Eleven

Mercedes hesitated to leave her bath of luxury that evening, but the cold water threatened to turn her skin to prunes. Towel drying herself, the lilac-scented soap assailed her senses, reminding her of home. Right after her father’s death, she’d boarded up his cottage on the outskirts of Bristol, and prayed all would be fine when she returned. She missed the neighboring cottages and yearned for the closeness she had with the families living nearby—families she considered part of her life.

She pushed away the disheartening thoughts and changed into an evening dress. Although no guests had been invited to the supper meal, she wanted to look her best. Of course, the selection of dresses in her sister’s closet didn&rsq