrigan?”
    “Because Mr. Robinson came by just then,” Geoff answered at once. “The old boy had all the duke’s things from the train station piled up in that cart of his, and some Indian-looking fellow in a turban was sitting beside him. He gave up his seat on the box to Will—the Indian fellow did, not Mr. Robinson. The Indian stepped onto the dummy board, and Mr. Robinson drove them both to Sunderland Park.”
    “There,” Beatrix countered with satisfaction. “You’ve just proven my point. If Will were injured, he wouldn’t have been able to climb up on the box of Mr. Robinson’s cart.” She returned her attention to Eugenia. “You see, Auntie? There’s no need to fuss over Sunderland. He’s perfectly well. What should