now," she insisted. "The vicar was too ill for home repair, so I... I did it. I can paint and hang wallpaper. I might need some help with the floors, though." She stopped, out of breath, and embarrassed at her own temerity.
She held her peace then, watching Winslow's face as he seriously considered what she was saying for the first time. "You could put it to rights then, Mrs. Drew?"
"If you can fix the roof and the windows, I know I can," she declared, her eyes on the Yorkman as she considered what he would find most appealing about the arrangement. "And all at practically no expense to your landlord. We will save this lovely old house for him, and pay him rent besides."
Winslow looked back at the dower house, which glowed, honey-colored, in the early light of the autumn day. "No doubt Lord Winn would be tickled to find the place cared for," lie mused out loud. "And I am thinking there is paint and wallpaper left over from the last renovation at the main house." He took a good look at her and slowly shook his head. "You're such a little bit of a thing. How can you do all that?"
She stood as tail as she could. This is my last chance, she realized, recognizing the look on his face from her own years of living with a man of York. Oh, Anthony, what would you do? She took a deep breath. "My husband always used to say that the dog in a fight was not half so important as the fight in the dog-Mr. Winslow, I can do it, and my girls need a place to live."
"Lord Whitcomb won't take you in?" he asked, his voice quiet, as though someone eavesdropped.
"He will, but I do not wish to live under his roof. I think he would try to make me ... too dependent." There, she thought as she blushed. Read into that what you will. If you are a man with a conscience, I will not need to say more.
Winslow resumed walking, and her heart fell into her shoes. But he was talking as he walked, and she listened with hope, even as she hurried along and tried not to limp with her blister.
"I've heard rumors about your brother-in-law, Mrs. Drew. Didn't believe them then, but happen I do now," he said carefully, walking casually ahead of her, sparing her the embarrassment of his scrutiny during such a delicate conversation.
Roxanna watched his back as he walked before her, and silently blessed that tenderness of feeling she had noted before in other rough Yorkmen. She waited a moment before she spoke again.
"Well, then, sir, you understand my need," she said at last.
"P'raps I do, miss, p'raps I do," he said, still not looking at her. "Would ten pounds for the year suit you? I would blush to charge any more for a ruin. I can have that roof fixed by this time next week, and the windows sooner."
She was close to tears, but she knew better than to cry. "It will suit me right down to the ground, Mr. Winslow."
He turned around then, his hand stretched out, and shook her hand. "Done, then, Mrs. Drew. And it's just Tibbie to you." He took out the key from his vest pocket and placed it carefully in her palm. "You're not getting a bargain, mind."
"Oh, yes, I am!" she said. "We don't mind roughing it as we fix the place room by room."
He nodded, his eyes bright. "And it might be a project to occupy your mind, if you don't object to my saying that."
She could not speak then, and he looked beyond her shoulder, his own words gently chosen. "Now then, Mrs. Drew, we both have a good bargain. And only think how this will please Lord Winn. I don't remember much about him, except that he loves a good bargain."
Roxanna nodded, clutching the key in her fingers and memorizing its contours. "So do I, Tibbie," she said, smiling at him. "When can we move in?"
Tibbie looked back at the house, his eyes on the roof. "No reason why it won't be ready this time next week, Mrs. Drew. No reason at all."
Her heel scarcely pained her as she walked the remaining three miles to the vicarage. I have a place to live, she wanted to sing out to the fanners she passed, already out in