Page 4 of Beyond Her Manner

“It’s finally mine. All mine. I can’t give it up! I can’t.”

He patted her hand and sighed. “I’m sorry, Gillian, but you don’t have a choice.”

“I madethatspeech. Why didn’t you warn me?”

His gaze fell to the floor. “I did try.”

Gillian’s arm dropped as Walter walked away, and she slumped back into the sofa. Would she have to sell her beloved Chesterfields? They had been a wedding present from Jonathon’s mother. They may be a little tatty now, but it waspart of their charm and character. They were part of Kingsford Manor, like everything else. Like her.

“Is everything okay, Gillian?” Bridget said, poking her head around the door. “I saw Walter leaving looking rather concerned.”

“Come in,” Gillian said, dejected.

Bridget took in the room as she entered. “What a lot of sympathy cards.”

“Yes. I find they cheer the place up a bit.”

“Oh, Gillian,” Bridget chided her with a smile.

“What? You know there was no love lost between me and Jonathon.” Bridget was the only one who knew their marriage wasn’t all it had appeared to be. “I despise him even more now he’s left me destitute.”

“Destitute? Surely not.”

Gillian nodded, her jaw clenched as she fought to keep her anger and tears in check. Her hands began to tremble so wildly she sat on them.Even in front of Bridget, emotions weren’t something she displayed too often.

“I’d strangle the bastard if he wasn’t already dead!”

“Is there nothing you can do?” Bridget asked, sitting beside her.

“Apparently not,” Gillian replied, letting out an exasperated sigh.

Bridget gave her a soft smile as she tucked strands of her light brown long bob behind her ear. “You’ll sort it out. I’ve never known you not to solve a problem.”

Bridget wasn’t wrong. This time, however, she wasn’t so sure, and her friend’s blind belief in her did nothing to improve her mood.

“Why don’t you eat something? It always makes me feel better,” Bridget said with an encouraging smile.

“I’m afraid I’ve rather lost my appetite.”

CHAPTER 2

Gillian heard a tapping sound against the drawing room window. Looking up from the framed photograph of her younger self winning the point-to-point steeple chase, she noticed Bridget’s face squashed against the glass and her hand gesticulating towards the front door. Gillian placed the frame into the cardboard box beside her and got up.

“Sorry, Bridget,” she said as she opened the front door. “I heard the bell but forgot I’d dismissed the staff. It’s going to take a bit of getting used to.”

“Have you ever answered the door yourself?” Bridget asked with a grin as she stepped into the small, covered porch.

Gillian sniffed. “Of course I have. There was the time when Bramingham caught flu in 1998. We were without a butler for a whole week.”

Bridget laughed as she removed her coat and hung it on one of the pegs.

“I’d put it back on if I were you; all the heating is off now. Mind the boxes as you come through.”

“We missed you at the WI meeting last night,” Bridget said, putting her coat back on as she negotiated the boxes blockingher way into the great hall. “I thought you said you would consider coming.”

“I did consider it. Then I decided against it.”

“Why? You missed a fascinating talk on the history of knitting.”