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“What kind of happenstance?” Bess asked eagerly.

“Nothing so exciting as you might be hoping,” Ophelia said with a laugh. She looked to Silas for confirmation and caught a flicker of emotion.

“A misdirected package ... a book,” he supplied, and Ophelia wondered if she detected a note of wistfulness in his voice.

Bess nodded, and Hannah’s face took on a note of interest. “Hopefully some salacious pamphlet or a truly morbid gothic romance?” she said with a smirk.

Silas laughed, and Ophelia felt the sound spread through her like honey. She had forgotten how lovely and warm his laugh was. “Are you familiar with R. L. Hill’s Animal Husbandry , volume eight?”

Hannah rolled her eyes and Bess cackled. Mrs. Darling, her mouth crooked in a half smile, nodded and said, “I’ve always found that one particularly useful ... badgers and whatnot.”

Despite the laughter around the table, Ophelia was suddenly conscious of how little she had thought of Silas or the estate since she had left.

It was as though the train ride had deposited her in an entirely different realm, and she had been so busy learning and working that she didn’t have the energy or the inclination to give her past much thought.

She had been glad to push her father as far from her mind as possible, had been resolute in focusing on the reason she had joined the WLA—so that she might learn how to navigate a life on her own, out from under the influence of men.

While Silas explained the rest of the story to the other women, Ophelia took a long sip of her tea, bumping the cup against the rim of the saucer as she put it down.

She felt unaccountably nervous; the arrival of a piece of her past life highlighting how changed she felt.

She wondered if she appeared immediately different to Silas.

She stole a glance and found him regarding her, a puzzled expression in his eyes.

Another thing she had forgotten—what it felt like to have the full weight of his gaze on her, the gentle intensity of his looking.

He swallowed, and she watched the column of his throat working and was startled to find herself hungry for every detail of him.

She found that he didn’t look exactly the same, as she had first thought.

There were subtle, but marked changes everywhere.

His hair was the same honey gold that she remembered, a little longer, but his cheekbones cut a little sharper, his lips a little more stern, set in a firm, flat line.

It was his eyes that she noticed most, still the same mossy colour, but flattened somehow, the mischievous twinkle missing.

New, fine lines emanated from the corners of his eyes giving his face a quiet, tired air.

His hands on the table were calloused, the knuckles marked by healed scars, faded to silver, while a livid red line wound along the inside of his wrist up into his sleeve.

She couldn’t remember if he had been quite so broad and muscular, the hard balls of his shoulders snug against the fabric of his linen shirt, his heavy thighs clad in worn work trousers.

An urge to reach out and touch him flooded Ophelia’s fingers.

It was a feeling she had experienced often during their summer of friendship; he was beautiful and kind and thoughtful, all things she hadn’t ever expected in any man.

The sudden awareness, that summer, of how lonely her life had been before Silas only made his friendship dearer, and she had mourned him keenly when he had enlisted.

He had informed her of his enlistment in a short note, and she had felt no invitation to write to him in those few lines.

She pushed down the squirming giddiness of once again being in Silas’s company, and forced herself to focus on what she had come here to do: remake herself. Independent. Alone.

There was a lull in the conversation, and Mrs. Darling cleared her throat, saying, “So you’re not only a reader, but a farmer then, Mr. Larke?”

“Yes, born and raised in the countryside, for my sins,” Silas said with a smile.

“And now assigned to us by the War Ag, our soldier come to help, as it were.”

Hannah snorted softly, fixing Silas with a challenging look. He acknowledged her disapproval with a nod of his chin, and Mrs. Darling continued. “So what kind of experience have you got then, young man? We’re just lately under a great deal of pressure to increase our wheat yield.”

“Almost anything, ma’am?—”

“No need for the ma’am-ing, Mr. Larke, ’tisn’t an audience wi’ the queen. Just Mrs. Darling’ll do,” Mrs. Darling interjected tartly.

“Oh, right, sorry,” Silas said, a little pink rising along his cheeks.

“We sowed our fields in wheat and barley, kept milk cows and sheep at various times. There was almost always a horse for ploughing, sometimes a pig for the winter. I’m not bad with machinery, my father saw to that.

We didn’t have the most modern equipment, but it was kept in good nick.

Oh, and we always had a flock of hens. My sisters mostly tended to those. ”

“The cows, here and over at Mr. Bone’s, are my responsibility,” said Bess, “and Ophelia’s been a quick study with the draft horses.”

“You always had a sense for animals, Fee. I remember that,” said Silas, his eyes gentle on her face.

She felt herself blush at the nickname.

“A farmer is good news, indeed,” said Mrs. Darling, pleased.

“We’ve only time enough for one beginner, and that’s our Ophelia, so I’m mighty glad you’ll be a help and not a hindr’nce.

The County Agricultural Committee have been by with warnings and seem to have a mind to order a temporary repossession of this land, so there’s no time to waste.

We’ll need to sow a bigger crop than I’ve ever attempted on my own.

The land’s fertile enough, but it’s the time constraint and amount required I’m worried about. ”

A beginner, thought Ophelia, her stomach turning sour around her lunch.

Mrs. Darling might as well have said she was of no use at all, and in front of Silas, too.

It had taken so much work for her to gain confidence; she didn’t want to lose it because she felt inferior to Silas’s experience.

She was proud of the gains she had made since her arrival—the strength she could feel building in her body, the knowledge she was beginning to accrue, the contribution she was making to the farm and the war effort.

The eager welcome Mrs. Darling had given Silas worried her; perhaps she had not been as helpful as she hoped.

Even worse, would Silas’s arrival change things with these women, these friends she had finally drawn close around her?

She could feel him looking at her again, but she wouldn’t let herself meet his eyes.

Getting up from the table, she blurted, “I’ve work to do cleaning the tack and getting the harrow ready for tomorrow. I should really get started.”

“I’ll lend a hand,” said Hannah, up from her seat before Ophelia could stop her.

From the corner of her eye, Ophelia saw Silas’s shoulders drop as he raised a hand to rake it through his hair.

He didn’t turn to look at her, but she felt his awareness like a hand on her back.

Damn, she thought, damn, damn, damn! Why does everything have to be so bloody complicated?

She worried Silas’s arrival was just going to dredge up everything she had turned her back on.

Damn, she thought again, wishing for not the first time, that she knew some more satisfying curses.

Ignoring her glare, Hannah linked her arm through Ophelia’s and practically dragged her out of the kitchen.

As they left, Ophelia could hear Mrs. Darling and Bess begin to pepper Silas with more questions.