burn of tears rise in her eyes.
Shocked at what she had done, she hurried from him and ran home between moments of shade and sunlight.
9
On Saturday morning, a carriage grated over the sandy lane leading to the Breese house, and seated within it were two ladies. The brims of their hats concealed their faces, and Darcy wondered who they could be. She emptied the remainder of the cracked corn in her tin to the pair of gray geese her uncle owned, and hurried back inside the house through the side door. She took her time removing the apron she wore, and ran her fingers through the length of her hair to tidy it. Then, after hearing voices, she met Missy out in the hallway when she came looking for her.
“Who is it, Missy?” Darcy asked.
“She did not say, miss,” Missy replied in a quiet voice. “But the lady wishes to speak to you and waits in the sitting room.” Missy’s large brown eyes glanced back to the closed door.
Darcy nodded. “Is it an older lady with hair streaked gray?”
“No, she’s young, miss. She has a servant with her who is much older though.”
“Hmm. Miss Roth, I wager.” Drawing back her shoulders and lifting her chin, she opened the door and walked into the room. It was as she predicted.
Miss Roth and her chaperone had made themselves comfortable in her aunt’s best chairs. Dressed in taupe silk with a striped underskirt, she blended with the beige fabric covering the seat. Slipping loose the ribbon tied beneath her chin, she removed her hat and placed it on the table beside her.
Still the same unbecoming hairstyle, thought Darcy. A knot in the back with tight curls framing the pale oval face made her wonder if the severity of it gave Miss Roth headaches.
Darcy turned her eyes to the chaperone who shadowed Miss Roth. How annoying it must be to have someone looking over one’s shoulder, not having a moment alone to oneself. Mrs. Mort was a short woman with a full bosom and broad face. Her features were strong and suggested she might have been pretty in her youth. Her air reserved, she sat motionless with her hands folded in her lap when Darcy stepped inside.
Miss Roth lifted her head, and a labored smile raised the corners of her petite mouth. “So, this is the Breese home,” she said. “I had wondered what it would look like. It is very quaint and cozy.”
“Modest to what you are accustomed to, Miss Roth?” Darcy closed the door behind her.
Miss Roth glanced around the room. “My father’s estate in England has a small cottage much like this one where our groundskeeper lives with his wife and children. Our home is very grand, with large rooms and plenty of staff. I had expected to find many servants here, but you have only one that I can tell.”
“Missy is all we need.” Darcy lowered herself into a chair opposite Miss Roth.
“Still, I do not know how your poor aunt does with just one. It must be laboring for all of you.”
“We manage very well. Idleness is not a privilege to us.”
“What you refer to as idleness, we refer to as leisure. It is one of the benefits of being wealthy or upper class. I thank my stars for it, for I can do as I please when I please. And my hands are soft and white, whereas I see yours are not. It is such a shame, Miss Darcy. Have you been working in the garden? Is that how your acquired such rough skin?”
Darcy glanced down at her hands, then back at Miss Roth. “Yes, as a matter of fact I have been tending the garden—and feeding our chickens and geese, something I can never imagine you doing, Miss Roth.”
Miss Roth looked mortified. “Really? You feed animals?”
“We cannot let them starve. Tell me, Miss Roth, have you any knowledge of gardens, or of chickens or geese?”
“Only that gardens provide flowers, and chickens and geese eggs and meat,” she answered. “There is no need for me to know anything other than that. My father’s estate has an ample garden, and our cook roasts fowl to perfection.”
“I suppose