“I’m not a lady.”

“You serve upstairs. I’m downstairs, beneath the stairs, really.”

“Astride is much more comfortable,” Rose said.

“Have you ridden astride?”

“Uh . . . once or twice.”

“Do you want to now?”

“I’d love to, but what would I do with the saddle?”

“Up there in that little shed. Looks like a sheepfold to me, a lambing shed really. But no sheep or lambs around. This croft has been abandoned for years. Nobody will find it. But you’ll have to ride bareback like me with just the blanket underneath your bum.”

They stopped and dismounted, and Rose walked over with the saddle to the shed. It was very low. Definitely made for sheep and their lambs, as Franny had said.

Rose laughed as she stooped to walk inside and saw September perched on an upside-down wooden bucket. “Now whatever are you doing here?” The slit of light flashed in her eyes, as if to say, “What do you think? Guarding your saddle until you get back.”

Five minutes later, Rose and Franny were trotting along in a companionable silence. The sun had risen and was gilding the field, which spread out like a cloth of green and gold. Snowdrops bowed their heads shyly as if they were beginning to curtsy to the two passersby. A bold daffodil trembled in the light breeze. Rose couldn’t help but wonder when spring might appear in Indianapolis. Gran had said by the end of April, when there was no chance of frost, they would move many of the plants out of the greenhouse to the walled garden.

“Look, Rose.” Now late into the evening, Franny drew her pony to a halt. “Stow-on-the-Wold.”

“That’s it?” All she could see were two or possibly three thatched cottages.

“Well, it’s not exactly London.”

They rode on for another ten minutes or so as the road began to bend down a slight incline, winding into the village. There were actually four houses, and a woman with a staff came out from behind one, escorting a rather large pig. “This way, Tonks. This way, dearie.” She looked up and caught sight of the two girls. “Don’t worry, girls, old Tonks won’t bother you. What brings you this way? No one comes to the Wold, save with messages from the king to Master Oliver.”

“Yes!” Rose exclaimed.

“You have a message for Master Oliver, do you?”

“Not exactly,” Rose said.

“Now what the devil does that mean?”

“It means,” Franny said firmly, “that we don’t have a message . . . uh, we just have a question.”

“Well, he ain’t here.”

“Where’d he go?” Rose said, trying to disguise the disappointment in her voice.

“He left last night for London. Official business. Royal business.”

“Oh!” Rose’s shoulders slumped.

Franny reached across and squeezed Rose’s hand. “When might he be returning, good lady?”