Agnes’s thin lips pressed together, mayhap to repress her smile. “I’ve been a widow for longer than I was married, but the ways of men remain constant. Lord Jonah most likely thought you’d greet him with open arms, eager for his council and guidance. You and Miss Mirrie being—” she hesitated.
“Mere women?” Frida supplied.
“Exactly that.” Agnes began placing neat rounds of sugared apple onto the pastry.
Frida folded her hands together, preventing her hands forming into fists. How she would love to stride out of the kitchen and demand the truth from her younger brother. Alas, they were no longer children squabbling in the school room. Shemust at least make the appearance of decorum; especially as she and Mirrie had so recently taken up residence at Ember Hall.
Especially as the servants were already gossiping.
Instead of giving voice to the angry tirade buzzing around her head, she sighed heavily. “You and I both know how much can be achieved by women, Agnes.”
“Aye. True enough.” Agnes cut a decorative pastry leaf and positioned it with a steady hand. “If we can withstand the pain and blood of childbirth, we can withstand anything.”
Frida smiled to hide her shock. As an unmarried woman, she was unused to hearing tales of childbirth. Indeed, as the eldest child of the Earl of Wolvesley, there was much she was unused to hearing. But times had changed and so had Frida’s position in English society. Not so long ago, she had been a sought-after prize: a cossetted and fragile flower. Now she was a self-proclaimed spinster; no longer looking to a man to provide for her future, but shaping it herself.
This was the life she had chosen.
Nay, this was the life she had fought for.
She would not allow her sour-faced younger brother to spoil her plans.
Jonah had arrived a sennight earlier, claiming that Frida’s healing skills and the peace of Ember Hall would aid his recovery from a slight sword wound gained in training. Frida had been sympathetic at first, but her patience was growing thin. Not least because compassionate Mirrie was running herself in circles tending to his every whim; abandoning her own duties and pleasures in the process.
Frida and Mirrie had come to Ember Hall to live a life free of men, not to serve one.
Mirrie chose that exact moment to stumble in from outside, mist clinging to the ends of her light brown hair. She waswrapped in a faded shawl and over her arm she carried a wicker basket filled with herbs.
“It is like a winter’s day out there,” she exclaimed.
“Go and stand by the fire,” instructed Frida, taking the basket from her.
“Miss Mirabel.” Agnes nodded respectfully. “Shall I warm you some ale?”
“Nay please, do not trouble yourself.” Mirrie held her narrow fingers out towards the tentative flames.
“What were you doing out at such an early hour?” Frida frowned, noting how her friend shivered despite her heavy shawl and proximity to the fire.
“Picking mint leaves.” Mirrie flashed her a small smile. “For Jonah,” she added.
Frida shook her head. “Mint is for an open wound and Jonah’s scratch had closed e’en before he arrived here.” She spoke severely but regretted it when Mirrie’s kind eyes clouded over. “’Tis comfrey we need, for the bruising.”
“I should have known.” Mirrie bit down on her bottom lip. “I will go out again.”
“You will do no such thing.” Frida placed the basket on the table and took her arm. “You need to get warm and dry before thinking of my brother.”
“But I don’t mind,” Mirrie protested.
Frida couldn’t help a lurch of jealousy. Mirrie was her father’s ward and had grown up beside the five de Neville siblings. Although Frida and Mirrie shared a very dear friendship, she had always suspected the bond between Jonah and Mirrie was equally strong.
Although the cynic in Frida knew that Mirrie was a compassionate soul. And Jonah had long since learned how to work that to his advantage.
“Let us go to the great hall. The fire there was lit before dawn,” she said, evenly. When Mirrie looked to say more, Frida spoke over her. “Do not fret, Mirrie. I shall go out myself and find some comfrey for Jonah.” She glanced at Agnes. “I’ll take the mint to the store and dry it when I return.”
“Very good, milady.”
Arm-in-arm, Frida and Mirrie walked slowly along the stone-flagged passageway from the kitchen and emerged into the heat and light of the great hall. Two fires blazed from hearths situated at each end of a wood-panelled wall, while opposite a series of high, narrow windows invited golden light to slant across the polished wooden floor. Although large and ornate, the great hall at Ember was welcoming and somehow cosy. Frida nudged a tapestried chair closer to the nearest fire and waved Mirrie into it, ignoring the burning pain in her ankle.
“Can I fetch you anything?”
