“Whatever happened with that nice Nora Fitzwalker from the ball?” Maria was winding a ball from a skein of yarn that Harry held for her knitting. They were awaiting the call to lunch and Maria had snagged Harry as he took a shortcut through the drawing room. “You went to dinner with her but never said how it went.”

Harry laughed, remembering how he had fled her house after her not-so-subtle advances. “She was lovely, but not so nice, I am afraid to say. To be polite I shall just say we did not seem to be sympathetic.”

“Oh… well, that is a shame. I thought she might have potential. After all, Harry, it is time you think about marrying. The estate needs an heir and the way things are for me right now, it seems unlikely I shall be having children any time soon.”

She finished up balling the skein and handed Harry another.

“More?” he asked, “What are you knitting? This is the sixth batch.”

“Your old turtle-neck sweater has attracted moths and it will not be suitable next winter. I thought to knit you a new one.”

“How very kind. But Maria, while we are comparing potential spouses, what do you think about Roger? You have not said much since he has been here. Are the two of you getting on well? You seemed to be so eager to see him when he arrived, but you have said little since.”

Maria pursed her lips as she thought of what she wanted to say. “I like Roger. And he seems to like me, but I am not certain…”

“Certain about what?”

“He is very attentive to me, but he seems to lack a—as you put it earlier—a sympathetic nature. I have been jarred by some of the things he has said. He seems to have a crude sensibility at times that disturbs me.”

“Can you give me an example?” Harry asked.

“The other day on our walk he came right out and asked me what sort of dowry I had if I were to marry.”

“He does have a straightforward quality that is true,” Harry said. “But he is a farmer and a cattleman, just like me. I would call him direct and plain speaking. Many might find that to be an admirable quality in a man.”

“And then there was the way he treated Percy at tea. He showed no sympathy for his suffering.”

“But Maria, I expect he sees Percy as his rival for you. You must give him some slack.”

Maria stopped rolling the ball and looked at her brother. “Do you think that is all it is? Am I misjudging him?”

“I think you might be a little harsh and judgmental.”

Maria started working on the ball again. “I shall consider your advice, Harry. I will give him slack, but I have to say, I cannot help but compare him to Percy, who is so very gentlemanly to me.”

“You mean by wooing Anna for her money?”

Maria shot him a warning glance. “That is because he must. It is his father’s choosing not his. Now who is not giving slack?”

Harry laughed. “Touché. But all I suggest is that you give Roger a little more time. He will only be here a few days longer.”

“Very well. But let me ask, has he spoken to you about my dowry? When he asked me, I referred him to you to answer his question. I did not think it appropriate for me to answer.”

Harry nodded. “I believe you were correct. However, he has not asked me about that. He has, however, said several times how much he admires you. He, therefore, appears to have an interest in you.”

Maria suddenly became shy. “Oh, Harry, we should not be discussing these things. It embarrasses me.”

Harry laughed. “Oh, Sister, you are far too tough and sensible to be truly embarrassed by such discussions.”

She sighed. “Yes, Harry, I expect you are right.”

He really missed her. Harry’s valet was giving Harry his morning shave, when he suddenly realized his heart was aching for Anna. Not that he expected anything from her romantically, but he just missed seeing her. He missed being with her. He missed catching her sly smile when they appreciated a moment of levity together. What was he to do? Then he realized.

“Stop.” He commanded, and the valet took a step back still holding the razor poised for another stroke.

“Your Lordship, did I nick you?” the valet asked.

“No, Littleton. But I just had a thought…”

“Shall I continue?”

Harry grabbed the towel that was around his neck and wiped the lather off his face.

“But you are only half shaven, My Lord,” Littleton complained.

“It will do for now. You can do the other half tomorrow.” And he laughed as he bounded out of the chair.

Harry needed to connect with Anna. Of course, she was absent. Off with her sister in Dorset, but he needed to feel near to her.

Even though he had not had breakfast, he raced to the stable, saddled his horse, raced over to Repington and roused poor Warrick who had been sleeping in since there was no one in the house to serve.

It took several minutes of intense knocking for the door to be opened.

“Oh, Your Lordship… what can I do for you. Neither of the young ladies is at home.” Warrick looked disheveled in his dressing gown and flyaway hair.

“Yes, I know Warrick. It is quite ridiculous, but might I be allowed inside? I should like to sit in Miss Anna’s room for just a few moments.”

