“In the kitchen having a glass of lemonade. I knew you would insist on doing Miss Talbot’s bidding, if not for her, then to see Mr. Wright again.”

“Of course I’ll go,” Laura said. “Unless you or Teddy truly have need of me this afternoon?”

“Your brother is presently sketching a nest of birds which he’s spied from his window. Another day indoors, it seems. The poor boy has no color at all.”

At twenty, Teddy wasn’t a little boy any longer, though Aunt Charlotte was content to view him so. It didn’t help that Teddy had grown petulant of late, refusing to leave his room, and sometimes even refusing his meals.

“I’m henpecked to death here,” he would complain. “For the love of God, Laura. Just leave me alone.”

Laura was tired of it. Tired of managing her aunt and her brother and the remnants of their household. Tired of trying to stretch their meager income. There was never any progress—no spark of inspiration as there had been in the beginning. Now, one day was much like another. An endless repetition of stifling obligation. Of needs unmet, and wants which would never ever be fulfilled. Monotonous, that’s what it was.

Except for today.

The handsome gentleman at Talbot’s Pond had been something new. Something different.

But even that encounter had only lasted a moment. And now here she was again, trussed up by obligation and weighted down with needs, and wants, and monotony.

She pasted on a smile. “Will you help me plait my hair, Aunt?”

Aunt Charlotte gave her a long look. “It’s too wet to be seen in public.”

“It will finish drying on the drive to Edgington Park. Haven’t you been outside today? The sun is fairly blazing.”

“And you without a hat or a parasol.” Aunt Charlotte moved behind her, and picking up the comb, began to skillfully divide and twist Laura’s hair into a plaited roll at the nape of her neck. “You haven’t freckled yet, by some miracle.”

“Not yet.” Laura glanced at herself in the mirror. Her skin was still as pale as porcelain. Perhaps even as pale as alabaster. An enviable complexion, she knew, and one she’d done very little to earn. “Though I daresay I will eventually.”

“Can a person freckle when submerged in a pond, I wonder?”

“Anything is possible under the water.”

“Hmm.” Aunt Charlotte sounded doubtful. “I shall brew up some strawberry water for you. You can apply it to your face when you return home this evening.” She met Laura’s eyes in the mirror. A shadow of worry clouded her brow. “You’ll be home before nightfall, won’t you, my dear? You have an early day tomorrow.”

As if Laura could forget. She reached up to clasp her aunt’s hand. “I’ll be home by dinner,” she said. “I promise.”