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linked to a murder that never was, the villagers of Trekellis would come to the manor again. She could finally settle and make her home here.
    But what about Hettie’s reputation? What about Gideon’s grandfather’s? A family like the Drakes must have had their share of scandals. Would one more matter?
    No, she had to reveal the story. Perhaps the knowledge of Walker beating his wife would soften people’s perceptions of Hettie, perhaps even forgiving her flight.
    She snorted. Not very likely. Too many wives had to cope with the same fate, stuck with their husbands. Only the new laws allowed a little more freedom, although, as always, it still worked to the men’s advantage.
    “Men.”
    Minnie leaned back and scanned the first few pages. In her own words, the picture of a quiet young lady appeared. Hettie at dancing classes, at the dressmaker’s. Minnie smiled at her enthusiasm over a new ball gown for her 18th birthday–all lace and frills in pale blue, matching her eyes. Minnie could just imagine it. Hettie riding in Hyde Park, accompanied by a groom. Hettie ignoring her father’s attempts at matchmaking. Hettie attending a recital at Lady Houghton’s town house.
    “There we are.” Minnie held her breath and read.
     
    15th July 1808.
    A week after my birthday, Father dragged me to another recital. Oh, I almost fell asleep. Viola Wilson’s voice grated on my nerves, giving me headaches, and Father talked to several young gentlemen present, pointing at me. I felt like a prize horse at auction!
    Then, the most wonderful thing happened. I met him.
    My heart lurched at the sight of this handsome gentleman; his tall, impeccable demeanor, his dark hair and eyes black as night glowing in the candlelight as he asked me how I was enjoying the evening. My voice caught in my throat, and to my shame, I only managed a stammer. Did he walk away, disgusted? No! He introduced himself as Lord Rufus Drake–Rufus, such a romantic name–and brought me a glass of punch and spoke to me as if interested in my opinion. Father was watching us closely.
    Three days later, he asked me to ride in the park with him. Of course, Will accompanied us. Father had this calculating look on his face. I don’t like it. But I did enjoy Lord Drake’s company. He pays me many compliments–utterly untrue, no doubt–and we have such lovely times.
     
    “How sweet.” Minnie flipped a couple of pages forward, feeling like an intruder reading about Hettie’s growing affection for Rufus. They even stole secret kisses when her groom looked the other way. Excitement flooded Minnie as she read on. Hettie sounded so happy.
    But by November 1808, her smudged writing told a sad tale.
     
    I don’t know what to do. Dear Rufus’ father has forbidden him to see me and instead announced Rufus’ engagement to Lady Annabelle Blount. My heart cries but no-one listens. Father said, of course, it couldn’t last. The son of an earl, and me, the daughter of a mere businessman.
    Tears are streaming down my face and my hand shakes so much I can barely write. I want to die. I don’t ever want to look at another man. Poor Rufus has no choice, although he suggested we elope to the continent. Live in Florence or Paris. How romantic! But what would our life be like? I can’t take his heritage from him. He’ll be Earl of Rothdale one day and I’ll be…
     
    Minnie swallowed hard. Tears stung her eyes. Hettie’s entry of that day stopped mid sentence, a thin line of ink trailing off the page. The next few entries didn’t mention Rufus at all, until 7th April 1809. Rufus’ wedding day. Hettie’s heartache still lingered. Then the entries grew fewer; she appeared to withdraw.
    Until 20th August 1812. “Ah!”
     
    My wedding day has arrived. Having never met my proposed husband, I’m filled with trepidation. Apparently Mr. Bartholomew Walker is several years older than me, of strong build–does that mean big?–and a pleasant if strict demeanor. I’m not sure.