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glowered at the maid, displeased she’d found me in yesterday’s wrinkled dress, lying brokenhearted on the floor with a bulldog.
    Nor did she seem pleased with me. With the tone of a martyr, she planted her hand on her hip, saying, “And just this morn I gats permission to see me mam.” She stamped her foot. “Now look at thee. I need to wash your dress before I can ga.”
    I opened my mouth to apologize but then clamped it shut, too forlorn to care. At least she was going to remain at Am Meer, while I’d soon be sent to Scotland.
    Scowling, she opened the cedar wardrobe and gathered my second-best dress in her arms, but then to my surprise, her face softened as she turned and studied me. “Ye might as well be hearing th’ gossip from me first.” She nudged the door shut with her hip.
    I wrapped my arms about my knees, looking toward the window, where sunlight streamed into the room.
    “Th’ butcher boy tells me Lord Auburn’s sons gat in a row last night ’bout thee. Th’ reverend was hot ’cause Master Henry knew about thy mam and didn’t tell him. Chased Master Henry about the stable with a crop, he did.” The maid’s voice brightened. “Even though he’s the younger of th’ two, he whipped his brother soundly.”
    I felt like crying as I tried to picture Edward so stern and angry he’d punish someone in such a manner. Then I groaned. If this maid knew as much, likely enough other servants also gossiped about it as they emptied chamber pots and stirred porridge.
    Hot anger tingled through me. For three years, I’d taken care never to mention Edward’s name aloud, never to give Mama or Sarah the slightest hint that we were betrothed. And now, when marriage was no longer a possibility, when I’d be snickered at behind my back for entertaining such a great hope, Edward had made a spectacle of us!
    Nancy cocked her head, waiting for a response as my fingers closed in fists. If I wasn’t careful, even my sleeping with the dogs in the ashes would soon be common knowledge.
    “I don’t care for servants’ gossip,” I said, rising.
    I ignored her scowl, then stood and brushed off my skirt, resolved to add no more fuel to the fire. At the washstand, I damped my face, careful to soak my eyes on a cool cloth to reduce the redness, then scrubbed hard to give my cheeks bloom and to make certain no trace of ash remained.
    Being the daughter of William Elliston had its advantages. The role of outcast was familiar enough. While I did not relish the hard look that would settle upon my face, nor hearing whispers as I passed vendors, at least it wouldn’t break me. I knew better than most how to maintain a frost around my heart. Only until that day, I’d never needed its protection at Am Meer.
    In the mirror, my green eyes glinted with steely determination. I recognized the girl staring back, but disliked her. She was the girl my parish vicar had termed “shockingly wicked and hard-hearted.”
    I turned from the looking glass, determined that no one would see how crushed and how deadened I felt.

    It was difficult, however, to remain aloof at breakfast.
    Mrs. Windham said nothing about Edward’s strange visit yesterday, but instead chatted about a thick letter she’d received from her cousin who was visiting London. She read aloud the bits concerning the latest fashion of bonnets and shawls, thenmoodily declared that had it been Elizabeth in London, she would have managed to find more dance partners than her cousin’s daughter. Elizabeth waited for my acknowledgment, wearing a bruised look upon her face.
    With a growing sense of shame, I kept my gaze as far away from her as possible.
    “Mama,” Elizabeth interrupted Mrs. Windham midspeech. “After breakfast, will you excuse Julia and me so we can walk?”
    Mrs. Windham didn’t stop reading her letter. “To be sure. Now, where was I? Listen to this part. . . .”
    But Elizabeth, with her own brand of communicating, silently demanded I acknowledge