this was the day of the month ye usually stop by,” she said with a fond smile.
“Then I am a fortunate man.”
Langford looked truly anticipatory, delighted to get what must be a treat. When he could have anything he wanted made by the cook at Brideswell. The cottage was filled with heat and steam. Zoe stepped in, too, and Langford introduced her. As Sebastian’s fiancée, which startled her. She didn’t know why—that was what she was. The woman beamed but kept staring at Zoe’s trousers until she bustled out of the room to her tiny kitchen.
As Mrs. Billings made tea, Zoe walked around the parlor. It was a quaint room with a stone hearth, a low-timbered ceiling, simple furniture. What looked out of place were four photographs in silver frames. They were images of four young, handsome men. Zoe picked one up.
“Photographs were taken of all men before they left for the Front. A woman like Mrs. Billings would have had no record of her lads otherwise. I ensured they were framed for her.”
“That was...very good of you.” It was clear that the poor woman couldn’t have afforded a photograph and frame.
A yellowed paper sat on the mantel beneath the first photograph. Zoe unfolded it and the words leaped up at her. It was an army form, with the information filled in by pen. The soldier’s name, number, rank. Then the cold words: The report is to the effect that he was killed in action. There were words of regret and a message of sympathy from Their Gracious Majesties the King and Queen.
She couldn’t swallow. Her throat was too tight. They had received a letter for Billy. Mother kept it tucked in with Billy’s picture in a locket that she never wore, but had instead wrapped in a lace handkerchief. Zoe knew Mother took it out, sometimes at night, clasped it to her heart and cried.
War gave you the knowledge that every good thing in life—beauty, fun, security, pleasures, love—could be gone. So you had to dance harder, drive faster, pack everything in.
Beneath her leather jacket, Zoe felt hot and was perspiring. “It’s steamy in here.”
Langford turned—he was standing at the window, far from her. His blue eyes looked somber. “With her boys gone, she takes in laundry to earn money.”
She stared at him. “She is forced to take in laundry?” Zoe left the room and went to the kitchen doorway where the most heat billowed out. Mrs. Billings had her back to her, arranging cakes on a plate. Steel tubs sat everywhere, filled with sudsy water.
Zoe hurried back to the living room to confront Langford. “How can you let her do manual labor after she has sacrificed her sons for this country? Surely you could help Mrs. Billings. A monthly amount or something invested—”
“Give me money? Why would His Grace do that?” Carrying in a simple tea tray, Mrs. Billings looked mortified. “My laundry provides for me. I won’t take charity.”
“But you should not have to work your fingers to the bone,” Zoe protested.
But Mrs. Billings was adamant.
“It’s not charity to take money to help you because you sacrificed the men who would help you run your household.” Zoe hesitated, realizing that some landowners would have evicted Mrs. Billings. Langford hadn’t.
“Well, I won’t accept it. Though—” The woman’s small blue eyes twinkled. “I do find piles of logs on me doorstep some mornings. No idea where they come from. And baskets of food.”
“Wood is needed for the fires for your laundry,” Nigel said gently.
“Aye, and a little fairy sees fit to leave some for me. And me rent was lowered.”
Zoe understood. Langford wanted to do something for Mrs. Billings—he’d kept her rent low, provided her firewood and food. She sensed he wanted to do more. But Mrs. Billings had pride and was too stubborn to bend and accept anything more.
The Duke of Langford might be old-fashioned, autocratic and irritating, but looking at him with Mrs. Billings, Zoe could see that he was a good man.
THE ENGAGEMENT PARTY
The next day, Zoe returned with Julia to the village. Julia had visits to make of her own with villagers. They took a track through the estate’s fields, crossing several farms, then walked up a back road into the village. Zoe wore a trim blue suit. The bite of the sea was in the air, something that surprised her because she couldn’t see it, but the sea was only five miles away. Sheep lumbered on the track; lambs gamboled. The sight of them made Zoe smile. Despite the clouds—which she was growing used to—she felt a tug of happiness at her heart.
Brideswell was a beautiful place.
Julia visited elderly ladies, new mothers and the reverend’s wife, where they had tea. Everyone stared at Zoe. She couldn’t resist telling the reverend’s wife, Mrs. Wesley, that all women in America were expected to drink gin and dance in fountains. The woman’s look of shock was priceless. “Goodness,” she twittered. “I should not want to go to America.”
“I don’t know,” Zoe said teasingly. “You might have fun.”
Julia knew everything about these people. Zoe saw Julia truly did care for them, just as Langford did.
She’d thought he would be autocratic with his tenants, but with ordinary people he was actually more natural. And now she barely noticed his scars. When she did, they gave him a dangerously...attractive appearance.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Julia said lightly.
They were walking down the village’s High Street. Zoe blushed. She didn’t want to reveal her thoughts had been on Langford. “I was just thinking that Brideswell is a lovely place, and the village is so quaint and attractive.”
Julia turned to her. “When you marry Sebastian, will you live here? I should love it if you lived close.”
Zoe felt terrible. She was going to give Sebastian his money and never return. Julia was imagining a future that was all a lie. “I don’t know. We haven’t thought that far.”
“Well, if you do look for a house, I would recommend Waverly Park. It is three miles from here, closer to the coast. My favorite house growing up was Wrenford, but that was bought by an industrialist last year. He married Lady Mary Denby—she was once Nigel’s fiancée. But when Nigel returned from the War, Lady Mary couldn’t bear how he had changed. He was so dark and cold and brooding then. So much worse than he is now.”
“Worse? Were his nightmares worse, too? His shell shock?”
“Shell shock?” By the stone wall of the village church, Julia stopped and stared at her. A cart and pony rattled by, the driver tipping his hat. “Nigel doesn’t have shell shock,” Julia said. “Those poor men—their minds are gone. Nigel isn’t like that.”
He is, Zoe thought. She could see all the evidence now she knew to look for it. Obviously he had hidden it from his family. Casually, she asked, “Did Lady Mary or Langford break off the engagement?”
“She did. I’ll never