Warrick looked at him as though he had just performed a human sacrifice. “Sir… I do not know. Is that appropriate?”

“Probably not, but I miss Anna so much and I thought if I could just sit where she sits of a morning. It might bring me some peace. Would you please allow it?”

Warrick stood back from the door. “If it pleases Your Lordship…”

Harry rushed past Warrick, ran up the stairs and along the hall to Anna’s chambers. He went inside and stood at the door looking about her room. It was so very silent. He could not even hear any singing birds. Just a light breeze rustling the tree closest to the window.

He walked slowly through the room and finally settled into the chair he knew she used most often. He placed his arms on the arms of the chair, closed his eyes and breathed in the faint scent of her. If only… if only she knew what he felt for her. But she did not. How could she? He had never told her of the depth of feelings he had for her. No, the word feelings was too general. It was love. Strong, passionate love. If only he could tell her. But she was not here and, even if she was, could he?

He got up from the chair and went over to the window seat where she loved to read. He sat down and gazed out at the view she had told him often that she loved. But he was suddenly overcome with a wash of emotion. He buried his face in his hands and breathed in the scent of her that lingered where he had rested his hands on the arms of the chair. They emitted the very faintest trace of her.

No, he must do more. He bounded up from the window seat and ran out of her room, down the stairway, and out the front door toward his horse. The bewildered Warrick stood at the door and pulled his dressing gown tightly around himself.

Harry felt he must ride hard and fast until he could find some peace in exhaustion.

Despite having Roger as a guest, Maria needed to continue with her daily routine. There was always something to do each day running a great house the size of Creassey.

As the growing season was winding down, it was time to start putting up fruits for winter. Some could be cut and dried in the cellar, but others needed to be put up in jars and opened on a cold winter’s afternoon to serve with tea and toast.

The gardeners had picked bushels of plums, apples, quince, and pears, fragrantly waiting on the sideboards in the kitchen to be prepared.

Maria stood up at the end of her breakfast ready to work with cook and the kitchen maids to begin the drying process and the jarring, as cook liked to call the jam making.

As Maria was folding her napkin before departing, Roger asked her. “Miss Maria, I shall be leaving tomorrow. Might we have some time to visit before I leave?”

This might be a great inconvenience, but she felt she must oblige. “Certainly. I have a busy morning ahead, but I feel I can find some time this afternoon to visit with you.”

“And what keeps you busy this morning?” he asked.

“Jam making, principally.”

“Perhaps I might help? My mamma used to make jams, compotes, and canned fruit each autumn as well. I am very good at stirring a pot.”

Maria looked at him, surprised by his willingness to help with such a womanly chore. “Very well, if you like. We can always use a strong arm to stir the jam pot.”

Roger rolled up his sleeves as he entered the kitchen. Maria, the cook, and two kitchen maids were already chopping piles of fruit that went into pots already on the boil. The air was filled with the moist, wafting scents of the sweet jams.

“Still need someone to stir the pot?” he asked with a grin.

The cook was short, round and strands of grey hair escaped from under her cap. “Aye, help is always welcome.” She handed him a wooden spoon so large it was more like a shovel. “Give the pears a stir and watch the quince not boil over. Can you do that?”

“I believe so. Have helped with many a jam making in my day.”

“Lord, love ya. Now get to it, lad.”

Maria was impressed at how willing Roger was to help, as she stood apart for a moment and watched him work. It was true, he might be rough around the edges, but she was willing to give the man some slack as Harry had suggested. There were four pots simmering away on the stove and she went over and began attending to two of the pots.

“I take it you have not traveled much?” Roger said. “Have you ever been abroad?”

Strange question, Maria thought but she said, “I have not. With an invalid mother, and just Harry and me to run an estate this large, we have stayed very close to home.” She stopped stirring for a moment and considered. “I should love to see Paris, and maybe Italy and even Greece. Someday, perhaps. But it has not been possible so far.”

“You would like Italy,” he said, lifting the spoon from the pot and letting it drip to see how near it was to setting up.

“You have been?”

“Venice, Rome, Florence and down along the western coast. It is so beautiful. You cannot imagine.”

“When did you go?”

“On my honeymoon.”

This jolted Maria. “Honeymoon? Are you married?”

“I was, but my wife died in the birth of my daughter,” he said rather quietly.

“I had no idea. Why have you not mentioned you had a child before?” This was such a startling revelation and Maria stopped stirring and struggled to assimilate what she had just heard.

“I guess it never came up.”

