Rosie felt slighted and these days she was moodier than ever. She knew, deep down, that she had wanted Matthias Renfree’s interest in her to be greater than Sir Oliver’s, and more lasting. To forget him she had secretly tried to become interested in some other young men. She’d gone on a picnic with a young miner from the Bible class. He had turned up dressed smartly, had held an intelligent conversation in a soft voice and had a gentle laugh, not what was expected from a coarse miner, but when he shyly tried to kiss her she had pushed him away and refused to see him again. Bartholomew Drannock had asked if he could see her. Rosie had considered it. He was very good-looking and hard-working but while he displayed chivalry of a sort, Rosie knew he only wanted to add her to his list of conquests. After that she had gone out only to the Bible classes where she kept close to the family.

Damn you, Matthias Renfree, she thought in a wild, bitter mood, patting butter furiously over the stone sink, I’ll marry Ricketty Jim if he asks me and go off with him! I’ll make a play for him when he’s next in these parts and we’ll see how you like that!

Matthias could hear Rosie moving about in the dairy. It was thankfully cool as he stepped inside and he opened the top of his shirt front and shook it away from his skin to ease his feverish sweat. Screwing up his eyes as they adjusted to the darker light he spotted Rosie in a corner across the stone-flagged floor, her arms moving sharply.

He plucked up courage. ‘Good morning, Rosie.’

‘Oh!’ The half-pound of freshly patted butter fell from her hands, slid down her skirt and over her feet with a muted plop. ‘Oh no! It took me ages—’

‘I’m sorry, Rosie! Here, let me help you.’

Matthias was distraught and snatched up a piece of cheesecloth. The action knocked over a pitcher of milk and sent pots of scalded cream scattering off a shelf. Cream oozed out of the pots, but worse was yet to come. In her speed to save some of the cream, Rosie slipped on the greasy butter and fell headlong into Matthias. It sent them both crashing to the floor with Rosie across his lap.

The variety of exclamation noises Matthias made were harshly silenced.

‘Don’t you dare move, Preacher! Don’t you dare to move a muscle.’

Matthias obeyed. His heart sank as rapidly as the creamy white milk that dripped onto his head and spread all about them. Rosie would never look kindly on him now, would probably never speak to him again after this latest disaster, and he ached to put his arms round her and keep her close to him in the middle of all this ruined dairy produce.