By now Little Hyssop’s rumor mill was working overtime. First there had been Charlotte’s sudden departure, then her sister’s arrival and the removal of a king’s ransom worth of oddities from the tiny cottage, then Charlotte’s return with two servants in tow. She’d have a lot of explaining to do in the morning and needed all the rest she could get.

She went into her little back bedroom off the kitchen and opened the window to the summer night. Her hollyhocks had grown up taller than she was and mostly blocked her view of the stars. But she made her wish anyway, undressed, and crawled into bed. Fingering the heavy necklace still at her throat, she was reassured. She may not have a ring, but she had something better-a man who swore he loved her and would protect her always.

She woke in the middle of the night to loud growls. The sound was not at all catlike, and it came from indoors, not out. Frightened, she grabbed a trusty candlestick and tiptoed through the dark to the parlor. Angus Frazier had angled the sofa against the hall entryway, and was guarding her noisily against nighttime visitors in his sleep. Either that, or Kitty had thrown him out for the ruckus. Charlotte noted on her way back to bed that the kitchen door was blocked with a chair. No Little Hyssopian would gain access to her cottage tonight. She fell back asleep with a smile on her face, and woke to the smell of frying bacon, which gave her stomach only a minor lurch. It was to be one of the good mornings. She pulled on her gray robe and stepped into the kitchen.

Sunlight streamed in through the open back door. A jar of fresh-cut flowers was centered on the set table, and Kitty was in total control. A pan of eggs bubbled on the stove, and bread had already been buttered. “Good morning, miss! Did you sleep well?”

“Like the dead. This looks lovely, Kitty. The food and the flowers. Thank you.” She sat down like a true lady of leisure as Kitty poured her a cup of tea.

“Oh, your garden is a wonder, Miss Fallon. I could be happy living in a cottage like this. It’s just perfect.”

“It is, rather. Not fancy, but I’ve been happy here.”

Or as happy as one could be, lonely and more or less poor.

She would miss her cottage when Bay came for her, silly as that was. Bayard Court was beautiful, and she was sure his house in town was as well, with its fabled French chef, but Little Hyssop had been her home for a decade. Charlotte looked at Kitty’s shining face as she stirred the eggs. “I say, I’d like to make a wedding present of it for you, when Sir Michael and I marry.”

Kitty dropped the wooden spoon. “You’re joking!”

“I’m not. But perhaps I spoke too soon. Mr. Frazier might not like it. I don’t know what he could do to keep busy in Little Hyssop.”

“Oh, now that he’s got Sir Michael settled with you, he’d love to retire. He gets a small pension from the army, you know. Enough for us to live on. And I’m sure Sir Michael would be generous. He owes Angus his life. Saved him single-handed from a band of rogue Frenchies, he did. Bad ’uns. They killed them all.”

Charlotte shuddered. It was difficult to imagine Bay using his artist’s hands to willfully kill other human beings. But of course he had. It was his job, or he would not be here today.

Of course, he wasn’t here. But perhaps there was a letter from him. He had promised to write. Charlotte ate her breakfast quickly, washed up, and braved the walk into the village. Her walk should have taken just five minutes. However, it seemed every one of her neighbors had work to do in their front gardens this morning, and her trip down the lane was a slow but steady one. She deflected most questions to their obvious disappointment, stuck faithfully to comments about the weather, and found herself in the tiny tobacco shop that doubled as Little Hyssop’s post office after most of half an hour had passed. Mr. Forrest’s eyes lit up as she entered, the bell jangling behind her.

“There you are! I’ve got a passel of mail for you, what with the month you’ve been gone. Your sister was in here yesterday, accusing me of withholding her letters, because she’d not heard from you. Off on a secret adventure, eh?”

“You might say that. I’ll take my mail, and a few ounces of pipe tobacco. You pick it-something not too strong but aromatic.” Mr. Frazier might as well benefit from her gauntlet.

“Don’t tell me a fine lady like you has taken up that habit.” He waited expectantly, but Charlotte simply shook her head, rifling through the letters. Her sister’s hand was on most of them, but one brought a smile to her lips.

A letter from Bay! To her, not to her sister. Charlotte slipped the letters into her reticule, then paid for the tobacco and practically ran home. Let the neighbors talk. She went directly to the back garden bench beneath a trellis of roses that were past their prime but still fragrant and carefully broke the seal.

