By some miracle she landed safely with only a few scratches and had taken enough money for a ticket to Surrey. It was poor form to leave Valentina behind, but Lottie knew she would only dissuade her. She would find a way to make it up to Valentina later, when the threat of marriage to Mr. Wetherby wasn’t quite so imminent. After she arrived at the tiny village train station, Lottie took a shortcut through the forest. It was late afternoon by the time she reached Haverford, bedraggled, famished, and cold; but the sight of the sprawling Tudor mansion, home to six generations of her mother’s family, warmed her with relief. Mr. Wetherby could not touch her here.

Lottie must have looked worse than she felt because Ailish, a housemaid, gasped at the sight of her while Ben, a footman, begged her to sit and immediately fetched Mrs. Houston. She had been working for the Lewis family for nearly three decades now, beginning as a scullery maid. There was no one Lottie trusted more on this earth than her.

“My goodness, Miss Carlisle!” she cried out, her large brown eyes as wide as a startled doe’s. “Don’t tell me you came all this way on foot?”

Lottie ran a sheepish hand over her hatless head and pulled away a twig. “Only from the train station.”

Mrs. Houston tsked as she cast a worried gaze over her. “Come with me. Ailish, make us some tea, then.”

Lottie followed Mrs. Houston to her sitting room where they could talk privately. She had always loved this cozy little space and whiled away many rainy afternoons by the hearth listening to Mrs. Houston’s stories of her youth spent in Ireland’s West Country. For a time Alec had joined them, until he grew too old for such things. Lottie’s throat tightened at the rush of memories.

The events of the day suddenly pressed down upon her and Lottie slumped into an overstuffed armchair clothed in faded green velvet. Mrs. Houston took the one opposite, her brow puckered with worry. She still retained much of the striking beauty of her youth, though her dark brown hair was now heavily streaked with gray. There had never been a Mr. Houston, and not for the first time Lottie wondered what had kept her here all these years, when she could have had a husband, a family, and a home of her own.

Ailish promptly arrived with the tea tray. Once they were alone again, Mrs. Houston began to pour. “Now,” she said as she handed Lottie a steaming cup and saucer, “am I right in supposing Alec found you?”

Lottie nearly dropped the china.

“No one else knows about Florence,” Mrs. Houston added.

Lottie’s eyes fell. “I know it was childish to leave the way I did, but I couldn’t spend another minute with Mrs. Wetherby. And Uncle Alfred was putting so much pressure on me to marry.”