“When Desmond—my husband—first hurt me very badly,” Lady Overfield told her, “I fled home to Riddings Park. But he came after me, and my father, very conscious of the fact that I had married him of my own free will and was therefore his property and possession, to do with as he willed, insisted that I return home with him. In my father’s defense, Desmond was abject with apologies and assurances that nothing like it would ever happen again. When I was even more badly hurt later—my arm was broken among other things—and fled home again, my father had already passed away. When Desmond came for me, Alex punched him in the face and sent him on his way. He returned with a magistrate, but Alex stood his ground and refused to give me up. I have lived with him and my mother ever since. Desmond died the year after. My brother is a gentle man of even temper, but no one should ever make the mistake of believing him to be a weak man. Now, do tell me about your aunt. I know your uncle was a successful businessman and that he must have encouraged your interest in the business and even, presumably, trained you to carry it on after him. But what about your aunt, whom you loved so dearly?”

How could Lady Overfield have suffered as she had without showing any outer sign of it now? How had she recovered? But had she? She seemed very poised and very amiable, but one could not know from such a brief acquaintance what went on deep inside another person. And why had the lady confided something so deeply personal to Wren? Because she wanted to be her friend? Was it possible? It would be very easy to shed tears, Wren thought, blinking away the possibility. Lady Overfield had chosen to confide in her.

“She was plump and placid and reveled in her role as wife and surrogate mother,” Wren said, “and never showed the slightest interest in the business beyond an admiration for some of the lovelier pieces that were presented for her approval. She never raised her voice, never lost her temper, never said an unkind word about anyone in my hearing. But she was as tough as old leather when aroused. When—” She stopped abruptly. “Well. There was one time …”

She was relieved when Lady Overfield filled the gap. “I wish I could have known her,” she said. “Did she educate you or did you have a governess?”

And somehow the correct half hour for a visit slipped by unnoticed and then another while they talked on a number of subjects without any seeming effort on either of their parts. She was talking, Wren realized, and even smiling. She was warming to the first offer of friendship she had ever received. It was not until Lady Overfield glanced at the clock on the mantel, looked startled, and said it was high time she took her leave and let Miss Heyden return to her packing that Wren realized how much she had been enjoying herself.

“How time has flown,” Wren said, setting the tray aside and getting to her feet. “I do thank you for coming. I hope the rain has not made the road treacherous.”

“It is not the sort of heavy downpour that turns a road to mud very quickly,” Lady Overfield said, glancing through the window as she stood too. She did not immediately turn to the door. She frowned, hesitated, and then turned to look fully at Wren. She drew breath to speak, seemed to change her mind, shook her head, and then smiled. “Miss Heyden, I came to say something and then got lost in the pleasure of conversing with you. But I must deliver the speech I prepared so carefully and rehearsed so diligently in the carriage, or I shall kick myself in the shins all the way home. Alex told us that he invited you to come to London sometime this spring as my mother’s guest at Westcott House. I know you refused, and I fully respect that. However, I do want to say two things. First, if your refusal was in part because you felt we would not welcome your company, you were quite wrong. Both my mother and I are very sociable beings and it would be a genuine pleasure to entertain you. Second, if you were to choose, for whatever reason, to come to town after all, we would be more than delighted to show you about London, which is certainly worth a visit, though perhaps it cannot compete with a glassworks. I would very much enjoy a tour of that one of these days, by the way. We would be delighted too to accompany you to any of the myriad entertainments of the Season that might take your fancy. We would be equally willing to leave you at home whenever you chose not to accompany us. There would be no pressure whatsoever upon you to do anything you did not want to do or to meet anyone you did not want to meet. There. That is what I came to say. My mother wished to accompany me this afternoon, I ought to add, but I suggested that you might feel overwhelmed if we both turned up on your doorstep. Ah, one more thing.” She opened her reticule and drew out a card, which she handed to Wren. “It has the London address. I hope you will write to me there regardless. I promise to write back.”

“Thank you.” Wren looked down at the card. “I shall … write.” She was not at all sure she would. But then she was not sure she would not. She had never before been offered friendship, even at a distance. She would never go to London, of course, but … she could have a friend. Perhaps see her here occasionally. Perhaps invite her to Staffordshire at some time in the future. Yes, she would write. It would be the polite thing to do if nothing else. “I will walk downstairs with you.”

By the time she arrived back in her room, Maude had finished packing both her trunk and her valise. Wren looked at the card in her hand and slipped it down the inside edge of the valise. “I was not sure everything was going to fit,” she said. “You are a far neater packer than I, Maude. Thank you.”

“You always give me twice the work,” her maid grumbled. “First I have to haul out everything you have packed, and then I have to do the job properly.”

Wren laughed and went to stand by the window. She gazed out and wondered if the rain would delay her own journey tomorrow. But after a few moments it was no longer the rain she saw. It was the Earl of Riverdale pummeling Lady Overfield’s husband in the face and refusing to give her up, even though the law was against him and arrived on his doorstep in the form of a magistrate to tell him so.

My brother is a gentle man of even temper, but no one should ever make the mistake of believing him to be a weak man.

And he was the brother of her friend.

My friend. She whispered the words against the glass.

Alexander left for London with his mother and sister the day after Wren left for Staffordshire. He had discussed with his steward what could and would be done with the limited resources he had at his disposal. It was not much, but they could only do the best they could and hope for a decent harvest and a little more money to invest next year. The house and park must wait, though Alexander had every intention of returning there to live for the summer.

In the meanwhile he went to London because it was his duty to take his seat in the House of Lords. And because his mother and Elizabeth really ought to have his protection and escort while they were in town. They did not have to lease a house this year. Westcott House on South Audley Street, town house of the earls for the past few generations, was not an entailed property. Last year Anna had ended up owner of the London residence. But she had never wanted to keep everything for herself. She had tried to divide her fortune into four parts, three-quarters of it to be divided among her three dispossessed half siblings. And she had tried to give Westcott House to Alexander. They had finally settled upon his living there whenever he was in town, though she had informed him that her will already stated that the house was to be his and his descendants’ after her time. He hoped it would be after his time too—Anna was four years younger than he.