Dearest Charlie,

You haven’t even been gone a day, but I miss you more than I can put into words. Wish me luck. I have an appointment tomorrow with the Bucklands and Jamie. If things go my way, we should have everything settled within a month or two. Until then, I shall dream of you every night. All my love,

Bay

Charlotte leaned back, then reread the few lines. It wasn’t half as romantic as she’d hoped, and vague to boot. Although it was gratifying he’d written before she’d even exited Dorset’s borders.

And two months! It was an eternity. Getting Jamie and Anne to Scotland couldn’t possibly take that long. She wanted to write right back to him, but was distracted when one of the stray cats rubbed up against her stocking with unusual affection. Hungry again, even after Kitty put the breakfast leavings out. Sighing, she went inside to inspect her larder. But first, she pressed Bay’s letter between the pages of her Bible, right where her marriage lines would be written. Someday.

Chapter 25

Charlotte had quite a collection of letters now, which she kept in the drawer by her bedside. To her dismay, there was little talk of scarlet butterflies sucking nectar or rubies glimmering in the candlelight, but each missive was treasured nonetheless. The letters were altogether more like what a husband might write to a wife, although she and Bay were still the only unmarried couple of their extraordinary summer. Unfortunately Bay had missed the Fraziers’ wedding last week. Mr. Kemble had presided. But even though Angus and Kitty had been relative strangers to Little Hyssop, everyone turned out for the occasion under the unusually hot late September sky.

Bay had approved of her deeding her cottage to the happy couple, and was supplementing it with a monetary gift of his own. The newlyweds were on a brief honeymoon trip to Scotland now to visit Mr. Frazier’s ancient mother and slightly less ancient brothers. Charlotte thought it was rather nice to have her house back, although clearly Kitty now thought of it as her own. She had moved around the kitchen crockery to suit herself and Charlotte had difficulty finding things. But soon, God willing, she’d be in Dorset.

Bay had left absolutely nothing to chance. His last letter had brought hope to her heart.

Dearest Charlie,

An entire ocean will separate us from the Dixfields as soon as I personally pack them on a vessel heading to Boston. They were married last Saturday in the village church, after three of the longest weeks of banns-reading in history. I kept expecting Anne to pop up herself to object each time, but her father and mother sat on either side of her and must have pinched her still. I stood as Jamie’s best man, if you can believe it. He whispered at the altar that Anne has missed her monthly, so perhaps our waiting all these weeks was worth it. I know Jamie was most diligent in his “treatment” of his fiancée. You’ll be happy to know that Anne did not give me a second look, which was a bit hard on my pride.

So soon, my darling, I will be knocking at your door, fresh from the docks, travel-worn and needy. I know you’ll provide the succor I require.

All my love,

Bay

Somehow Bay had fixed it for Jamie to be a doctor in the new state of Maine in America, and his gift to the bride was a fur cloak to weather the uncompromising winters. Charlotte didn’t know how Bay had arranged it all or how much it had cost him, but she was anxious to arrange her own wedding. She laid a hand on her growing belly and tried to get comfortable in her bed. Good thing her dresses were old and unfashionable-the high waists still concealed her condition from the world. But it was too hot tonight to wear clothes of any kind. A regular Indian summer had descended on Little Hyssop, confusing her spring bulbs-Kitty’s now-into sprouting up. Her night rail hung neatly in the cupboard and she was shamelessly naked under a thin sheet.

She was nearly asleep when she heard a muffled thud. Snatching the candlestick from the nightstand, she put it down when she heard the familiar curse and smiled. Kitty did have to move that chair from its perfectly good spot for the intruder to trip over. This was one intruder Charlotte wanted to intrude, and intrude deeply. She feigned sleep, pulling the sheet down so one very full breast was exposed in the moonlight. The sight might give him ideas.

Charlotte heard him shed his clothes with each step. Her old mattress listed. How brave he was to stretch out beside her, when she so easily could bean him on the head as he set it down on her pillow. She waited to feel his touch, but instead was rewarded with a nearly immediate light snore.

The fiend! She didn’t care how tired he was, or how long he’d traveled, or what time of night it was. They had been apart for centuries, and he was not going to sleep without intruding. She turned on her side, studying his chest, lifting and falling with each breath. Touching a flat copper nipple was not quite enough, so she fastened her lips around it and sucked.