Night of the Candles by Jennifer Blake

used to follow her about like a lap dog. Amusing up to a point, still…” He shook his head.
    “You think he might have wanted to talk to me — as Amelia, I mean?”
    “Talk to you? I hardly think so. Half the time the gibberish he speaks doesn’t make sense. More likely he just wanted to be near, like a pet near his master … or mistress, in this case.”
    “Surely that could not hurt.”
    “Maybe not, but the idea is unacceptable to me, totally unacceptable. I can’t imagine why Jason ever allowed it to get started. The idea of letting a blubbering imbecile like that fawn on your wife … why, the whole idea is disgusting. Especially with a woman like Amelia.”
    A woman like Amelia. Here was someone else then who looked on Amelia as special. A bleakness that she could not understand settled over her. She tried to thrust it aside, chiding herself for being petty, but it did not help her depression.
    “Did I hear you mention Amelia, brother mine?” It was Sophia moving into the room with her sinuous glide. “You mustn’t pay too much attention to his opinion on the subject. He is a most practical man — except where women are concerned. And there, like most men, he is searching for a goddess of beauty and purity.”
    “Really, Sophia. You make me sound like a half-wit. I hope I’m not so gullible as all that. I consider myself a fair judge of character…”
    “And you considered Amelia all that was truth and beauty and light. In short you were as besotted as Carl!”
    “Nonsense. She was an excellent woman, but she was also my best friend’s wife.”
    “When has that ever made a difference?”
    “It makes a difference to me.”
    “Now it does.”
    “Now that she is dead, you mean? I find that as outrageous as anything you have said so far.”
    “Do you? Well let me tell you…”
    Their voices washed over Amanda. She found herself trying to shut out the angry sounds that were making her head throb. Carl, crazy Carl. How sad it was that the poor deluded creature should want to be near her. It made her feel odd, as if she wanted to cry, and at the same time, to rail against Theo for preventing the poor man’s simple wish. He was so pathetic with his pitiful whisper of My Madame. How could Theo be so cruel? How could he speak of him in such despicable terms?
    Perhaps it was not Theo’s fault. Men did not have the same feeling for helpless creatures that women had. Their first thought was not to help them but to put them out of their misery. The traditional answer of the strong for the weak, the perfect for the imperfect. Theo, hardy and handsome in a rugged way with his heavy blond brows, ruddy complexion, and broad cheekbones. He stood with his feet firmly planted, slightly apart, the only sign of the unease he felt at being in a young, unmarried woman’s bedroom, the awkwardness of his large, square hands hidden in his pockets. He had the appearance of a man of action with little regard for sentiment except as it applied to a pretty woman. Such a man had to be forgiven for his intolerance of other weak creatures.
    Now he was saying, rage in his voice, “The trouble with you, Sophia, is that you are a jealous jade. You were jealous of Amelia from the moment Jason brought her home with him, jealous because she was in the place you wanted, and because she filled it much better than you could hope to do.”
    “That’s not true!” Sophia cried, breathless with indignation.
    “Don’t try to cozen me. I’m your brother, remember? I was there when you first heard the news. I was the one who picked up the pieces of the Sevres vase you threw at me for being the bearer of the ill tidings.”
    “Is it a crime to be angry because one of your childhood friends was fool enough to run away with a chit just out of school, a stupid, immature girl too frightened and self-centered to even try to give him an heir?”
    “Don’t be indelicate…”
    “Why not? You know it’s true. You know half her illness