“But Roger, how could we have spent this much time together and you have not mentioned you had a daughter? Are there other children?”

“No, just Kitty. She was our first.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Two years ago. And we had only been married for a year before Terrassa died.”

Maria completely forgot the jams for the moment. “Oh, Roger, I am so very sorry. Harry never told me.”

“I do not think he knew. We never talked about much except business when we met at the fairs.”

“I am so very sorry to hear about your tragedy. I…” Maria was still stunned, but she turned back to stirring the pots. “Then are you looking to marry again?” she asked, not sure if she should have asked or not.

Roger did not respond immediately but concentrated on attending to his pots. But he finally said, “Someday.”

That was a very ambiguous answer. Maria did not know how to take that information, but her thinking was interrupted by cook calling out, “Miss Maria, I think the apple and the plum is ready.” Cook turned to the kitchen maids and said, “Bring the clean pots. We are ready to fill them.”

The maids brought the pots to the table near the stove and Maria stood back as they began to fill each pot and seal it.

But Maria was still reeling from this new information with which Roger had just hit her over the head. A child? Was she ready to raise someone else’s child?

Cook came to where Roger was still stirring, and she checked the two pots. “These are ready now too. Miss Maria, we can do the rest if you and Mr. Dillion care to do ought.”

Maria wiped her hands on her apron. “Very well.” She turned to Roger. “Thank you for your help, Roger. I guess you are free to go. Is Harry expecting you this morning?”

“I told him I was to spend the morning with you, so he is not looking for me until lunchtime. Might you care to take another walk with me, or do you have other morning chores?”

Maria hesitated. She always had chores but spending time with Roger was important right now so she said, “I would be happy to walk with you. There is a lovely walk by the stream where Harry fishes. Does that interest you?”

“It does. Let me get my coat and where shall we meet?”

“In the entry hall. I need to get my wrap and I will see you there.”

Roger was waiting for her when she came from her rooms with a shawl around her shoulders. He offered her his arm and they headed toward the stream along a wild hedgerow with small orange and red flowers bursting forth.

“How does Wiltshire compare to your area? Is it much different?”

“Perhaps it is a little wilder here. Where I live is much like the countryside surrounding Winchester. I believe we are a little more populated than you are here. Our hedgerows, for example, are more trained and trimmed than these rambunctious hedges with their bird’s nests, wildflowers, nettles and climbing vines.”

But Maria did not want to just compare their countrysides. “Might I be bold enough to ask you, Roger, why you have come to visit us—besides delivering the cattle.” She looked over at him, knowing she was pushing their boundaries.

“You speak plain. I like that,” he said, not looking at her, but clasping his hands behind his back and walking steadily forward.

“Of course, Harry is not only a fellow cattleman, but he has become a friend. He invited me to stay and I found it convenient and a pleasure to accept his offer.”

“And that is all?”

“Well… there is you, of course… I very much enjoyed our meeting at the fair and I wanted to get to know you better.”

“And have you… gotten to know me better?”

They walked forward in silence for a moment or two, and then Roger said, “I think I shocked you when I told you about my daughter. I should not have left telling you that for so long.”

He had not answered her question, but she said, “Yes, it did startle me somewhat—but not in a bad way. I was mostly surprised because you had said nothing of her up until then.”

“Yes, that was a mistake.” But he added nothing more.

Maria was finding Roger to be very taciturn. He had seemed much more open when they first met at the fair. Now he kept his conversation to the minimum with little elaboration. And she felt she needed to ask, “At one point I felt that you might be developing feelings for me. But recently you appear to pulling back. Am I reading the situation incorrectly?”

Roger glanced at her and said, “Miss Maria… I ah… I am afraid you have called me out. It is true, I did warm to you initially when we met. But… but…”

“Ah, the dreaded but… I think I understand without you needing to explain more.”

“I do like you very much.”

“But… And if I am completely honest, I too have reservations about you.”

“Do you? Well…well… well…”

“You seem to be relieved.”

He gave her the first smile in quite some time. “Miss Maria, I have to truthfully tell you, I am.”

“I like you too,” Maria said, “But we seem to lack a certain…” She shrugged. “I cannot find the right word.”

“Sympathy? Might that be the word you are looking for?”

“Very close. Harmony, might be another way of putting it. I do not think we are a match—to put it bluntly.”

He seemed to be greatly relieved. “I quite agree. Now we can relax and just be friends.”

“Yes, I should like that.”