February 1827
The carriage rocked violently as they fell into a pothole and the wind carried the faint apology of the coachman to her. Beth wasn't the least concerned, she was too happy to bother about small mistakes. And she was too satisfied to care.
Her husband had returned.
Charles had returned the previous day and, not stopping to bother about the servants who were watching, she raced out as soon as she had seen his carriage. She had been eager for his return. The days after his last note had been received had been longer than the weeks she had waited for him.
