“Good,” she said, and swallowed.

  Silence, then. Julia wished he would say whatever he had come to, because she could not imagine he had walked all the way out towards this end of the village for any other reason but to intercept her before she could return to Langford.

  “Are those from the hothouse?”

  She blinked and looked up at him. “I beg your pardon?”

  He gestured towards the basket, where she had tucked what remained of the flowers and the paints and everything else she had brought with her to the schoolhouse. “The flowers. They look familiar, that’s all.”

  “Oh, yes.” She gulped over the anxiety that had grown like a burl in her throat. “I’m sorry. I should have asked permission to take them. It was an idea I had at the last minute, to bring along some flowers for my pupils. They painted today,” she added, nudging the corners of the rolled up papers with her hand. “It’s not something they’re able to do very often. But with the weather changing so rapidly now, I thought it would be nice for them to have a bit of color in the schoolroom before everything fades completely into winter.”

  “An excellent thought,” he said. “We probably have more flowers at Langford than we know what to do with. I’m glad to see them put to good use. My wife—” His jaw clenched, slicing off whatever he had been about to say. Julia stepped back, giving him a moment to decide whether or not he wished to continue. “She ordered fresh flowers in every room all through the year. Even when it was snowing outside, and there were icicles growing like stalactites along the edge of the house, she demanded her blooms.” He tried to smile as he finished, but it faltered instead into a grimace.

  “You’re not upset then?” Julia blurted before she could stop herself. “That I took them without asking?”

  He appeared genuinely perplexed at her question. “Should I be? Langford is your home now. Or at least I hope you’ll view it as such. Anything you should need is always at your disposal. And as for the school—” He waved his hand at the building. “Do you have enough supplies for your students? Books, or…?”

  She needed to move. The fact that he hadn’t mentioned what had occurred between them the previous night made her wonder if it was his intention to pretend it had never happened at all. But was he doing it as a favor to her, to save her embarrassment? Or had it been such an inconsequential thing to him that it simply wasn’t worth dredging up again? She shook her head in reply to her own questions and turned towards the road, Mr. Halberd falling into step beside her.

  “I do plan on purchasing a few more things for them, yes.” She switched her basket from one arm to the other as she drew her shawl tighter around her shoulders. The wind had picked up again as the last of the clouds scraped the sky clear, and the chill that came with it made her long for her bed and a fire and a very hot cup of tea. “Once I have a look at my budget—”

  “Your budget?” Mr. Halberd shook his head. “Do you mean to pay for everything yourself?”

  “Well… our current vicar claims there aren’t enough funds to support the education of both the boys and the girls equally. He gives us leave to use a few things, but the slates and the primers… coal for the stove, paper and pencils, I pay for all of that myself whenever I can manage to set aside a little bit of money. I always…” She stopped speaking when she realized he was watching her as they walked, as if she was a rare bird ruffling her feathers beside him. “What? What is it?”

  He gave his head a small jolt, as though she’d startled him from some other thought. “Who is the new vicar? Mr.—?”

  “Parker,” she reminded him. “He arrived after my husband—”

  “Yes, right. Of course.”

  “—with his family. Mrs. Parker, and, um, three sons.”

  Mr. Halberd nodded. “I remember him, vaguely. Carries himself a bit like an ostrich, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Julia didn’t know if she should laugh. She wanted to. It twitched at the corners of her mouth, but she tamped it down, instead biting at the inside of her lower lip until the urge diminished.

  “Speak to Mrs. Holland,” he went on, as though he hadn’t compared the vicar to an oversized fowl. “When you request anything for Zora, please add whatever you might need for your other pupils as well.”

  “Oh,” she said. And then, “Oh!” once his intentions became clear. “I couldn’t ask you to do that, Mr. Halberd.”

  “Which is why I’m doing it. And you shouldn’t have to ask.”

