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of the house. Men—the masters of all.
    “My brother is married.”
    Hetty looked at her blankly, but then gasped. “Without you there! Why would he do that?”
    “Why would he not?” Prudence said bitterly.
    “But you’ve been working so ’ard on that gown.”
    Prudence wished she’d not come here, not revealed her hurt.
    Hetty took down a couple of pottery beakers and a stoppered jug from which she poured.
    “That’s not gin, is it?” Prudence asked, assailed by memories. Since that night, she’d drunk what remained of the brandy in guilty sips at her lowest moments.
    “Gin?” Hetty exclaimed. “As if I would! It’s me mother’s cordial. It’ll raise yer spirits.” She sat down opposite Prudence, pushing one beaker over.
    Prudence sniffed and smelled mostly herbs. She sipped and first tasted a sickly sweetness, but then she coughed. “Raise my spirits. It’s full of spirits!”
    “Just Mother’s ’omemade wine. It’s the ’erbs that do you good, though.”
    Prudence swallowed some more. “I’ll be a tosspot at this rate.”
    “Go on with ye. Now, tell me wot’s wot. You ’ad a letter?”
    Prudence took another drink. “From, would you believe it, my brother’s wife. Regretting that I was unable to attend, but desirous of relating all the delights of the day.”
    “That’s good of ’er, then.”
    “Good! It’s a taunt, pure and simple. Every detail of the fine company, the elegant wedding breakfast, her gown, Aaron’s new suit of clothes, their new home . . . All were pins aimed at my heart.”
    “Oh.” Hetty sipped more of the cordial.
    “It’s true. She’ll have been the one who said who could and could not be at her wedding. She must be the one who doesn’t want me in Darlington.”
    “Yer brother could stand up to ’er if he wanted.”
    “Maybe not. She brings a good sum of money, and her father’s influential in Darlington.”
    “Still, your brother’s the man of the house.”
    Prudence sighed. “Am I still making excuses for him? I’m being foolish all around, aren’t I?” She sipped some more of the sweet drink. “I’d pinned hopes on the wedding, you see. I would be a lady there and I’d meet his fine circle. I might even . . .”
    She stopped her revelations, thank heavens, before admitting her dream of meeting a gentleman who admired her.
    She frowned at her cup. “This is a powerful concoction.”
    “Cures a cold nicely, and the rheumatics.”
    And a broken heart? Her heart wasn’t broken, however, only battered and bruised. It was her dreams that were shattered beyond repair, taking her hopes with them.
    She cradled the cup and drank more. “I don’t want to live like this, Hetty.” She realized that could seem insulting. “I mean . . . it’s not the place or the people I mind, but I want more. I want . . .”
    “A husband. Every woman does, and every man a wife. But I know it’s not easy for a lady like you. Ye can’t marry a simple man, but ye need money to marry a gentleman.”
    “Did you bring money to your match?”
    “I brought some linen and me new clothes. And I’m’ealthy and a good worker, as is Will. He knows ’is trade, and I know how to run a home and care for all in it.”
    “I know how to run a home.”
    “With servants,” Hetty said, without any apparent intent to insult.
    “I run this house,” Prudence protested, but then thought of the bread she didn’t bake, the blankets she’d never washed, and the moth holes spreading in them. She did dust and scrub, but she didn’t make a hand cream, roast her own dandelions for a hot drink, or keep chickens.
    “I do know how to run a house with servants,” she agreed. “When we lived at Blytheby Manor I helped run our part of it. I helped to care for the finer items, such as the best linen, the glass and china.”
    All of which was gone. Except her mother’s favorite vase, and the two glasses out of which she’d drunk brandy with a rascally rake . . .
    Hetty was staring