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If the housekeeper found the arrangements lacking, she didn’t give any indication. Instead, she was worried about hurrying to place them. “I will carry these two. Bring the other two.”

Wren felt a wave of panic wash over her. “I do not think I should go in other areas of the house. My shoes are muddy and…”

“Take them off,” Berta snapped. “Come along.”

In stocking feet, she followed behind Berta, who carefully placed the first vase on a side table. The second one was placed just inside the front door.

Then with Wren holding the last two, they went to the sitting room. Once inside, Berta paused, placed both hands on her hips, and studied the room before turning to take one of the vases. She set it on a beautiful round table in the center of the room before she stood back and considered the effect.

If only the woman would hurry. Wren couldn’t risk being seen by Lady Roberts. She stole a glance over her shoulder to the door. So far no one was about.

“I should have had you make five,” Berta murmured. “Perhaps here is better.” She picked up the same vase and went to a different table and placed it down. “Yes. That’s better.”

“Yes, that is a good place,” Lady Roberts said from the doorway, making Wren jump.

She kept her gaze down and performed a slight bob. “My lady.”

Berta looked at the woman. “Would you like the last on the center table or over by the window, my lady?”

The only sound was the clacking of the older woman’s shoes as she crossed the room and studied the flower arrangement Berta had just placed down. “Interesting. I do not recall seeing these anywhere in the garden.” She placed a hand under the wildflowers. The delicate purple flowers were quite common, but in Wren’s opinion, they were also beautiful.

Then Lady Roberts moved to Wren. “Plant more of these.” Before Wren could reply, she turned to Berta. “You decide where to place the last one. I need to ensure all is perfect and have no time for this.” She walked toward the door and hesitated in front of Wren. “Who are you?”

Her stomach plummeted. She’d been in the woman’s presence twice now—three if one counted her arrival—but it had only been from afar that the lady had seen her. Of course, someone like Lucinda Roberts took little notice of the servants.

She kept her gaze lowered and her face downturned. “I am Mairid’s niece, my lady. My name is Wren. I work in the garden.”

The woman slid a glance to Berta before turning her attention to Wren once again. “See that you do not work there today. I cannot abide someone mucking about outside my window when I entertain.”

“Of course… my lady,” Wren said, the entire time wondering what her aunt would say. Not only had she not managed to hide from the woman, but she’d been spoken to by her.

“Berta, a word when you are done.” With that, the woman swept from the room, leaving a trail of a rather strong floral perfume in her wake.

*

“No!” her auntexclaimed, her face mottled with bright red spots. “What do you mean you picked wildflowers and grass? Child, what were you thinking? Why didn’t you ask one of the footmen to take you to town for flowers? I am shocked Berta did not think of it.”

“I should have asked.” Wren lowered her head onto her folded arms on the table. “I am going to be dismissed, I just know it.”

“Let us pray not.” They sat in the large dining room just off the kitchen that was designated for the servants.

Wren let out a long sigh and met her aunt’s gaze. “The arrangements turned out very pretty. Lady Roberts admired the flowers.”

“That is good.” Her aunt didn’t seem convinced. “There is nothing to be done now. I must go oversee the last of the laundry. You stay out of sight. Go work in the garden shed.”

Upon arriving at the garden shed, Wren opened the slender door and then pushed open a shutter. Inside, the mossy smell of grass and herbs helped settle her nerves. Hopefully, the “word” the lady of the house had to speak to Berta about had nothing to do with Wren.

It was late afternoon, almost evening, when a pair of carriages arrived. Wren couldn’t help but to stand and peer out from the shed to watch as several women descended from the carriages. They were all older, like Lady Roberts, and all were dressed in finery of every color. Most wore shades that were much too bright for women their age and far from flattering.

Moments later, several more carriages arrived. Again, the women who arrived were older. Intrigued, Wren watched the pageantry of colors, feathers, finery, and heard their chatter.

And then, a different kind of guest arrived. This time, men came to the house, some in carriages, a few on horseback. All of them were much younger than the women, though—much like those women—they too were dressed in fine suits in vibrant tones.

Wren climbed atop a bucket to see better, enthralled. She’d never seen so many handsome men, dressed in shades that one would not normally consider masculine.

Then a carriage arrived, and a familiar figure alighted. It was Grant Murray, wearing a beautiful outfit of deep purple. The shade flattered his dark hair and, with the suit tailored to accentuate his well-formed figure, he was a dashing sight.

As if sensing her perusal, he looked toward the garden. Although it was doubtful he could see past the hanging herbs, Wren shifted sideways out of sight, and when she peered out again, he’d walked toward the front of the house and had disappeared from her view.

Moments later, music wafted from the house, accompanied by loud laughter and singing.

While she tied herbs and hung them to dry, her feet tapped along with the lively music. She loved music, and had loved to dance at the village fetes growing up. It had been a long time since she’d heard music. And although the kind inside the house was nice, it was very different than anything she’d ever heard before.

“It is time for us to go home.” Her aunt appeared at the shed entry. “The wagon awaits.”

“I lost track of time,” Wren admitted, standing to remove her apron. “I am enjoying the music whilst working.”

Ever so slowly, her aunt turned toward the house, a deep, disapproving scowl on her face. “They will continue until late into the night.”

“I am sure they are enjoying themselves,” Wren replied, wondering why her aunt didn’t seem to like the fact Lady Roberts entertained. “Do you not like music, Aunt Mairid?”

There was a visible shift, as her aunt tried but failed to smile. “I do enjoy it. Come, lass, the others are waiting.” Even though she said she enjoyed music, however, she made one last scowl toward the house as she urged Wren forward and away.