  They walked on a ways, neither of them speaking. Julia took to shifting her basket about on her arm, for no other reason than because she was restless and needed some task to occupy the nervousness in her limbs.

  The memory of the kiss hovered in the air over her head, a thing to which neither of them would allude. It made Julia aware of precisely how much distance there was between them, how tightly Mr. Halberd held his hands clasped behind his back, and how shallow his breaths were with each cloud of vapor to escape his mouth as he exhaled.

  “Mr. Halberd.” She put his name into the air without any clear idea of what she wanted to say next. But he spoke her name in return and held out his hand, his palm turned upwards.

  “Allow me.” He gestured towards the basket. “I’ll consider myself the worst sort of gentleman if I make you carry that all the way back to Langford.”

  She didn’t want to give it to him at first. It was a strange sort of independence that came over her from time to time, a reluctance to immediately accept help from others, even small, polite acts of generosity and kindness. She wasn’t certain if it stemmed from a distrust that others could wish to do something nice for her without expecting anything in return, or if she was simply stubborn and determined to do everything in her own way, even to her detriment.

  But the truth of the moment was that the basket was heavy and her arm ached with the weight of it, and if Mr. Halberd wished to take the burden of it from her for a little while, then she could think of no reason to reject his help.

  “Thank you,” she said, and handed it to him.

  He ducked his head, a small sound of reproach coming from the back of his throat. “I should have made the offer sooner.”

  “No, don’t trouble yourself over it. And I hope you will not see me as some wilting lady who cannot carry a—”

  “Mrs. Benton.” His steps slowed, but he did not stop walking entirely. He looked at her again from under the brim of his hat, his brow furrowed and his mouth turned down at the corners in an expression of self-recrimination. And it was an expression that looked all too comfortable on his face. “I should have reached out to you sooner. Offered you this place as Zora’s governess months… years ago. I should have made certain you were not suffering unduly after the death of your husband. It was shameful of me to appear so unconcerned.”

  Julia clasped her hands in front of her. Without the basket she was forced to find some other way to hide her fidgeting. “You had your own fair share of grief to deal with, along with a young child to raise. Believe me when I say you didn’t owe me anything, neither your care nor your attention. And I did not expect it. We both muddled through everything as well as we could.”

  He looked out towards the horizon, where the sun was already making its descent. “I regret allowing myself to become so mired in my own concerns, Mrs. Benton. I will try to do better from here forward.”

  She could say nothing more to that. It was a lesson she needed to take to heart as well. How easy was it to obsess over one’s own problems to such an extent that the rest of the world and its various difficulties seemed to cease their existence? But she wasn’t the only woman who had ever suffered disappointment in marriage. She was not the only woman who had ever lost a husband and children. And she was still there, with her strength and an endurance that would not allow her to settle quietly into her dotage.

  And now she had Zora to look after, as well. A fine distraction from her own problems. More than a distraction, she had to admit. The girl had a lively, inquisitive mind, and yet the poor child trailed her own shadows behind her.

  “Mr. Halberd,” she ventured to speak again once they were in view of Langford, because if she didn’t attempt it now, she might never again work up the courage to speak what was on her mind. “There is something Zora told me, a bit of gossip she claims to have overheard from the servants.” She took a deep breath, one meant to fortify her for the rest of what she needed to say, but instead it caused her words to stagnate in her lungs.

  “Yes?” Mr. Halberd moved closer to her as they turned off the main road and stepped onto the lane leading towards the house. “What is it?”

  Julia licked her lips. It did little to help, as her tongue felt like sandpaper. “Zora seems to believe… I mean, that is…” She stopped walking. Her arms at her sides, her hands curled into fists, she shut her eyes and spoke all the rest of it in a rush. “She does not believe you’re her natural father.”

  Mr. Halberd turned to face her, his back towards Langford and the hill behind him. She watched him, waiting for shock or anger or at least a mild amount of surprise to register in his features. Instead, he remained frustratingly stoic.

