“How horrible headaches are,” Euphie exclaimed. “I shall send up a maid with a basin of cool water for your brow. Make sure to lay a damp cloth on your forehead and change it every ten minutes. Now, where did I put my powder? It’s very useful for headaches.”

Violet felt like screaming as Euphie went into a dither that looked like it might last for hours.

“Thank you, but I think I’ll be all right if I just lie down.” Violet leaned forward and whispered, “My woman’s flow, you know.”

If anything was likely to stop Euphie, it was mention of women’s matters. She turned bright red and averted her eyes as if Violet was wearing a sign proclaiming her condition.

“Oh, I comprehend, dear. Well, then, you just go lie down. And I’ll see if I can find my powder.” She half-covered her mouth with her hand and hissed, “It’s good for that as well.”

Violet sighed, realizing there was no way she could get away without accepting Euphie’s help. “That’s sweet of you. Perhaps you can give it to my maid when you find it?”

Euphie nodded, and after further detailed instructions on how to deal with that, Violet was mercifully able to escape. In her room, she closed and locked the door, and then crossed to sit on the window seat. Her room was one of the prettiest in Woldsly, although it was by no means the biggest. Faded yellow and blue striped silk hung on the walls, and the carpet was an ancient Persian in blues and reds. Normally, Violet adored the room. But now it had begun to rain again outside, the wind spitting drops against the window and rattling the panes. Had the sun shone at all since she’d come to Yorkshire? She leaned her forehead against the glass and watched as her breath fogged the window. The fire had died on the grate, and her room was dim and cold, perfectly suiting her mood.

Her life was in utter shambles, and it was all her fault. Her eyes burned again, and she swiped at them angrily. She’d cried enough in the last two months to float a fleet of ships, and it hadn’t done a lick of good. Oh, if only one could go back and have a second chance to do things over. She’d never do it again, not if she had a second chance. She’d know that the feelings—so desperate and urgent at the time—would fade soon enough.