Priscilla studied me thoughtfully, then shrugged. “They’re my family.” She left me standing there, but I in spite of my fears, I couldn’t remain there, and reluctantly I followed down to what proved to be a nightmare of a cellar.
None of the Dorincourts, least of all Andrew, who was supposed to be my boyfriend—or Robert, whose boyfriend I would have preferred to be—had any idea of the aversion I had to below ground rooms or what it cost me to descend those steps into the dim, musty cellar.
Thomas kept Priscilla behind him, a hand on her arm.
I stood behind Robert and peeked around him.
Robert glanced at me, and his eyes widened. He squeezed my shoulder and murmured, “Good man.”