Slowly Esther inclined her head. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I can understand that. You’re a good man, Will Benson.’

Colour suffused his cheeks and his voice was a little husky with emotion. ‘Mebbe I ain’t always been.’

Esther stood up, not wanting to embarrass him any further. She grinned. ‘Not many of us are perfect all the time, Will. I reckon we’re all allowed a little slip now and again.’

Will laughed, blowing away the moments of awkwardness between them.

‘I’ll go and fetch Kate down to see you.’

Minutes later as she sat her sleepy daughter on Will’s knee and watched as he pulled a toy from his pocket, his head bent towards the child, Esther knew for certain what had lain hidden in the recesses of her mind, and her heart, for years. If only Will would say the words she longed to hear. But from their conversation a few moments before, it looked as if she would have to wait a long time – maybe for ever.

There were a number of familiar faces missing at the Harvest Supper that year. All the young men had gone to war, and the last of the harvesting had been left to the old men, the women and children. Esther found herself meeting new people from more distant farms whom the squire had prevailed upon to help, and she in turn had to go some considerable way to help out in turn.

‘By, but we’re late getting it all in this year. How’s things with you?’ Tom Willoughby asked her.

‘Not too bad, Tom, thanks. We got it all in just before Matthew volunteered.’ Her mouth was grim at the memory of that night, nor could she forget the part Toms wife and sister-in-law had played. Esther was fair-minded enough, however, to know it was none of Tom’s doing.

‘Come up to my place in the morning, Esther, lass,’ Tom was saying, ‘and hitch a lift with my workers. We’re off to Browns’ Farm tomorrow and it’s five miles or more. You can’t be carrying your little girl that far.’

Esther smiled her thanks and the morning saw her and Kate perched on the front of the wagon beside Tom Willoughby under the malevolent glare of his wife as the cart trundled out of the yard of Rookery Farm. Tom Willoughby never seemed to worry what his wife and sister-in-law said or did. He was far too intelligent, Esther thought, to be ignorant of their mischief-making, but no doubt long ago he had decided that the best way to treat it was to ignore it. Well, thought Esther, if he can then so can I, though inwardly she had to admit that she still felt resentment towards the two women for having goaded Matthew into volunteering.