The sheep miss you. So do I.
Nora’s vision blurred.She missed him so much. Her brother had been her confidant, her rock, her tutor, her playmate, her best friend for her whole life. In as long as she could remember, they had never once been separated for more than a day.
Until now.
She took a deep breath. Here she was, in a receiving parlor the size of their cottage, perched on a footstool that cost more than their farm earned in a year, accepting the morning post from a literal silver platter that was polished and burnished every single day by a coterie of maids dedicated solely to the task of ensuring every silver surface in the house reflected as brilliantly as a looking-glass.
Carter, on the other hand, was back home doing the work of four people. He was going to make himself sick. But what else could they do?
Guilt twisted Nora’s stomach. Keeping up with the farm had been exhausting enough when divided between the two of them. She had no idea how long he could possibly manage alone. It wasn’t fair.
Although I do enjoy eating your breakfast portion every morning.
She let out a choking laugh.Of course he would; Carter’s stomach was a bottomless hole.
His heart was just as boundless.
He was the real reason Nora was in London. When the summons came from some spoiled, distant cousin, Nora’s first impulse had been to disregard it entirely. The farm needed her. So did her brother. Her grandparents. Their encroaching forgetfulness alone required near-constant oversight.
Besides, Nora barely knew this cousin. More importantly, the baroness didn’t recall much about her country bumpkin cousin at all, or why on earth would she have invited a farm maid to London?
But it wasn’t a social visit. It was employment. Six to eight weeks, just until the splints came off and the baroness regained range of motion.
Please don’t brag to me of your breakfasts with the baroness.
Nora snorted.She had yet to take a meal with Lady Roundtree.
Her shoulders tightened. She hadn’t wished to come to London. But Lady Roundtree was prepared to pay handsomely to have Nora attend her. Her years as caretaker to her grandparents and her blood relation to the baroness made Nora the perfect choice.
If only she wasn’t needed more at home.
She stared at the wiggling words on the page.
Carter had been the one to point out that this was their chance. With the money she earned, they could purchase more sheep and usethemfor income, rather than rely on backbreaking fieldwork. There would be more free time to spend with the family. The four of them could finally have lives beyond slaving to maintain the farm.
All she had to do was spend a couple easy months as nursemaid to a baroness. How hard could it be?
Confession: We have had the strangest bout of good fortune.
Nora frowned.Good fortune was inherently… well,good. So why did Carter’s confession sound so ominous? She worked out the next line.
I wished to prove to you how skilled an artist you are,
She sighed.Carter was always trying to make her feel better about her difficulties with book learning by pointing out that pencils could be used for more than just sums and penmanship. No one in town could draw half as well as Nora, even when she barely paid attention. It was a skill most people didn’t have, he claimed.
Sure. That might even be true. But what did it matter? Nora couldn’t sketch a successful harvest into their larder or collect milk and wool with judicious use of ink. Art was an idle pastime, not a source of income. Her hands were better employed elsewhere.
so I sent away a few samples via a confidential intermediary.
Nora groaned.The sketches she’d sent home hadn’t goneastray. They’d been purposefully diverted. By her well-meaning, feather-brained, supportive-to-a-fault little brother.
They sent back a pound note for each one and a request for more drawings.
Nora blinkedand started that line over. Surely she had misread. She tried again.
They sent back a five-pound note for each one
A five-pound note.FIVE.
