With a start, I turned to see Mr. Frederick Henderson waving from the field next to the garden. Such a thing would not have been approved of in Bath. Awkwardly, I raised a hand in greeting.

"Are you enjoying the day?" he asked as he approached. A dog of some kind, brown and white, was jumping around him.

"I am, Mr. Henderson," I said, forcing a smile. Should I curtsy? Or did the informality of the country mean such a greeting would be strange? "What brings you out this way?"

"I have been getting reports of poachers at work, so I am on the hunt for traps," he responded, gesturing at the field. "I'm glad to see you."

"Oh?" I asked coyly. How flattering to have a gentleman's attention once again!

"My mother said she has some mourning gowns from when her sister died two years ago," he said. "She thought you might appreciate them since you haven't been able to buy any for yourself. No one wants you to feel embarrassed about the situation."

"Oh." I felt foolish for thinking he might have been glad to see me because he liked me. "I would be happy to accept. Please thank your mother for me. I hadn't thought about the subject until Miss Greaves brought it up yesterday. There has been so much happening."

Was that a reasonable excuse? It was the truth. Since I had realized I was with child, I had been preoccupied with what I was to do. Once Father found out, he had taken swift action. There hadn't been time to think of all the details of how to be a pretend widow.

"I'm afraid not all our neighbors are as understanding as my mother," Mr. Henderson said with a sympathetic smile. "Do you have plans for the garden?"

"I...don't know," I admitted. "My grandmother took pride in the plants she grew, but I am at a loss as to how to restore it. I'm not even sure I know what should stay and what should be pulled out."

"If you are anything like your grandmother, you will soon have a plan." Mr. Henderson took a step back. "I won't take up any of your time. Good day, Mrs. Smith."

"Good day, Mr. Henderson." I watched him walk on his way with his dog. Why did I feel regret that he was leaving? I didn't want to make friends in the country. What was the point if I didn't intend to stay?

~*~

On Tuesday morning, a maid arrived with a box from Mrs. Henderson. A note enclosed bade me to make any alterations necessary to ensure the two black gowns fit. Miss Greaves pursed her lips when she saw them, which was a strange reaction from her. She was the one who had pointed out my lack of mourning clothes.

With the help of Katie, I set about taking in one of the dresses so that it fit properly. Though the length was fine, the bust needed to be brought in an inch. Of course, Miss Greaves complained I was taking our maid away from her duties, but I appreciated the help.

And she had offered. I wasn't about to turn down an offer of help. It wasn't as though there were anything pressing tasks Katie needed to do that couldn't be put off for later.

"There is someone in the garden!" Miss Greaves called out around noon. She had retreated to the kitchen for some tea. "Sir? Sir! Who are you?"

Alarmed, I put aside the dress so that I could see what was happening. From the kitchen, I could see an older man in the garden. He'd removed his cap as he spoke to Miss Greaves.

"Oh, it's Mr. Wesley," Katie said from behind me. "He works at Henderson House."

"—asked me to come and put things right, ma'am," the man was saying. "I'll just be a few hours cleaning out the weeds."

"I see. Thank you." Miss Greaves' tone didn't match her words. In fact, she sounded put out with the situation. "We won't keep you from your work."

When she turned, she fixed a glare on me. "And what do you have to say about this?" she demanded.

"Only that it is very kind of the Hendersons to do so much for us," I responded. Honestly, I didn't know what to make of it. Had my conversation with Mr. Henderson prompted this kindness, or had it been at the behest of his mother?

Did it matter?

"Would they be so kind if they knew the truth?" Miss Greaves asked sharply.

Alarm spread through me. Instinctively, I turned, but Katie had already returned to the sitting room. Still, in a house of this size, it was difficult to be sure that she hadn't heard Miss Greaves' words.

Servants were not immune to gossip whether they were in the country or the city.

"I know you are being well paid to ensure that no one learns the truth," I said in a low voice as I turned back to Miss Greaves. Why did she look so pleased? "I imagine that your fee decreases greatly if you are...unsuccessful in that endeavour."

From the way her lips pursed, I knew I had guessed correctly. I hadn't been completely sure since she had hinted at the truth so many times when she knew others were nearby. Did she like to see me uncomfortable? Was she trying to ensure her superiority?

Well, I wasn't going to let her intimidate me. I was Rose Dunbar, daughter of a gentleman. Whatever I had done did not negate that fact. Who was she? Someone who needed to make a living. She had no right to look down on me.

"I will write a note to Mrs. Henderson to thank her for all she has done," I announced. There could be nothing to object about that. "The gardener can take it to Henderson House for me."

Miss Greaves scoffed. "Yes, because you rely on everyone else to fetch and carry for you. One day you're going to learn how to do things for yourself."

I knew how to do things for myself! Did she not see that I was making my own alterations? Why did she object to servants doing the jobs they were hired to do? Wouldn't it make them uncomfortable if I tried to take over their responsibilities?

"If you think it better, I will delay my thanks until I take tea with Mrs. Henderson," I said, retreating into politeness. That always irritated her. "I will defer to your expertise in the matter."

