Lucy sat in the back seat as the trio sped through intersections in the old sedan. She twanged the catgut under her fingers. “By-the-bye,” he said, presently, “your sister was married to old Ferringhall the other day, wasn’t she? I saw the notice in the papers. News was sent back home, and in October, Marina traveled to Florence to live with her daughter again. As she hoisted her skirts near her waist, she thought ruefully of the last time she had worn such an elaborate gown, sometime near 1910 when petticoats were still considered hip everyday garb. These things were common knowledge among the bon ton, who were generously welcoming these unfortunate escapees. She could still feel his psychic presence all around her, and she knew he was thinking of her.
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