“You know as well as I that you can’t make good on such promises. The fields are too far gone, and unless you’ve stumbled on buried treasure, you’ve nothing with which to pay your debts. Lord Calvin is allowing you a fortnight to vacate the cottage. With the shift from agriculture to livestock, the estate needs tenants with sons—strong men to do the work.”
Daisy winced as she listened to her father’s continued attempts to bargain with the steward, making impossible promises of future payments, of performing additional work… None of which moved the steward’s position in the least.
“I cannot renew your tenancy, sir. As matters stand, you’re already six months in arrears. I am truly sorry about your wife, but these are his lordship’s terms.”
His lordship? Not the terms of His Grace?
When solid footsteps approached the door, she backed away and silently slipped into the kitchen.
They were going to lose everything.
Not just their means of making a living, but their home—the only life Daisy had ever known.
And Alastair?
He had either forgotten her or deliberately cast her aside, relegating her to his past as nothing more than a fleeting indulgence—a meaningless fling with one of his father’s tenants. Until this moment, she had not allowed herself to believe that. Had not wanted to accept that his silence was a choice.
But it had to be.
He hadn’t even had the decency to write to her. Not a single word. And now, her family’s future was frighteningly uncertain.
She stood frozen, staring at the worn wooden floorboards beneath her feet, listening without moving as her father walked the steward to the door and bid him farewell. Nor did she move when he returned to the kitchen, his heavy footsteps dragging through the quiet house.
“I suppose you heard all that,” he said softly.
Daisy nodded. Of course she had.
Her father sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “You mustn’t worry. I’ve already written to my sister in London. She’s willing to take us in.”
London.
Daisy swallowed hard, forcing herself to nod again, though every part of her rebelled against the idea. She didn’t want to move to London. She wanted to stay here in the country, where the air was fresh and the fields stretched wide and?—
Just in case…
Her father cleared his throat and pressed on, his voice unnaturally light. “You can help your Aunt Theodora with her soaps. Perhaps do something productive with those oils you like to mix. Meanwhile, I’ll find a job in one of those new factories. I hear there’s plenty to be made in town these days.”
Daisy’s throat tightened. “But Mother…” she protested. “The midwife said?—”
Her father set his hands on her shoulders, his grip firm, steadying. “We’ll keep her comfortable,” he assured her. “Don’t worry, Daisy. Think of this as a new adventure.”
His eyes were bright. Too bright.
Daisy swallowed down the lump in her throat, but she couldn’t see it—not the way he wanted her to.
What part of this was supposed to be an adventure?
Being evicted? Forced to rely on Aunt Theodora’s charity? Forcing Mother to endure the journey to London when she was in such a delicate state?
Nothing about this felt like an adventure.
It felt like the end.
HONEYSUCKLE & LYE: TEN YEARS LATER
“Too bloody hot today,” Daisy muttered into the steaming cauldron.
The heat pressed down on her like a heavy fog, thick and unrelenting. Sweat gathered at her temples, threatening to sting her eyes, but she caught the droplets with a quick swipe of her arm before they could fall. Even so, she kept her other hand steady on the long wooden paddle, stirring with slow, deliberate movements.
