"So this was Aunt Cathie's ogre," thought Clare. Younger than she had imagined. She had assumed him to be middle-aged, even elderly. This man she guessed to be in the middle thirties. Just as forbidding as Aunt Cathie's remarks had indicated, though, with dark eyes under heavy black brows, a clean shaven mouth which had a grim line, and a square jaw. The black hair had receded over his temples, and his face had a sallow, gaunt look. She knew little about him, except that he owned a pottery in the west country, and was a widower with a young daughter. Little did she guess that she would become governess to Garth Melrose's daughter within a few short weeks, the object of his possessive sister's jealousy, and a pawn in his brother-in-law's game.