He’d brought the bouquet for Sarah Conroy, but as his clammy palm clutched the stems, he realized he’d brought it for himself too. As long as he held the hollyhocks, he had a little piece of Sophie with him, and knowing that gave him the courage to knock on the door.

A few seconds later, a woman with auburn hair and a riot of freckles sprinkled across her nose answered the door. “May I help you?” she asked warily.

Reese nodded. “I’m Henry Reese, Earl of Warshire.”

He’d barely managed to get the words out of his mouth before Sarah threw her arms around him, crushing the bouquet and knocking the wind out of him.

“You came,” she said, choking back tears. “I knew you would.” She unceremoniously pulled him into the modest apartment and invited him to sit.

Reese held out the slightly crumpled flowers. “These are for you,” he said, clearing his throat. “I visited your husband’s grave before I came here. I left some flowers there as well.”

Sarah’s eyes welled, but she laughed softly. “He never brought me flowers,” she said without a hint of bitterness. “But he showed me he loved me in countless other ways. Thank you for these,” she said, taking the hollyhocks. “I’m going to fetch a vase. May I bring you some tea or a glass of port?”

“No, thank you,” he said. “I don’t want to trouble you.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” Sarah protested, even though he could see she had a pot of something cooking on the stove and a basket of laundry sitting by the back door.

“I should have told you I was coming, but I was in the neighborhood…” he said, letting the lie trail off his lips.

“I’m just glad you’re here.” She placed the flowers in a pitcher of water and set them on the table before gracefully removing her apron and hanging it on a hook by the door. Tucking a long red curl behind her ear, she said, “Your timing happens to be perfect. The girls are down for their naps”—she inclined her head toward a room in the back—“so we have a moment to talk.”

He sank into an armchair, and she took a seat on the sofa opposite him, smoothing the skirt of her lavender gown. “William wouldn’t have wanted me to wear black for months on end,” she said self-consciously.

“No,” he said firmly. “He wouldn’t have.”

She shot him a grateful smile. “He thought the world of you, my lord.”

“Please, call me Reese,” he urged.

“William said that on the coldest, loneliest of nights, you always found a way to make him and the rest of the men laugh. He said that even when it seemed the enemy was breathing down your necks, you were never afraid.”