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“I’d druther stand.” He held his cloth cap crushed in one hand, and he hesitated, which was not like him. Foyle practically definedforthright. Finally, he cleared his throat and said, “I’ve asked Dora Hart to marry me.”
“Ah.” When he said nothing more, Penelope had to ask, “Did she accept?”
“Oh. Yes, she did.” He sounded surprised as well as shyly pleased. “You may think I’m an old fool—”
“Of course I don’t. I’m very glad for you. And Mrs. Hart, too.”
“Thank you, mi…my lady. So we was wondering if you’d be agreeable to us staying at Rose Cottage. As tenants, like.”
“Of course, Foyle. I’m happy to have you there.”
He looked relieved. Had he actually been worried? Penelope was glad to have such a responsible couple occupying her property. “When will you marry?” she asked.
“The banns will be done with next Sunday.”
“I hadn’t heard.” She had been away, but there’d been no mention of the match at the village church last week.
“Dora’s chapel,” Foyle said. “So they was posted over to the Methodist place.”
And begun before her own wedding if they were nearly complete, Penelope noted. Foyle had been as reticent as ever. “Will you allow me to give your wedding breakfast? I should so like to do so.”
“I’d have to ask Dora.”
“Of course you will. Perhaps I’ll pay her a visit. I haven’t seen her in quite a while.” Since they’d cooked together at the cottage, which felt like such a long time ago.
“That’d be right kind of you,” answered her family’s old servitor.
Penelope was happy to oblige. But as she prepared to leave Frithgerd the following day, she found she was worried about encountering the Foreign Office men outside the estate’s walls. She sat in her bedchamber, bonnet on, carriage waiting below, and looked down at her clasped hands.
“Is anything wrong, my lady?” asked her new maid Betty. “Do you need something else? You look right smart.”
The mirror told Penelope that her sprigged muslin gown and chip straw hat were perfect for a fine summer afternoon. The shawl over her arm was a lovely, filmy froth. Blond ringlets framed her face. The expression was the problem. Her features showed that the thought of going out made her apprehensive. How she hated that!
Penelope stood. She smiled at Betty and thanked her. She couldn’t deny her fears, but shewould notbe ruled by them. She walked downstairs, got into the carriage, and set off. And although the sound of approaching hoofbeats on the road made her stiffen during the short journey, she didn’t give in to anxiety. None of them turned out to be the agents, and she reached Mrs. Hart’s small cottage without interruption.
The older woman greeted her cordially. Penelope had sent word ahead, knowing that Mrs. Hart would like to be prepared. And she was. Two luscious cakes flanked a tea service in her parlor. And the water was boiling moments after Penelope sat down. She accepted her cup and plate gladly. “I wanted to offer you my congratulations,” she said. “And our help with the wedding breakfast if you’d like it.” She indicated the cakes with a gesture. “Of course you’re such a splendid cook—”
“I’d dearly love to have somebody else do the cooking, my lady.” Mrs. Hart smiled. “I’ll be cooking every other day of my life. Ronald told me about your offer, and we’d be happy to accept.”
Briefly, Penelope wondered who Ronald might be, and then she realized this must be Foyle’s first name. It wasn’t the least odd that he had one. And yet it made him seem such a different person.
“I’d like to have it at Rose Cottage if you’re agreeable, my lady.”
“Splendid.”
“Supposing it’s a fine day—which I hope it will be—we can put a keg in the yard near the kitchen door with tables for the food down the side. That’d save the kitchen for making tea and such.”
It sounded like a village festival. “How many will be coming?”
“I’ve quite a few friends in the neighborhood, my lady. And at chapel, of course.”
Life was going to change for Foyle, Penelope thought. She was glad for him, though she wondered if he would enjoy a throng of friends. “I can send over flowers from the Frithgerd gardens.”
“That would be lovely, my lady. And I was wondering if you’d be able to take out some of the furniture at Rose Cottage. I’d like to bring my own things with me.”
Mrs. Hart had always been a woman who knew her own mind. And not shy. Penelope liked that about her. “Of course.” There was ample storage room at Frithgerd. “Make a list of what you’d like gone, and I’ll send a wagon over to remove the things.”
“Thank you, my lady. You’re very kind.”
