Munro kept an eye on Sarah throughout the short graveside ceremony conducted by Reverend Grove. She retained her composure until the gravediggers began to lower the coffin. He put an arm around her waist when she swayed. She accepted the kerchief he offered, but didn’t lean into him. He got the feeling she was doing her best to cope with conflicting emotions.

At the sexton’s nod, she inhaled the perfume of the sprigs of dried lavender she’d brought, then tossed them into the grave. “I’m sorry it’s not Chepstow,” she said softly, “but I know you’re together again.”

She stood like a statue, watching as clods of earth were shoveled into the grave, but allowed Munro to ease her away after Grove left.

“What’s in Chepstow?” Giles asked when they reached Edgbaston Street.

Sarah replied before Munro could advise him to hold his peace. “My father is buried there.” She squeezed Munro’s hand and confided, “That was surprisingly easy to say.”

His heart swelled. Sarah was blossoming like a snowdrop breaking through the frozen ground after a long winter.

Giles looked back at the cemetery.

“Are your parents buried here?” Munro asked.

“No,” the boy replied sadly. “They didn’t find their bodies in the ashes.”

Sarah put her arm around his shoulder. “But you can be assured they’re together in heaven.”

Giles leaned into her, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

Munro admired her compassion for an orphaned boy she barely knew, but it dawned on him Giles might complicate the campaign to convince Sarah to move to Scotland with him.

He liked the boy and admired his resilient good humor. Perhaps the solution lay in ensuring a future for him in Birmingham that didn’t depend on Sarah. Another apothecary?

It was a daunting prospect, given that he knew no one in the town with influence, and it was unlikely Giles would want to return to King Edward’s if Munro offered to pay the fees.

He’d never been one to back down in the face of a challenge. When Sarah unlocked the door of the shop, he made his first move. “Mayhap ye can let me have yer spare key?”

Munro and Giles stayed downstairs to give Sarah a chance to change her clothes. She removed the bonnet, relieved to have it off her head, then perversely decided she didn’t wear her best outfit often enough. After donning an apron, she set out the leftovers for luncheon, then retrieved Reginald’s key from her mother’s satchel.

When the two arrived, she handed it over, not fully understanding why she had mixed feelings about doing so.

“I’ll take care of it,” he promised with a strange glint in his eye.

She had no doubt he expected her to leave Birmingham and begin a new life in Scotland. That’s what wives did. She’d moved to Birmingham for Reginald. Giving Munro unfettered access to her living quarters signaled the first step in her surrender. She thirsted to be his wife, yet was conflicted.

The shop was at last hers. She’d endured too much at Reginald’s hand to give it up without a second thought. The people in the neighborhood would have no one to turn to for remedies if she closed the shop, and finding a buyer would be nigh on impossible. What would become of Giles? She’d lived in England her whole life. Could she live with Scots? Given the general opinion of their tribal culture and untamed land, did she want to?

There were many reasons to stay put, but Munro couldn’t remain in Birmingham indefinitely. He had family obligations. He might try to convince her otherwise, offer to cede the earldom to his brother, but in the long run he’d resent her for it. He was a proud Scot who would never feel completely at home in England. An earl’s son living in a cramped apartment above a shop—it was absurd.

“Ye seem preoccupied,” Munro said as tucked the key in his waistcoat pocket and took his seat at the table.

Giles stretched out his hands and bowed his head, launching into his prayer of thanks as soon as they were all holding hands. “For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful. Amen.”

Without further ado, he broke off a heel of bread and bit into it.

“Short and sweet,” Munro quipped with a smile. “Must be hungry.”

Sarah felt uncomfortable as the meal progressed. Giles retreated into uncharacteristic silence. The funeral had likely evoked too many dire memories. The intimate rapport she’d enjoyed with Munro earlier had evaporated. The stern set of his jaw betrayed his preoccupation. His campaign to woo her to Scotland would soon begin in earnest.

However, it was important he read Henry Marten’s letters before that. She’d learned a lot about her parents and herself from the well-worn pages. Munro had to know everything there was to know, even if it meant he might withdraw his proposal. The prospect tightened the knot in her belly. “I suggest Giles and I spend the afternoon in the workroom preparing for the morrow. There’s a great deal to learn, young man, and we’ve lost too much time already.”

Giles nodded, his mouth full.

Munro frowned. “I can help, if ye like.”

She shook her head. “I was hoping you’d spend some time reading Henry’s letters,” she said.

He took her hand. “I will.”

Their gazes met and they both silently acknowledged she’d surrendered yet another piece of herself to him.

Sitting in the upholstered chair, Munro stared at the satchel on his lap for quite a while after Sarah and Giles had gone downstairs. He had a keen interest in history. The letters were, in effect, important historical documents. However, he doubted he’d be able to read them with a dispassionate eye. It wasn’t just any history, it was Sarah’s.

She seemed to have found therein the answers to questions that had plagued her all her life, and she’d trusted him enough to give him access to the contents.

He opened the flap and pulled out the sheaf, surprised at its bulk, though Sarah had said there were at least a hundred letters.

A quick perusal indicated more than one hand. The pile consisted of Mary’s replies as well as Marten’s letters. The old paper smelled musty. He marveled that Henry and Mary had treasured each other’s missives for more than twenty years, despite difficult circumstances. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. Mary had given up her freedom to live with the man she loved.

That gave him pause.

Sarah’s cramped apartment wasn’t a prison, but it was far from an ideal place for a married couple to live and raise children. Did he love Sarah enough to stay in Birmingham so she could keep the shop? There was a lot to see and do in the bustling town, sufficient history to keep him interested for years.

But it wasn’t Scotland. And he’d miss his family.

Sarah had no kin in Birmingham.

There was only Giles.

Frustrated that his thoughts seemed to be going round in circles and getting nowhere, he moved to the table, smoothed out the first letter and started to read.