Primrose walked through the tall grass, the insects buzzing around her and the warm wind rustled leaves. It was the perfect summer’s day. Historically, she hadn’t been much of a walker, but that was changing. In the past, she’d loved it when Felix’s friends would visit, but they just annoyed her now, with their immaturity, stupid comments and general drunkenness. Maybe it had been Delia’s presence that made it tolerable. Or maybe she was growing out of the silly competitions and inane conversation of Felix and her friends, who hadn’t changed at all. So long walks had an appeal they’d never had before.

Reaching a stream, she leapt across it. Luckily, being the height of summer, the water was low, because crossing it wouldn’t be possible any other time. On the other side of the stream, the grass was even wilder, with untrimmed shrubs and trees, and a damaged beehive that looked well abandoned.

The trees gave glorious shade for a moment, giving her a chance to cool down, and she stood and rested. A thin path led the way towards a cottage painted white, and she followed it until she walked around the corner.

The garden was still an utter mess. There were still materials lying on the lawn, which had been chewed up by carts and horses.

“Primrose,” Delia said as she looked up from one of the borders, where she worked with a small trowel and a large hat, a tray of young plants beside her. Standing, Delia marched over to embrace her. “I didn’t know you were coming today.”

“It was a spur of the moment decision. I ended up walking this way, so thought I might as well pop in.”

“Let me make some tea. Come.”

They walked arm in arm toward the house, which smelled acridly of paint.

“Samson, Primrose is here.”

“Hello, Primrose,” she heard Samson from upstairs.

“He’s painting,” she said and walked to the stove. As with every corner, the kitchen was messy. Tools, wood, and tins of oil stood everywhere. But the table was clear, a jug filled with wildflowers stood in the center.

“How’s it going?” Primrose asked as Delia tended to the stove.

“Slowly, but we have the master bedroom finished, which is such a relief. I’m helping—when he lets me.”

Absently, she rubbed her belly, and Primrose felt a pang of jealousy. Not bitter jealousy, just envious while delighted with their happiness. Seeing them now, it was impossible to imagine that they not be together. They were the perfect picture of an ideal marriage. Well, in terms of the relationship. They had very little money, which was why Samson had to do most of the work himself, but he didn’t seem to mind.

Delia spooned tea into the teapot and then poured the hot water. After, she lifted a kitchen towel off a plate and put it on the tea service.

“Did you bake?” Primrose asked.

“Heavens no. Mrs. Jenkins gave them to me.”

“Oh, that’s nice.” Mrs. Jenkins never gave buns to Primrose, she acknowledged, fighting to keep that tiny note of resentment out of her thoughts. Delia had always been liked by the women in the village more than her, and it did have to do with station. It wasn’t personal, she understood, but they were naturally reserved around her due to her station. While disparities in station didn’t mean anything to her, it did to other people, and they didn’t cross that chasm easily.

They returned outside to the garden table, with Primrose carrying the tray. “How are you feeling?”

“Well, the morning sickness has passed, which I am eternally grateful for.  It’s curious how taxing it is.”

“It takes a lot to grow a person,” Primrose said and poured the tea.

Sitting down, she took a bun that was sticky with sweet syrup. It tasted heavenly.

What more was there to want in life? Tea and a sweet bun on a beautiful summer day with one’s closest friend. The sky was bright blue with a few puffy white clouds gently floating along.

“When are you returning to London?” Delia asked.

“Ugh, as late as possible. It’s just not as fun without you.”

Delia reached over and squeezed her hand. “You have a job to do. You have to find a lovely husband.”

“There are no good prospects,” Primrose said glumly. “They’re all daft or unsavoury.”

“What about Mr. Winchester? I suspect you like him.”

Primrose grumbled. “He is very handsome,” she conceded. “But there’s something aloof about him. I… I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right.”

The problem was that she had an example of what she wanted, and no one seemed to measure up. Samson and Delia’s relationship was perfect, and he had a raw honesty that she appreciated. There wasn’t a shred of artifice between them, and that extended to her.

That was true friendship, wasn’t it? And she’d sorely missed it when they’d been in Bath, where they would return to come autumn. And she had to go back to the faux smiles and constant backstabbing of the season. Fakery and presentation, that was all she saw now. It was hard to see a genuine emotion in anyone, and she couldn’t be more tired of men calling on her, being on their absolute top behavior—which was nowhere near their true selves.

“Felix invites Samson. His friends are all there, doing their same old stupid things. Well, I said I’d pass the invitation along.” While Samson and Delia came to supper every once in a while, Samson had basically dropped Felix as a friend, a fact that Felix was struggling to accept. She’d tried to explain that he was married now with a child on the way. Plus, he had to house to finish. He didn’t want to drink until he dropped. Hadn’t wanted to do that last year either. Felix still couldn’t grasp that.

“I do love it here,” Delia said and looked around. “It will be lovely once I get the garden in shape. It’s my mission this summer. I am going to miss it.”

“Then stay.”

“We can’t. We have to sell it. A lot of our money is tied up in it, and Samson needs it.”

Speaking of, he emerged from the house, wearing a loose muslin shirt and trousers with paint streaks. He grabbed a bun even before he sat down and had half devoured it in one bite.

“Primrose,” he said with a nod and then reached for his teacup. “How’s your father?”

“Still traveling,” she replied. She knew that Samson had some kind of investment he wanted her father to join him in. She respected his ambition and drive, as opposed to Felix’s friends who’d spent a good portion of supper last evening debating which region in France produced the best merlot.

While she didn’t begrudge Delia’s happiness in the least, she couldn’t help being hurt by not being chosen, and at the same time happy that there were men who pursued something more meaningful than financial advancement. Increasingly, she was seeing how rare that was. A true gem of a man, and more so because he’d seen the absolute diamond that Delia was.

“What if I buy it?” Primrose said. “Then you can spend summers here.”

The idea just occurred to her. She had the money to, she was sure. Well, she’d have to convince her father.

“Except you’ll likely be married before next summer and won’t be here yourself. I have a feeling you will be,” Delia said with a smile.

Reaching behind her, Primorse pulled a bud off a flower and then plucked the leaves from it, like she’d used to do when she’d been a child, letting it determine if Gregory Reichter had liked her or not. Sadly, he’d died from a fever. Except there was no one on her mind now. It was such a big decision, and so far, her heart wasn’t helping her decide. It was true that just about any single man would marry her if she selected them, but inspiration to select just hadn’t materialized. “It would be nice to think,” she said absently. Obviously, there was hope, but it was shrinking.

Looking back at the cottage, she still wondered if she should buy it. It could still be a while before marriage finally found her, and she would much prefer to spend her summers here with her true friends near. Her father would probably accuse her of being silly, but he did believe in investing in land. Perhaps if she framed it that way, and that this parcel of land would come into the family. That would appeal to him. She could also say that it would keep the family closer in the future. That would probably appeal to him too.

A damn sight better way to spend money than baubles and gowns, which she had more of than she’d ever need. Although the ton would expect her to keep up with the absolute latest fashion. She was so bored of it.