This time, though, she didn't look irritated. "Well, I do wonder how you will pay the gardener for the task," she responded with a smirk. "You do not have the allowance your father once gave you."

How did she know that? "Pay?" I repeated to keep myself from giving too much away. Maybe she was guessing and I didn't want to confirm anything.

"You can't expect the man to just do an errand for you without compensating him for his trouble," Miss Greaves said with a mocking laugh. "Why should he do you that favor?"

The memory of my last lady's maid, Nelson, refusing to accept money or jewelry to deliver my message to Ingram, flitted through my mind. Why had she done that? The other maids had accepted anything I offered them to run an errand, but Nelson had looked offended that I had tried to give her something.

"I have some coins left in my purse," I told Miss Greaves, focusing on the present. "If the man needs compensation, I can give it."

"Be careful you don't spend all your money too soon," the other woman warned. "Six months is a long time and who knows what you might need to buy in the meantime."

What a ridiculous idea! Father would send my allowance in due time. He couldn't possibly expect me to live without some money and he knew I relied on him for that!

~*~

Mr. Wesley refused my coin when I asked him to take my thanks to Mrs. Henderson. He left with my note in his pocket and his shovel on his shoulder. His cheerful whistle floated back in the air as he walked away.

It was remarkable the change a few hours of work could do in the garden. While it was by no means an elegant space, some of the flower beds had distinction between them and no longer were crowded together.

I brought Grandmother's diary outside with me and read more of it in the sunshine. That is what one did in the country, wasn't it? Once I might have worried what the sun would do to my complexion, but I wasn't expecting to have anyone of any importance appear.

I've had a letter from Louisa. She was full of news from the family, which I was happy to read. She is the only one to write to me, even if it is so seldom. One would think that after so many years, I would be forgiven, but my sister is the only one who remembers me out here in the country.

Grandmother had a sister? This Louisa would be my great-aunt. I wondered if Mama had ever met her or if she even knew. Did I have cousins I didn't know about? What were their situations like?

What had Grandmother done that was so unforgivable? My hand dropped to my stomach. My mind was putting together the facts I'd already read, and I didn't like the conclusion.

Geoffrey's Eliza has had her fifth child, another girl. I wish I were as fortunate. Henry deserves to have a son, an heir, but it seems I am not capable of carrying another child. The dear man doesn't blame me as his mother does.

I do not deserve him. He cares for Katherine as if she were his own. I doubt there are many men like him in the world...

Grandmother and I were more alike than I could have ever imagined then. Had she been tricked by a man just as I had been? No. The references to 'Chas' or Charles had been fond. Or, at least, that was the impression that I had.

And her family has sent her to the country and left her there just because she'd had a child? And they never forgave her? How unfair was that?

Was I going to suffer the same fate?

"No!" I whispered fiercely. Father wouldn't do something like that. I was his little Rose. Once the baby was born, I would be welcomed back home and could go about searching for a good match.

Right?

"Pardon me, ma'am."

Katie's voice was a welcome distraction from the spiral my thoughts had become. Taking a deep breath, I straightened up and turned to look at her. "Yes?" I asked, trying not to sound too grateful for the interruption. After all, I'd come outside to be alone.

"I've found some books," she said, wringing her hands together. "I didn't pay them any mind since I know Mrs. Willis read a great deal and there were other things to do. Seeing you reading reminded me of them."

Books? Diaries, perhaps? "Oh? I would like to see them," I told her. "Where are they?"

"They're in the kitchen. On the shelf next to the fireplace."

That did not sound like a good hiding place, and Grandmother had implied she'd hidden her completed diaries. "Did you look in them to see what they are?" I asked as I stood up.

The girl shook her head. "I don't read well," she admitted, her tone full of regret. "My mum began to teach me when I was little, but after seven children, she didn't have the time. I know the alphabet."

She couldn't read? How very uncivilized!

"Well, it is not my favorite pastime, but I am intrigued that my grandmother spent so much time writing her thoughts." That much at least was the truth.

"I think it would be wonderful to be able to read," Katie said fervently. She ducked her head. "My pa says it's a good thing I didn't learn. Otherwise I would waste all my time with a book when there's more important things to be done."

That I was inclined to agree with him was an alarming thought. "Well. I suppose we all have things we wish we could do," I declared. " You didn't happen to tell Miss Greaves about the books, did you?"

Katie shook her head and led me inside the kitchen. There was a shelf by the fireplace that I hadn't noticed before. Granted, I tried not to spend much time in the kitchen, so I forgave myself for not seeing it before.

I reached out to take one of the three books. The dark leather cover was different from the diary in my other hand. My heart sank as I read the title: The British Housewife; or The Cook, Housekeeper, and Gardiner's Companion.

Not a diary. But perhaps I would be able to find something interesting about gardening in it. The second was actually a surprising one: a novel. Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe. And the third was yet another volume for a housewife: The Art of Cookery Made Plain and Easy.

Holding back a sigh, I turned back to Katie. She was watching with interest. "Thank you for telling me about these," I forced myself to say. "If you find any more, you'll tell me?"

"Of course, Mrs. Smith."