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heaven.
    “Mrs. Carleson, I presume?”
    Elizabeth whirled around toward the voice. A man on a blue roan gelding tipped his hat to her. She nearly gasped. He was the most beautiful person she’d ever seen, male or female, never mind the ginger hair. His manicured good looks were in perfect counterpoint to the natural beauty of the bird his horse had frightened away. Every exquisite article he wore coordinated to every other, from the tailored riding coat and breeches to the polished black boots and fawn kidskin gloves.
    How soft his hands must be, protected by those gloves. Fleetingly, she imagined his touch compared to Mr. Carleson’s rough-skinned groping.
    “You have me at a disadvantage, sir.” He really was quite good-looking. So young and vital.
    “An oversight, I’m sure,” he said. “Though I can understand the squire wanting to keep you to himself. We’re neighbors, Mrs. Carleson. The Branch borders Laurelwood.”
    “You’re Sir Carey.” Elizabeth felt doubly guilty. This was the man Squire Carleson detested. “Ward of Baroness Branch.”
    “I see my reputation precedes me.” Sir Carey shifted his weight and smoothed his jacket where it draped his thigh. He hugged the horse, displaying his well-muscled legs to advantage.
    He was as vain as the squire had described. He’d certainly chosen the false-blue mount to emphasize his strawberry blond hair. “I have heard your name mentioned.”
    “In a flattering context, I hope.”
    “Not really.” What impudence!
    He laughed and leaned forward on the pommel, examining her. He rested his gaze on her cropped hair and raised an eyebrow in admiration—not in a flirtatious way, but with true regard. As if he understood. Again emotions stirred which made Elizabeth feel disloyal to her husband.
    “We haven’t been properly introduced, sir,” she said. “I must bid you good day, no disrespect intended.”
    “None inferred,” Sir Carey said good-naturedly. “Forgive my bad manners. I was charmed by your beauty.”
    “Ha!” The involuntary laugh perfectly expressed her opinion of such insincere flattery. Elizabeth was full aware that beauty was not among her virtues.
    She walked quickly past the horse retreated through the veil of weeping willow. He didn’t follow, but she broke into a run. It was completely understandable the squire detested that dandy. What a pretty, self-confident ass!
    Damn, she shouldn’t run in her delicate condition. She slowed down and breathed deeply to calm herself. The warmth of the sun on her face anchored her to her surroundings. Looking around at the grounds of Laurelwood, her heart swelled. She realized the squire had given her everything she’d ever wanted, sheep, dogs, corn—and something she had never thought to desire: flowers.
    Snowdrops and violets and primroses bloomed everywhere. Daffodils pushed up in random clusters along the path to the great house ready to bloom in another week or so. There were dogwood trees and woody lilacs with hard-fisted buds promising a more gorgeous spring to come. Someone in some long-past Utopian Laurelwood had planted jasmine, abundant roses, and wisteria. She entered the great house determined to be grateful to Squire Carleson.
    By July when she was delivered of a daughter, hundreds of rose bushes were in bloom.
    “My dear, don’t worry about it being a girl.” The squire held the swaddled babe in one arm and patted Elizabeth’s hand. “She will keep you company when I am gone.”
    A month later he was back at her, working for his boy.  

Marta
     
    1797, Carinthia
    While Mutti was occupied with dressing, Marta Schonreden headed downstairs. At the front door she said to the housekeeper, “Tell Mutti I’ve gone to the bookseller.” If her mother was going to visit Mrs. Haas, Marta didn’t want to join her. Oktav Haas was home from university, and Mutti undoubtedly had a scheme to throw Marta at him somehow.
    She passed the bookshop and all the shops. All she really