“Careful, now, careful,” Ted said with a frown as he helped Basil Wall—or rather, Lord Waltham—or whoever he was now—lift the heavy fermenting vat filled with Basil’s home-brewed ale to pour the contents into a bucket in preparation for bottling.

“I still don’t understand why there’s sugar water in the barrel,” Basil said over the fragrant splash of beer.

“Trust me. When the competition judges taste your brew, you’ll be glad for the sugar,” Ted said.

They finished pouring and set the fermenting vat aside. Ted let out a breath and wiped his brow with the back of his sleeve. Even the shade of the cottage garden was hot. Why Basil and Elaine had chosen to live in Elaine’s old cottage after Basil had purchased a great, whopping estate just a few miles away was a mystery to Ted. Basil claimed it would take a year to renovate Morningside Landing. Ted suspected it would take that long and then some for Basil to get used being treated like an earl again, and for Brynthwaite to get used to it too. Basil was joining in with the fun of the summer festival competitions, after all, trying his hand at brewing beer. Everyone in Brynthwaite took part in one competition or another, but no one expected the local lords and ladies to participate.

“What next?” Basil asked, his smile eager.

“We bottle it,” Ted said. “You’ve got the bottles ready?”

“Right here.”

Basil stepped to the side, where a small crate of clean, mismatched bottles stood waiting. Ted fetched the funnel from his tray of tools and supplies. Unbidden, his thoughts flew back to that morning, to the long, awkward silences that existed between him and June. It had been several days since he’d come to his realization about how the way her father and brothers had treated her for years was poisoning her outlook now, but his mind still hadn’t made complete sense of the situation.

About all she’d said to him since waking up was that she was going to try her hand at small meat pies that day, and that she would be selling them to patrons of the pub once they were opened. She hadn’t said a thing about how he’d tucked the fabric he’d bought for her in the cupboard where she’d stored some of her things, or the fact that her father and brothers had shown up at the pub almost daily with some kind of request for help. They’d barely spoken at all, and to Ted, that felt like a step backward.

“You look troubled,” Basil said, stirring the beer in the bucket with the ladle he would use to fill the bottles. “Is it June?”

Ted glanced sideways at his friend. “Is it that obvious?”

Basil shrugged. “Only to a man who has had his fair share of disastrous love affairs.”

A quick, wry grin pulled at the corner of Ted’s mouth. Since returning to Brynthwaite in the spring after his political adventure and the revelation that he was an earl, or perhaps since marrying Elaine, Basil had opened up to the few men he considered his friends about the truth of his past. Ted was honored to be considered one of those friends, and amazed by the wealth and variety of experience the man had had.

“My marriage isn’t a disaster, yet,” Ted told him, trying to focus on bottling. “I wouldn’t call it much of a love affair either,” he grumbled.

“Hmm,” Basil hummed. “The two of you did rush into things.”

“Unlike you and Mrs.…uh, Lady Waltham?”

“Elaine,” Basil grinned. “Just call her Elaine and me Basil.”

“Fair enough.” Ted nodded. “The two of you waited for a good, long while before making things official.”

Basil laughed. “Only because I was far too much of a coward to say something when I should have.” He glanced to Ted. “You don’t have that problem. From what I’ve been told, you saw your chance to embrace the woman you love and you took it.”

“And all the problems that came with her,” Ted sighed.

They finished pouring beer into the bottles and began securing the corks that would keep them sealed until the competition on Saturday. Basil remained silent, but Ted could tell by the intense, almost fatherly way he watched him that he was waiting for Ted to say more.

The pressure that had been building inside of him for days bubbled to the top, and he slammed a cork into one of the bottles. “How are you supposed to be kind to a woman when kindness has been used as a weapon against her?” he blurted.

Judging by his sympathetic expression, Basil wasn’t at all surprised by the question. “Roger Lakes and his sons should be strung up by their balls,” he said.

Ted let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. “I wouldn’t mind seeing that at all. How can a father treat his own daughter with such horrid callousness?”

Basil reached out and thumped Ted on the back. “You’re a good man to be so upset by it. Unfortunately, I’ve seen women treated like that and worse far too often in my time. Rich, poor, English, foreign, it doesn’t matter. Men have an abominable history of cruelty toward the women they should be caring for.” His expression slackened as he stared out into the distance. “I suppose that’s why I’ll have to keep going back to London and the House of Lords to help my friends.”

Ted nodded. He’d learned a lot about what Basil’s friends were trying to do for women and their rights in Parliament since Basil had returned. Theirs was a cause that could actually get him interested in politics, for a change.

Basil shook his head and went on. “None of that helps your immediate problem, though.”

“I wish I could think of something I could do that would let June know she could trust me,” Ted sighed.

“It sounds to me as though you’re doing all that and more already,” Basil said.

