“Don’t you go talkin’ such nonsense,” Mrs. Merryweather admonished her. “A nice thing it would be, if I couldn’t do somethin’ for you after workin’ for your blessed mother and your dear father all these years. I admired both of them, that I did, and as for you, I loved you from the very moment I clapped eyes on you. All I want is you to be happy and to be brought up in the sort of Society you are entitled to. Livin’ alone in that poky little cottage or hangin’ about at the farm with no one to talk to isn’t right. No, dearie, Miss Maria – I beg her pardon, Mistress Fitzherbert, will do what is right for you.”

“I hope so. I hope so indeed,” Gretna answered. “But somehow she seems so far away, so very grown up and out of reach.”

“Bless my soul, you mustn’t be thinkin’ like that. She’s had her troubles, has Miss Maria. Losin’ two husbands before she was twenty-five is bound to leave its mark on any woman. And she was so happy with Mr. Fitzherbert for all he was ten years older than herself.”

“But her first husband was older still, wasn’t he?”

“Yes he was! Oh, that Mr. Weld, I never did hold with that marriage. Twenty-six years older than his bride and she but a girl of eighteen. And it seems as if I was right in sayin’ he was not suitable for God took him to his rest the very same year as they were married.”

“And now? Whom do you – think Aunt Maria loves now?”

The words came out hesitantly and Gretna did not look at Mrs. Merryweather as she spoke.

“Well, there’ll be gentlemen enough wantin’ to marry her, you may be sure of that,” came the answer. “She always had a way with her. She could charm anyone. Old or young, they all fell for Miss Maria. It wasn’t only that she was pretty, it was somethin’ in her manner and in her voice. Gentle as a dove she could be and as sweet as honey in the honeycomb.”

“Do you think there is – any particular gentleman?”

“If there is, I ain’t heard of him,” Mrs. Merryweather replied. “But then Miss Maria always liked living quietly. She never cared for Society or racketin’ around with all those noisy young bloods. I’ve heard Agnes, her old maid, talk about her friends and say what nice people came to her house when she was married to Mr. Fitzherbert. No card parties or routs for her. What she really preferred was to be sittin’ at her embroidery or drivin’ out in her carriage to take the air.”

“Then any rumours that she has changed and that she is living a very – different life would be untrue, wouldn’t they?” Gretna asked.