Another knock sounded at the door.
Her mother turned to answer it, but spoke quickly over her shoulder.
“We’ll talk about it later. But yes—they spoke briefly. Your father introduced them.”
She pulled the door open, a light spring breeze slipping into the cottage, and Violet heard Clara’s voice from the threshold—
“Alice, Gregory—stay with your father and Mr. Hayes, please.”
A moment later, Mrs. Pembroke and Clara stepped inside.
The children’s answering giggles drifted in from the yard before the door clicked shut.
“Oh, Violet dear,” Mrs. Pembroke said warmly as she rose to greet them. “Quite the commotion this morning!”
Clara added, “Your father began work early—and the young man helping him?”
Her mother answered smoothly—
“Yes. Mr. Ashford,” she said calmly. “A distant cousin of Lady Ashford, paying a call while visiting Lord Hamilton.”
The two women exchanged a glance, then nodded in unison.
Clara’s shoulders eased.
Mrs. Pembroke’s smile held—but her eyes lingered with undisguised curiosity.
Violet sat at the table, jaw tight, as tea was poured and polite, nosy conversation hummed around her.
But her gaze kept drifting to the window.
Where her father, Samuel Pembroke, and William worked on the fence.
Where Lily now played in the grass with Alice and Gregory.
Where Mrs. Pembroke kept glancing between Lily and William with narrowing eyes, as though assembling a puzzle she wasn’t quite ready to name.
A sharp cry rang out from outside, loud enough to slice through the chatter in the cottage.
Violet shot upright, heart lurching, and hurried to the window for a clearer look… only to see William withdraw from the fence, shaking out his hand, the hammer lying in the grass at his feet. Her father and Samuel both turned toward him, but Lily reacted first.
The little girl darted toward him.
Violet was already moving; she crossed the room in a few quick steps and pulled the door open just as Lily skidded to a stop beside William.
“You’re hurt!” Lily cried.
“Lily—” Violet called sharply, stepping onto the grass.
But her daughter had already shifted in front of him, carefully lifting the hand he’d struck between her small palms.
“It’s only a small knock,” William assured her softly. “Nothing worth fussing over.”
“Mama makes my hurts better,” Lily declared solemnly. “You need a cloth.”
Something twisted in Violet’s chest at the sight of her daughter holding William’s hand with such gentle care.
Lily didn’t know who he truly was to her.