  “I-I wanted to say something, before Zora mentioned it to you or the rumor found its way—”

  “It’s not a rumor.”

  Julia opened her mouth to speak, thought better of it, and closed it again. His words rang in her ears, over and again as though the truth of them might change with enough repetitions. But there was sincerity in his face. And pain, of the like she had never seen in him before.

  “Zora is not my daughter.” He set her basket on the ground, then pulled his hat off his head and pushed his fingers through his hair, making it stand out at odd angles. Julia resisted the urge to reach out and smooth those errant strands back into place. “Anna was not… She was not faithful during our marriage. I had hoped Zora would never hear of it. In fact, it was partly what took us to London for a while, wanting to put a distance between us and any tales she might hear of…” He fussed with the brim of his hat, his fingers working with enough strength Julia worried he would tear the thing to pieces. “There had already been enough talk while my wife was still alive. And I could… I could only hope it would fade away after she died. But if Zora’s heard of it, then I suppose it was wishful thinking on my part.” He looked at her, his expression suddenly concerned. “You never heard any of it, before my daughter mentioned this to you?’

  “No, never.” Most likely because she had been too ill with each pregnancy to keep up with the gossip that trickled through the village, because she’d had no desire to titter over the trials and tribulations of others while her own body struggled to hold onto a life it would inevitably lose.

  He appeared relieved at that. “Well.” He returned his hat to his head. “I’m sorry Zora has already been exposed to it. I was probably a fool to think I could hide her from the truth forever. These sorts of things always have a way of slinking out into the daylight. But I’ll remind Mrs. Holland to keep a better eye on the servants, make certain there is no gossiping, at least where my daughter might be able to overhear.” He took a step towards her. “Did she seem upset by the knowledge? I would hate for any memories she may still have of her mother to be tainted because of it.”

  Julia hid her astonishment. How could he care more about what Zora thought of her mother than how she might feel regarding the fact that Mr. Halberd was not her father? “She, um… didn’t appear particularly troubled by the possibility. Though if it is something she’s suspected for some time…”

  Mr. Halberd nodded. “I’ll have to speak with her at some point. You can imagine it’s not a conversation I will have any pleasure in. But if the rumors are going to continue, I suppose the truth is our best weapon against them.”

  “Do you know who her father is?” As soon as Julia said it, she knew she had gone too far. She shook her head, taking a step back and even putting up a hand in warning that Mr. Halberd should disregard her question. “I’m sorry, I should not have… I’m sorry. It’s none of my concern.”

  But he waved away her panic. “It’s all right. I’ve no worry the man will want anything to do with her, though if she ever asks, I’m not sure what answer I will give.” He bent down and retrieved her basket from the ground, his fingers picking idly at the handle in a show of the same restlessness she’d fought to overcome only a few minutes before. “I would never cast her off,” he went on, his voice lower than before. “She is my daughter, regardless of…”

  “Yes,” Julia said, when he trailed off and did not finish. “Of course.”

  “She will have my name. She will have her dowry, everything she would ever need. The rumors and the gossip… Well, I will protect her from those, too, as much as I can. Or perhaps her status alone will be enough to shield her from the worst of it. Scandal always seems to weigh heavier on those who have no power to oppose it.”

  Did he realize, Julia wondered, what a singular man he was? She could well imagine her own husband’s reaction if she had carried on an affair with someone else, or if there had been a child from the relationship. He would’ve thrown her out like so much refuse, she and the child both. “You must strive to set a godly example,” he had so often said to her, in myriad variations of the phrase. “I cannot abide those who flaunt the rule of the Lord and shape it to suit their own will.”

  “Your daughter is fortunate to have you,” Julia said as they resumed their progress towards Langford.

  “And you, Mrs. Benton.” He smiled. A small grin, but enough to slough away some of the darkness from their previous conversation. “Zora will do well, I think, with you here to guide her.”

