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“And as you are in search of updated furnishings,” the laird continued, “I suggest a trip to Edinburgh. It is, of course, not so fashionable as London, but you’ll find a great many things that will more than meet your expectations. In fact, I would find a journey there to be quite to my liking.”

“We would very much like to join you on such a journey.” Father’s chest swelled and his expression turned smug. Though their neighbor was only moments earlier dismissed as a mere country squire, Father was finding his approval and compliments quite to his liking.

Mother looked excited at the prospect of the journey to a larger city. “Oh, I am in need of new silk to hang in a few of the rooms. Can such be obtained in Edinburgh?”

The laird nodded. “Of course.”

By sheer force of will, Cordelia kept her thoughts to herself. They had quit her beloved London, left behind all her friends, every familiar street, every hope for the future. They’d come to this place where they knew no one and could, for all intents and purposes, go nowhere, and all on account of having insufficient funds to continue in Town. And yet, how eagerly her parents were anticipating spending money updating furnishings and wall hangings and other things that, though perhaps a bit faded with time, were perfectly usable in their current condition. It was all too frustrating.

In as sweet and unassuming a voice as she could summon, Cordelia asked if she and Seraphina might be excused. Her parents were too distracted by the prospect of Edinburgh and their pleasure at the laird’s attention to care very much about what their daughters did. They were dismissed with hardly a glance and quitted the drawing room without even a moment’s hesitation.

Stepping out of the house onto the large expanse of lawn to the east of their new home, Cordelia took a lungful of cool and refreshing air. She let her gaze linger on the view afforded her from this spot. She loved London and always would. But the wild beauty of this place had proven a balm. Seeing it in this moment, when she was deeply frustrated, worked better than any medicine. No matter her sorrow and grief, no matter her parents’ thoughtlessness, this view would help her endure the years to come.

Seraphina, never as content as Cordelia was to spend hours on end gazing at a lovely prospect, was quick to make a suggestion. “Shall we take up a game of battledore and shuttlecock? All we need can be found in the small outbuilding just there.” She motioned to it.

“You know I haven’t the grace or agility for such things as you do,” Cordelia reminded her.

“It is only meant to be fun. We need not be the world’s foremost experts. Besides, I could see quite clearly how frustrated you were with Mother and Father. Hitting the shuttlecock as hard as you possibly can over and over again will, I do not doubt, prove the perfect means of relieving your mind of that frustration.”

Even if the theory proved unfounded, it would, at the very least, provide a much-needed distraction.

The needed equipment was soon found, and the game undertaken.

They were both quite out of practice. The first few attempts resulted in no more than two or three times batting the shuttlecock between them before the ball with its crown of feathers fell to the ground. But they soon found their stride. Seraphina managed to look quite graceful, even when lunging in desperation after Cordelia’s poorly aimed return hit. Cordelia, more often than not, tripped over her own feet and only just managed to keep herself from falling entirely.

Had they been in company, or on any of the greens in London where they might have been seen, she would have been horrified. But in this quiet corner of the world, with only her beloved sister privy to her graceless attempts, she found she could laugh. And Seraphina, likely reassured by her sister, found humor in the undertaking as well.

They soon managed a very successful back and forth, having hit the shuttlecock between them more than a dozen times. Seraphina batted it over Cordelia’s head. Determined not to be the reason this volley ended, Cordelia ran backward, swinging her racket behind her head, ready to lob the shuttlecock back. But before she could begin the forward swing once more, it stopped, making the most horrific cracking sound.

It was not the sound of the racquet itself breaking on something. She very much feared the racquet had, instead, broken something else.

Seraphina’s gasp was her first warning that what she had hit with such tremendous force was something she ought not have. The muffled moan of a deep voice was her second clue.

She spun about. A man stood directly behind her, his hand clutched to his nose, clad in the clothes of a farmer, wavy black hair spilling in riotous abundance. And to her horror, blood seeped from between his fingers. Had she broken his nose?

Cordelia pulled from her sleeve the handkerchief she always kept there, trying desperately to offer it to him, all the while too embarrassed to speak a word. He didn’t accept it. Whether he was objecting to her handkerchief on account of not wanting to ruin it or because he was angry at her, she couldn’t say.

Seraphina was there in the next instant, offering an unending stream of apologies and expressions of concern for his well-being. As luck would have it, their groomsman passed by in the very next moment

She waved him over. “This man has suffered an accident.” She was too embarrassed to describe it further.

“That there’s Sebastian of the Home Farm,” the groomsman said. “Looks to me like he’s broken his nose.”

It was precisely what Cordelia feared.

Sebastian was muttering, though Cordelia hadn’t the first idea what he was saying. Though she couldn’t see his nose or mouth, she could see his eyes. The look he gave her bordered on a glare.

Flustered and humiliated and overwhelmed with all that had happened in the last two weeks, she felt immediately on the verge of crying. Having embarrassed herself enough in front of this stranger, she wrapped her dignity around her and did her best to maintain her calm.

“Will you accompany him to the kitchen?” she asked the groomsman. “And see to it that he is given a poultice for his nose?”

The groomsman agreed. Sebastian of the Home Farm dipped the tiniest of head-only bows, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “the woman’s a menace.”

She was too flustered to even take offense at the comment.

Seraphina, however, seemed anything but flustered. “I suspect he is very handsome when he’s not bleeding.”

“Handsome or not, he’s now convinced I’m an utter menace. This was not the sort of first impression I’d hoped to make in this area.”

“Let us hope, for your sake, that home farmers are not terrible gossips.”

But if there was one thing Cordelia felt certain about in matters pertaining to small, isolated villages, it was that nothing traveled through them faster than a diverting tale.