“But nothing seems to be working.” Ted slapped another cork into a bottle, the last one, then took a step back with a sigh. “That bastard of a father of hers has poisoned her mind.”

“The only antidote to that kind of poison is kindness,” Basil said, gesturing for Ted to walk with him to a bench that sat at the base of a large, spreading oak tree. “And in these situations, kindness works slowly.”

“But it’s so obvious to me,” Ted insisted, flopping onto the bench. “I’ve only ever had kind intentions toward June, since we were children. I’ve loved her my whole life, and I would never, ever let anything bad happen to her.”

“Of course not,” Basil said, crossing his arms and resting one foot on a stone near the corner of the bench. “You know that, I know that—”

“And June should be able to see that,” Ted finished.

Basil shrugged. “Why? Why should she be able to see that?”

“Because it’s the truth,” Ted argued. “Because I’m not her father or her brothers.”

Basil let out an ironic chuckle. “How many batches of beer have you brewed over the years?”

Ted frowned, not sure what Basil was getting at. “Dozens. Maybe hundreds.”

“So how long does it take to ferment whiskey?”

Ted blinked. “I have no idea. I’ve only brewed beer.”

“Exactly,” Basil said, his fatherly look stronger than ever. “And I’d be willing to bet that if you tried to make whiskey, in your mind, you’d be comparing the process to beer-making the whole time.”

Ted wanted to argue, but Basil was right. He let out a breath, crossed his arms, and leaned back against the bench. “There has to be another way. I can’t just sit back and wait for June to come around. There isn’t time.”

“Why not?” Basil asked.

Ted sent him a guilty, sidelong look. “Our marriage isn’t exactly legal at the moment.”

“Yes, townsfolk in Cumbria rarely get special licenses,” Basil said with a wry grin.

“June could back out at any time.” Ted frowned, kicking at the grass in front of him. “Her father and brothers keep coming ’round the pub begging for her help.”

“And you think she’ll cave in and return to them out of a sense of family duty?”

Ted nodded.

“Hmm.” Basil rubbed the lower half of his face. “Have you and June had any time to yourselves since your pseudo-marriage?” he asked. “Time with just each other, away from the pub and its concerns, and away from her family?”

“No,” Ted answered, a rush of hope hitting him.

“Maybe that’s your answer,” Basil said. “Take her out for a walk or a picnic or something away from town. Row out to the middle of the lake if you have to.”

“That way we could talk without interruptions,” Ted said, catching on to the idea. “And maybe June wouldn’t worry about all the things that she thinks she needs to be doing.”

“Do you know when was the last time she took a holiday?”

“I don’t know if she’s ever taken a holiday,” Ted answered with a sigh.

“Then see how she responds to a little time off.” Basil thumped his back once more as he stood. “But for now, show me how best to store these bottles until Saturday. Though I doubt the beer will be any good. If what you said is true, it should have at least another two weeks to ferment.”

They finished with Basil’s beer, and Ted said his goodbyes. He walked back to town lost in his thoughts. For a man who’d waited as long as he had for June to be a major part of his life, he was surprised at how impatient he’d become. But Basil’s suggestion to take June away from it all for a while was a good one.

He was deep into planning where he would take her as he approached the pub. It wasn’t until he was almost at the door that the loud buzz of customers hit him. It was the middle of the day on a Tuesday, and there was a queue at the door.

“What’s going on here?” he asked with a frown, pushing past the men lining up to get into his establishment.

It was just as crowded inside as it was outside. The pub rarely saw such a crowd, even on a Friday night. All of the tables were filled, but instead of drinking and carrying on, every man was eating away, shoveling food into his face and making sounds that bordered on ecstasy.

“Ted, there you are,” June’s voice sailed across to him from the bar. Ted turned to her, his brow shooting up when he saw June behind his bar…smiling. “Get back here,” she said. “I need your help.”

Ted was too shocked to move for a moment. June. Smiling. Oliver, one of the young men who helped tend bar from time to time, rushed up behind her with a steaming tray of pies. “This is the last of them,” he said.

His announcement was greeted with a groan of disappointment from the men waiting to be served.

“It’s all right,” June said. “I can make more.”

A rousing cry echoed through the pub. June caught Ted’s eyes once more and gestured for him to hurry up. Ted sprang into motion, weaving his way through the hungry, waiting men, and through to the hallway leading to the kitchen, where June met up with him.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” she said, her eyes round with surprise. “People have been coming in for the past week and a half asking if I’m going to cook for the pub, but I never expected anything like this.”

“What makes today different than what you served last week?” Ted asked, following her into the kitchen, where she headed immediately for the icebox.

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I was only testing things out before. Today is the first time I put together a full menu.”

“Is that what the slate out front was advertising? Your menu?” Ted marched up behind her as she threw open the icebox door, and helped her take out a tray of refrigerated pastry dough.

“Yes,” she answered, turning her excited smile on him. “I never dreamed anyone would take notice.”

