She had not dared to hope for this much generosity. It was obvious to Nan that the goodwife was not happy to welcome a prostitute into her home even for the length of a meal, but she hid her distaste for Rosy and treated the little girl no differently for having served in a brothel. If there was a slight coolness in her demeanor toward Nan it was only to be expected, and it did not prevent her from offering a private place for the girls to bathe themselves.

Nan and Rosy carried the bathing tub and stool up to the room where she had slept on her last visit. There was a cake of good, soft soap in her bag, and she bade Rosy to wash the younger girl clean with it, using the water on hand while Nan went to the well to gather more. She left to find another bucket, the sound of Rosy’s voice following her. “There, Cissy,” she soothed the overeager child. “It will take no time at all and your new mistress will have you clean before you’re sleeping by her fire.”

The Welshman had retreated to the mews, which meant his eyes did not follow Nan as she moved silently through the house. She was conscious of his regard every moment, as though it mattered more than any of the other things pressing on her heart. It was because he had been with her at Aunt Mary’s, she decided. He had glimpsed these bits of her life that were unfathomable to anyone else who knew her. That was the only reason she felt the urge to lean into his warmth. She should return to Morency, where she might find comfort in her friends.

But the thought of it filled her with a horrible, unexpected dread. She carried the heavy buckets up the stair, dropped the heated stones into the water, and tried not to think of it as she lathered Rosy’s coppery hair. All of Morency knew she had left in search of her sister. They all awaited her news, and what could she tell them?

She poured the water to rinse Rosy’s hair just as they were called to come to table. Downstairs, she looked at the two girls with damp hair and freshly scrubbed skin, at the babies delighted with the new faces in their midst, at the steaming bowls of pottage – and she could not bear to sit among them. Though it was a lie, she said she was not hungry and then avoided the Welshman’s gaze as she went to gather more water.