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Mine to guide. Mine to protect.

Tea awaited them in the garden, where the day had warmed enough to chase shadows from the stone paths. The girls sprawled across a blanket with their treasures while Abigail and Ms. Norwood took chairs beneath a flowering plum tree.

“Did you know that silk comes from worms?” Mary Ann asked as she arranged her new books in a precise little row.

“That’s disgusting but wonderful,” Heather added, already halfway through a jam tart.

Ms. Norwood regarded the girls over the rim of her teacup. “The world is full of small creatures performing miracles right under our noses,” she observed.

Abigail sipped her tea, content to let the conversation flow around her. Every passing carriage set her nerves humming as she strained to hear if this might be the one that turned into their drive.

She caught herself and firmly returned her attention to the girls, silently chiding herself. Graham would return when he was able.She must have patience and it wouldn’t do to dwell on it and allow it to steal the afternoon’s simple pleasures.

“You seem revived,” Ms. Norwood observed quietly, while the girls debated the merits of their new books.

“Fresh air works wonders,” Abigail replied.

“As does purpose.” The governess stirred her tea. “The girls needed this. Joy has been a rare visitor these past months.”

Abigail glanced at the twins. “I want them to be happy here.”

“They already are,” Ms. Norwood assured her. “Children are remarkably resilient, provided they feel secure.” She paused. “As are most people, given time and patience.”

The footman approached bearing the afternoon post on a silver tray, saving Abigail the need to respond, though she heard the message well enough.

“The day’s papers, Your Grace, and a letter from Beacon House.”

“Thank you, James.” Abigail took the letter eagerly, recognizing Mrs. Welling’s precise handwriting.

The girls, however, had spotted the newspaper.

“Is there a picture of the wedding?” Mary Ann asked, abandoning her book to peer at the folded paper. “Lady Ponsby said we would be in all the papers.”

“Oh I doubt it,” Abigail hedged, reluctant to open it.

“Please look,” Heather begged. “I want to see if they drew my dress right.”

With a sigh, Abigail unfolded theMorning Post. The front page featured a headline more subdued than she had expected: “Duke of Eyron Weds at St. George’s.”

“Look! It’s us!” She pointed to the caricature on the front page. “That’s me throwing flowers. Mary Ann looks cross.”

Mary Ann joined her sister, peering at the illustration. “I do not look cross. I look dignified.”

Abigail leaned forward to examine the drawing.The caricature showed the wedding party emerging from St. George’s. The girls were rendered with affectionate humor—Heather flung petals while Mary Ann clutched her basket. Graham looked grim while her smile looked more calculating than joyful.

She scanned the article, skimming through flowery descriptions of the ceremony and notable guests until a particular passage caught her eye.

“The bride, whose previous engagement ended in circumstances that need not be revisited, appeared suitably demure in ivory silk. One trusts this time she will find more lasting success.”

“What does it say about us?” Mary Ann asked, trying to read over Abigail’s arm.

“It says you both looked very pretty and conducted yourselves with perfect decorum.” She folded the paper, tucking away the sting of those words behind a composed smile. “Now, why don’t you go with Miss Norwood to set up your new globe?”

The girls needed no further encouragement. They raced inside, Miss Norwood following at a more sedate pace. At the door, she paused and glanced back at Abigail.

“The papers rarely get anything of substance right,” she said quietly. “Best not to dwell on them.”

Abigail nodded. “I’ll be in to see the new globe shortly.”