Emm and Cal exchanged glances. “I suppose you could go to the country for a while,” Emm suggested. “Wait for the fuss to die down. You could go to Ashendon Court for a few weeks, or go and stay with Lily and Edward. Old Lord Galbraith would be happy to welcome you. And of course there is always your own house at Willowbank Farm. Martha would be delighted.”

George considered that possibility. She’d grown used to living in London, but there was no denying she missed the country. She’d often thought of returning to Willowbank Farm, the place where she’d grown up. Martha had begun as George’s nursemaid. Later she became cook, housekeeper and the closest thing to a mother—to any kind of a parent—that George had ever had.

And when the money from her father had run out, Martha had stayed with George, working for no wages, sharing the desperate struggle to survive. George loved Martha dearly, and knew Martha would happily welcome her back.

But when Cal had taken George away from the farm—kicking and loudly objecting—Martha had chosen to stay behind, deeming herself unsuited to a fashionable life in the city. Cal, who believed in rewarding loyalty, had then arranged for Martha’s recently widowed youngest sister and her five small children to go and live with Martha.

Martha’s own opportunities to marry and have children had been set aside when she devoted her life to taking care of George. Now she relished having a houseful of children to help raise. And having been assured that Willowbank Farm would be her home for as long as she wanted—for life—she’d gained confidence as well as security. Martha was no longer merely the cook or the housekeeper—she was the woman of the house, with a generous income and servants and farmhands of her own.

George could visit and be welcomed as a beloved guest, but if she returned to Willowbank Farm for any length of time, she knew what would happen; Martha would revert to being her servant—she wouldn’t be able to help herself—and George never wanted to see that happen.

So Willowbank Farm wasn’t an option and neither, now she came to think of it, was Ashendon Court or staying with Lily and her husband. Or any other kind of cowardly retreat. “I won’t run away. I won’t hide out in the country as if I’ve done something wrong,” she declared.

“Brava,” Emm said softly.

“But you have—” Aunt Agatha began.

“Oh, bite it, Aggie,” Aunt Dottie said. “We all know what you want, but it’s George’s life, and it’s her decision.”

“I’m staying here,” George finished. “As long as it’s all right with you, Emm and Cal.”