When she became a widow, she'd considered herself fortunate when she learned that she might stay in her own house and that Edmund had put some investments in her name to maintain herself in comfort, if not style. It was not a large enough fortune for Edmund's relations to quibble over. None of them had any interest in residing in Yorkshire and the much more important entailed wealth and properties had moved seamlessly into the hands of Edmund's cousin, Galen Oakes. Gemma knew that Edmund's family bore her no ill will, with the possible exception of Galen, but neither did they hold her in esteem. They had cared nothing for Edmund and as Gemma had done them the great favor of remaining childless, they had likely already forgotten her existence.

This suited Gemma perfectly well. And when the populace of the Dale had continued to look to Yew Manor for medical assistance, she had set herself to learning everything she could to help them. The mission had occupied her lonely days as she adjusted to being the lady of her own house.

Then the investments had begun to fail. First one, then another, until all that came to Gemma was a fraction of her former income.

Gemma sat on the edge of her imperfectly made bed and sadly held her aching wrist in her lap. It was going to be difficult day, she feared.

Then she stood up, dabbed at her incipient tears with a handkerchief and looked her reflection in the eye. "There is only ever one task," she reminded herself. "Whatever you are doing at any given moment."

She let out a breath, bound her wrist with a wide length of stiff canvas and left her dark room. Just like every day, she would not see it again until very late.

In the kitchen she found that Mr. Bing had started the fire in the stove as always. There was a kettle full of heated water set to the back of it. What would she do without him?

Don't even think it!

Kneading dough was out of the question. Fortunately she'd expected to stay late at the fete and had baked a few extra loaves for this morning. She set the day-old bread to warm near the stove while she gathered eggs. Taking a large basket, she awkwardly threw on her oldest woolen shawl and made for the extensive coops behind the stables.

On her way she saw Mr. Bing limping toward the stables leading an extremely fine horse that looked rather familiar.

"So the mighty Icarus has finally come down from his flight?"

Mr. Bing rolled his eyes. "The things folks name their beasts." Yet he rubbed the horse's questing nose when it bumped into his shoulder. "But he's a fine, friendly creature. Spoilt as a baby, no doubt. He'll be wantin' me to fetch him carrots and the like, and be about lording it over t' goat and t' pony."