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the wrong person.
    “You will have to rely on my word – as a friend. But if you know her, even a little, you will see she is somewhat different to other women.”
    Charles thought for a moment. “Yes, she is. I cannot presume to know women all that well, or be a great judge of them. I know her so little.”
    “You will have to trust me on this matter, then. I knew her when she was a child, as well as an adult. Our paths have crossed many times.” He shook his head. “She can't help the way she is – her father was a selfish tyrant. Underneath, she is much the same.”
    “But surely, a woman who has lived so independently would appear selfish at times. She only has herself to think of.”
    “Of course, but it has driven her to be excessively so,” Risinger said. “Now enough about that woman. Let's speak of cheerful things. How about a game of cards for a small wager? You play badly, I seem to remember.”
    Charles agreed, but he wondered what had taken place between his friend and Miss Thomas and whether it would make her a less suitable friend for his sister.

Chapter 7
    Louise left London for Devon a few days later, after a fond farewell to Jane and Mrs Lucas. Her estate, situated in the eastern part of Devonshire near the Axe valley, used to be a task to get to. But after the railway had opened a few years earlier, the journey became relatively quick and easy.
    Her carriage was waiting for her at Axminster station. For a few years now, she had ideas for a branch line that would take passengers from Axminster, then ten miles to the sea. But there were still many locals unconvinced of its benefits.
    She lowered the carriage window, and let the cool breeze in on her face as she travelled on. Her eyes searched eagerly for the landscape she had missed these last few weeks, and eventually the houses turned into trees, fields and hills. The first signs of autumn had begun here too: the leaves were a gentle brown, and a few lay scattered on the roadside. The harvest was in full swing and the fields were full of horses, carts, threshers and other new machinery. She looked forward to speaking to the farmers near her to see how the new machinery was helping them and eagerly watched those at work as she passed.
    Eventually, the coach went under the ornate stone archway marking her estate’s entrance and the house. She was tired and hungry, but her heart was peaceful. She was home at last.
    The familiar three storey Portland stone building that dominated the landscape for miles was a welcome sight. There was only one thing that saddened her: the house would be empty. Yes, there were servants, loyal servants, but no family, and she felt her loneliness keenly at such a time as this. She should be used to it by now, but part of her still wished there was someone waiting for her to return.
    As soon as she was settled in, she made her way outside and across the garden to the familiar stone barn that was now converted to her workroom. She carried with her the most recent purchases from London: a number of books and the sketch of Mr Lucas's bridge. The room smelt a little musty, but after she lit a fire, it soon warmed. She checked her miniature steam engines; they were a little dusty. She wouldn't allow the servants into this private sanctuary to clean, so she set about dusting them herself.
    Afterward, she opened her new volume of chemical experiments, and picking one out, began to follow the instructions. A few hours later, she realised it was almost time for dinner, and pinning the sketch of the bridge onto the wall, she returned to her duties.
    The next day, after she had dealt with a myriad of business matters with her steward and housekeeper, she called on Miss Hill, one of the local elderly ladies. She had known Louise from childhood and was always pleased to see her. The object of the visit was to meet the lady's niece, Miss Lucy Potts, who was newly arrived for a long visit. The girl was out, and Miss Hill apologised