“Well, you are an exceptional cook, you know,” he said, carrying the dough to the table.

“I never thought I was,” she said. “No one ever told me they liked anything I cooked.”

The temptation to fly into a fury all over again hit Ted. Of course Roger and his sons wouldn’t bother telling June how magnificent her cooking was. And if she’d never had a chance to cook for anyone else, then how would she know her own talents? Roger and his sons must have let the word out, though. Half the men in Brynthwaite were clamoring to eat June’s pies.

“Do you have everything you need to make more?” Ted asked, hovering beside June as she floured the table and spread the chilled dough.

“There’s a bowl of mincemeat in the icebox,” she said. “And I’ll need more carrots and turnips chopped.”

“Right.” Ted nodded and marched back to the icebox.

“You’ll need a new delivery of ice as soon as possible,” she added. “What’s in there is melting fast in this heat.”

“I’ll call Geoffrey in as soon as possible.”

A whirlwind of work followed. Ted had no idea how to make meat pies, but June worked like she could have done it with her eyes closed. She built up each small pie by hand, filling it with layers of minced pork and bacon, root vegetables, and herbs. The stove was already blazing from whatever cooking she’d done earlier in the day, so they were able to get a new batch in to cook quickly. It also meant the kitchen was as hot as Hades. Ted’s shirt was soaked with sweat in no time and stuck to his back and chest. He paid it no mind, though. At least he didn’t until he caught June staring at him after he opened the oven to check on the progress of their first batch of pies.

“Have I done something wrong?” he asked, his heart sinking at the intensity of her stare.

She sucked in a breath and shook herself, as if she hadn’t realized she’d been staring. “No.” She turned away, focusing on mixing more dough for pastry. “You haven’t done anything.”

She peeked at him again as he walked back to the table. Or more specifically, she peeked at his chest. “I’m sorry,” he said, picking at his damp shirt so that it didn’t stick to his skin. “I must smell like one of these pigs you’re baking in a pie.”

“You don’t,” she answered quickly. “You always smell good.”

“Do I?” His brow shot up.

“Like laundry soap and fresh hops.”

Ted tilted his head to the side. He figured he probably smelled like beer most of the time, but he never imagined it would be a pleasing smell, especially to June.

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” Oliver said, skittering into the room, “but people are getting restless for more pies.”

“Tell them they’ll have to wait,” June said. “Pies don’t cook in an instant.” She stepped back from the table, wiping her hands on her apron. “Better yet, I’ll tell them myself.”

Ted’s heart dropped to his stomach as she marched past him and out toward the pub’s main rooms. He followed hard on her heels with a feeling that disaster was about to strike.

“What’s this I hear about you lot demanding pies faster than they can cook?” she shouted from the bar’s counter.

A rush of noise—from applause to cheers to shouts of encouragement swelled through the pub’s two rooms. Ted continued to hover just behind June, ready to defend her in an instant, but every face that looked back at them was delighted and encouraging.

“Your cooking is the best I’ve ever had, June, but don’t tell my wife,” one ruddy-faced farmer said.

“Can I have another?” a voice sounded from the far corner of the room.

“Not when some of us haven’t had our firsts,” came the answer.

“Everyone will be fed in good time,” June told them all. “I didn’t expect there to be such demand. But the pies have to cook. Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am. Yes, June,” the answers echoed back.

Ted caught a momentary, baffled smile from June before she stepped back, ramming right into him. She stumbled, but he caught her, holding her up with his arms around her waist. Her face was already pink from the heat of the kitchen, but he thought it grew a little redder as she glanced up into his eyes.

For a moment they just stood there, neither of them moving. She wasn’t looking at him with anger or suspicion, only thought. Intense thought. The flash in her eyes turned his bones to jelly. What was she thinking about him? Would she decide he was a waste of her time when she could have all of Brynthwaite eating out of the palm of her hand—literally?

“We’ve got more work to do,” she said when the silence had gone on for what felt like an age. Slowly, perhaps with a little reluctance, she pulled away from him. Her eyes remained locked on his for a few more moments before she cleared her throat and started down the hall toward the kitchen. “If this is what people are like at luncheon, I can’t imagine what we’ll encounter at supper.”

“Do you need me to fetch more supplies from Crimpley’s Market?” he asked, his voice rougher than it should have been. “I can go to the butcher’s or out to one of the farms or wherever you need me to go.”

“You might need to go to the butcher,” she said as they returned to the kitchen. “I’ve half a mind to try stew for supper.”

“Anything you need, June,” he said, the swell of hope in his heart too strong to resist. “I’ll do anything for you.”

Part of Ted winced at the over-eagerness in his voice. Patience. He had to develop patience where June was concerned.

But when she turned to him, she wore a faint, uncertain smile. She chewed her lip all the same, as though her thoughts were consuming and troubling. A last, in the quietest of voices, she said, “I know.”