  Chapter Nine

  * * *

  Mrs. Decatur arrived on Monday morning, complete with a small retinue of employees carrying bolts of fabric and lace along with yards of ribbons. She was not from Barrow-in-Ashton, as their village was neither populated nor sophisticated enough to boast the presence of a dressmaker among its inhabitants. But her fame was known well enough throughout the county, and perhaps a few other towns beyond. Julia had never dealt with her personally, as she had always taken to sewing her own clothes. But to own a gown made by Mrs. Decatur was considered a symbol of wealth and status to the citizens of their quiet village, and Julia wondered if it was a display of Mr. Halberd’s care and attention towards Zora that he would have her brought in for the making of Zora’s clothes.

  Julia hadn’t known the dressmaker was to be coming that day, no word of the visit coming from either Mr. Halberd or Mrs. Holland beforehand. But her and Zora’s presence was requested in the sitting room after breakfast, and so they trooped there hand in hand, Julia chivvying her charge along when she had a tendency to loiter in front of the tapestries and paintings if permitted.

  The sitting room was not a space Julia had visited before. It was airy and bright, all done up in whites and yellows and with a certain something that marked it as a room set aside primarily for the former Mrs. Halberd’s use.

  “Ah, and this must be Mrs. Benton and Miss Halberd?”

  The dressmaker approached them upon their arrival. She was older, her fair hair mostly changed over to gray beneath the edges of her cap. Her clothing was impeccable, a gown of shot silk in a deep green that carried pockets of black in its shadows. Julia was suddenly aware of the state of her own clothing, and smoothed her hands down the front of her skirt, all the while wondering if the other ladies in the room could see where she had repaired a tear in the hem, where she had turned up the sleeves or fixed a frayed collar.

  “Mr. Halberd has decided his daughter is in need of a new wardrobe,” Mrs. Holland said after the perfunctory introductions had taken place. “There will be no need for anything spectacular, no party gowns or the like for her yet. But it would be preferred if she has styles befitting her rank, the quality of her parentage and the like.”

  Mrs. Decatur snapped her fingers and one of her assistants bustled over with her hands full of sketches and fashion plates. “Something like these?” She offered one of the drawings to Julia, ignoring Mrs. Holland entirely.

  Julia saw the tightening in the housekeeper’s jaw at the slight, and realized Mr. Halberd must have instructed Mrs. Decatur to deal with her directly. She cleared her throat and looked down at the sketch in her hand. It was a lovely picture, of a lovely girl with lovely curls in her hair and lovely slippers on her feet. It was also not at all a reflection of the sort of child Zora was, unless the gowns in question would also be infused with the power to completely alter a person’s character once the garment was slipped over their head.

  “Something simpler, I think.” Julia looked through the rest of the drawings. “This one would do very well.” She indicated a plain muslin gown, with a simple amount of trim at the hem and hardly any piping to be seen.

  “And pockets,” Zora interjected, as she flipped through a few of the pictures herself. “I like to have pockets for when I find a shell or a rock I particularly like. And they have to be deep, not tiny little things I can barely fit my fingers into.”

  “Is that possible?” Julia handed the drawings back to Mrs. Decatur. “I would not wish to give you more work than is necessary.”

  “Oh, it would not be difficult at all! Such minor alterations are what I delight in, making each gown special to every wearer. And, of course, Mr. Halberd’s first instruction was to make the two of you happy, so if Miss Halberd wishes for pockets, then pockets she shall have!”

  Beside her, Mrs. Holland made a soft sound of disagreement in her throat. Julia chose to ignore it.

  “And what materials do you have with greater durability? Miss Halberd spends a large portion of time out of doors, and anything too delicate might not hold up to lasting wear.”

  Bolts of fabric were produced, a rainbow of colors laid out before Julia and Zora for their perusal. Zora gravitated towards the more vibrant shades, jewel tones and a blue dotted with yellow flowers that looked like a summer sky wrought in cotton and embroidery.