Hartwell’s invitation had set her completely askew. Cole helped them both into the coach, and for a moment she was preoccupied by the smell of his soap, something light and citrusy, and then he climbed in after, seating himself across from them.
The nearly ten-mile journey to St. Margaret’s went quickly, what with Aunt Hartwell never allowing a moment of silence among them and the chaotic nature of Daphne’s own thoughts. Not to mention Cole sitting just across from her, their knees brushing every few minutes and sending a wave of heat skittering through her. When they finally arrived at the two-story home at the center of town, Daphne was almost as glad to escape the confines of the coach as she was to see Marah.
“I’ll send the coach back for you in a few hours,” Aunt Hartwell said, inspecting the house with a discerning eye. Truthfully, it wasn’t much in comparison to Cheriton, but Daphne thought it quaint with its brick front and black shutters. “Mrs. Tilton’s estate is but two miles further along the coast.”
“I shall hope we can manage all our gossip in that time.” Daphne moved to open the door, but Cole was there first, stepping down and offering his hand. “Thank you,” she said softly.
“Please do not take too long,” he said in a low voice near her ear. “I am not certain I wish to be alone with Aunt Hartwell and this Mrs. Tilton all day.”
She smiled. “I shall do my best.”
“Daphne!”
She turned at the delighted voice behind her to see Marah coming down the front steps of the house, her light brown hair tucked beneath a white cap and her blue eyes shining. Daphne did not hesitate—she fairly flew the few feet to her friend and the two embraced like sisters. At least how Daphne imagined she would embrace a sister if she had one. Memories flooded her mind, of stolen treats and midnight readings, laughter and shared dreams.
“Oh, it has been ages,” Daphne exclaimed as she pulled back. “Two years, at least, hasn’t it?”
Marah nodded. “And letters are not nearly enough to make up for seeing you in person.”
“Are you not going to introduce us?” Aunt Hartwell called from the open coach door.
“Of course, aunt.” Daphne took Marah’s arm and pulled her back to the coach, quickly introducing both Aunt Hartwell and Cole. Marah’s smile faltered slightly as she curtsied. Like Daphne, she’d always been a bit more reserved than their other friends. But she did give Cole a long, curious look upon hearing his name.
As the coach rumbled away, Marah turned to Daphne with a raised eyebrow. “Mr. Everard? Is he not…”
“He was the steward’s son, yes.” Daphne cleared her throat, fiddling with her bracelet. She’d told her school friends a great deal about Cole over the years, considering he had been her only real friend outside their little group.
“Was the steward’s son?” Marah’s emphasis of the past tense was not lost on Daphne.
Daphne sighed. “Oh Marah, if ever I needed your advice, it is now. I have a great deal to tell you.”
Marah’s eyes scrutinized her as they walked to the front door. “Of course. You know I will help if I can.”
Stepping inside, Marah ushered Daphne quickly to a small sitting room. The room was small but comfortable, arrayed in worn chairs and a plump sofa, with little framed portraits adorning the mantel.
“Do sit down,” Marah said, twisting her hands. “I have tea ready, if you like? I am sorry if the room is a bit drafty, the window has a broken frame, but—"
Daphne laid one hand on Marah’s. “It is lovely. You needn’t worry.”
Marah’s shoulders did not lose their tension, but she nodded and sat on the sofa beside Daphne. “So,” she said quickly, as if eager to return to their previous topic, “tell me everything and spare no detail.”
Though it had been two years since they had last seen each other, Daphne felt no hesitation. This was Marah, a true friend if there ever was one. And so she spent the next quarter hour explaining all that had happened in the last month—learning of Cole’s inheritance, coming to face him at Cheriton, the pain of Aunt Hartwell’s rejection.
“Oh, Daphne.” Marah’s expression was pained. “I did not know you’d lost Cheriton. I am so sorry. I know how you love it.”
Daphne sighed. “It is not worse than anything you have endured. My problems seem rather small in comparison.” Marah had lost her father and with that the comfort of