Lady of the Rose by Patricia Joseph

Part One
     
    Too late, Harriet stifled the yawn
and tried to cover it with a demure cough.
    Mrs. York, the Davenport's large,
bustling housekeeper, huffed and expanded with ill-concealed
indignation. “Well, honestly, Miss Harriet! I do not like to seem
above my place, but a lady does not yawn in public.”
    Harriet refrained from mentioning
that being in her own home with her own housekeeper and her own
sisters hardly qualified as public. She was about to assure Mrs.
York that she appreciated the advice, certainly, when movement
across the room caught her eye.
    “If you haven't the inclination for
going over the week's menus, Miss Harriet, perhaps I ought to take
up such an important matter with the missus,” Mrs. York's pinched
face brightened with self-importance.
    Harriet was watching Lillian, the
youngest of the Davenport sisters, place the embroidery she was
meant to be finishing on top of her head, mimicking the
old-fashioned cap Mrs. York pinned upon her own locks. She
scrunched up her own features, as though tasting something sour, in
a perfect imitation of the Davenport's long-suffering housekeeper.
Harriet bit the inside of her cheek to hold back the snort that
threatened to escape. If a lady did not yawn, she certainly
wouldn't do anything as common as snort.
    Not being under Mrs. York's
scrutiny, Lillian doubled over in silent laughter, the embroidery
floating unnoticed to the ground. Margaret Davenport, older than
Lillian by only a year, frowned at both her sisters. Margaret never
could appreciate a joke made at another's expense.
    Mustering her sweetest and most
affected smile, Harriet assured the older woman, “Not at all, Mrs.
York. You are quite right about yawning. I am blessed to have you
to look out for me.”
    Mrs. York bloomed under the praise
and continued her recitations with renewed vigor, while Harriet
listened to her discuss the potatoes and puddings without any
further slips of dignity.
    ~~~
    Having settled the menus to Mrs.
York's satisfaction, if to no one else's, Harriet walked outdoors,
tying her bonnet under her chin as she went. She chastised herself
for being caught even slightly unawares. She had been paying scant
attention to Mrs. York - she had been deciding the menus long
enough to do them in her sleep – but there was no excuse for
allowing herself to slip that way. Angry with herself, she rushed
through the grounds, finding herself at her appointment earlier
than she intended. She looked up at the small, thatched house and
was thinking whether she should return later when she spotted a
figure moving behind the patterned curtains.
    “Good day, Mrs. Fischer!” she called
from the pathway.
    A round, good-natured face appeared
in the doorway. “And a good day to you, Miss Davenport,” Mrs.
Fischer waved and beckoned her into the house. The plump,
gray-haired wife of her father's agent had been baking bread. The
cottage smelled sweet and yeasty, and Harriet's mouth immediately
began to water.
    “Tea for you, miss?” Mrs. Fischer
appeared, as though by magic, balancing cups and a teapot on a worn
wooden tray.
    “Thank you, Mrs. Fischer. That
sounds wonderful. And some of your delicious bread, if it's
ready.”
    Mrs. Fischer disappeared into her
kitchen once again, returning with brown bread on a board, a crock
of creamy, yellow butter, and her husband in tow.
    The Davenport's manager was a slight
man with wispy brown hair and slightly bulging brown eyes. He
dipped in a slight bow before seating himself at the table across
from Harriet.
    “How are you, Miss Davenport?” he
asked in his quiet, firm voice.
    “I am quite well, Mr. Fischer. Thank
you.”
    “And your father?” His eyes showed
his obvious concern, though his voice did not change.
    “Better, I believe, but the doctor
says there is no way to know.” Harriet shook her head slightly as
though the motion would clear away the uncomfortable thoughts. “Is
there anything we need to discuss?”
    Mr. Fischer gave her a