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Chapter One

Dorset, England, 1810

Maggie stood atop the hill and gazed at the rolling emerald slopes, dotted with sheep and small farmhouses, which stretched for miles. How she loved her home. The beauty of Dorset never failed to bring happiness to her heart, no matter how difficult life itself was at times.

She felt a tug at her skirt and looked down at her five-year-old sibling, Oliver. “Hungry, Maggie,” Oliver said. He was so small and thin that his large blue eyes seemed too big for his face.

“Me too,” Oliver’s twin brother Teddy said. His mop of milky hair, just like his brother’s, was disheveled and needed a good wash. Teddy pointed to the basket of blackberries in Maggie’s hands and licked his lips, which were already smeared with blackberry juice.

She glanced at the berries, and her own mouth watered. Because she was the eldest among her siblings, Mama had sent her out to pick the berries for a pie she intended to bake for the new parish priest. Berries grew plentiful and were free, but that didn’t mean they weren’t scarce. Between the birds and all the poor families in the area, getting your hands on some fresh, plump berries was quite a task.

Maggie had been up early, just as the sun started to rise, so she could get to the brambles before others. She’d brought Oliver and Teddy with her to give her mama, who had two toddlers and a newborn at home, a small break, as her twelve-year-old sister, Lettie, was sickly again and therefore unable to help with the children.

It seemed Mama was always with child. There had been many more babes between Maggie, Lettie, and the twins, but those little souls hadn’t survived. The most recent loss in the family had been seven-year-old Doris, who’d developed a fever she’d never recovered from. Maggie sometimes wondered how she’d managed to survive her almost eighteen years with all the illnesses and periods of hunger that had passed through her home.

As if reading her mind, Teddy tugged at Maggie’s dress again and said, “Hungry.”

Maggie’s heart almost broke looking at her brothers’ faces. But there simply weren’t enough berries in the basket to indulge the children. She’d already given them more than she should have.

“Course you be,” she said to Teddy. “You haven’t had breakfast yet. We’d best hurry home, then.”

Teddy’s face fell in disappointment, for breakfast meant a bowl of thin porridge and stale bread.

Oliver’s shoulders slumped. He put his blackberry-stained fingers in his mouth and sucked them as though trying to relive the memory of their delicious, sweet taste.

Maggie’s heart couldn’t take it. How can I deny them when my own stomach aches with hunger? Why does Mama use the precious little flour we have for bread to bake a pie for a stranger? I’m sure the priest be ashamed to accept a pie from such poor folks who can barely feed their own children.

She watched her brothers, who were both still getting comfort from sucking their stained fingers. It tore at her. If they could go without, then surely a grown man with plenty of food at his disposal could wait a little longer for his pie.

“Very well,” she said, sitting down in the field of grass and setting the basket in front of her. “We’ll tell Mama the blackbirds ate all the berries.”

Oliver and Teddy did not hesitate, and Maggie’s heart filled to bursting as she watched the children stuff their mouths with the sweet, ripe fruit.

She picked up a plump blackberry and nibbled it, wanting to leave the bulk of them for her brothers. The sweetness exploded on her tongue, engendering feelings of pleasure mixed with guilt. Gazing at the sky, dotted with fluffy clouds, Maggie thought about a life where small pleasures like berries were not so dear, and food was not so scarce. She had hope. Perhaps she would meet a handsome farmer someday, one who didn’t squander his money on drink like Papa. She reached into the basket for another berry, only to find it empty and her brother’s beaming faces smeared with purple juice. She laughed, shook her head, and thought, Mama will box my ears for this.

They made their way home, walking four miles across the green hills to their small, two-roomed thatched cottage.

“Remember now,” Maggie said, looking into her empty basket as they neared their cottage, “the birds are to blame.”

“Aye, Maggie,” Teddy said, grinning up at his sister.

She bent to wipe the last remaining smudge of evidence from his face and then kissed both his cheeks. Then she turned and did the same to Oliver. The little boy put his arms around her and hugged her tightly.

“What’s that?” Teddy said.

Maggie freed herself from Oliver’s clasp and straightened. “Where?” she asked.

“There, by the house.” Teddy pointed to the cottage.

Maggie shielded her eyes from the sun, which partially obstructed her view. And that was when she saw a carriage parked near their cottage. “’Tis a visitor, I think,” she said. Her stomach tightened. She hoped it wasn’t the new priest.

But as they got closer, Maggie saw that the carriage was a very fine one indeed. It was black with large red wheels and two strong horses at its helm. An attendant stood on the back of the coach, wearing a uniform that looked fit for a king, and another stood in the front, wearing the same style of dress. She doubted a priest would have such a grand-looking carriage. But who then could it be?

At that moment, she saw her papa come around the corner of the house in the company of a gentleman, who wore a fancy top hat and an even fancier suit. She stopped short. Who can that be? Is Papa in trouble? Has he been gambling too much again?

Too dumbfounded to move, she stood watching until her father spotted her and waved in her direction, beckoning her and the twins to come forward. He had a smile on his face, which reassured her that all was well. Perhaps the gentleman had brought fortunate news.

She proceeded with a light heart, the twins by her side. As she approached her papa, she saw that the newcomer had a familiar face. She recognized his light-brown curls, formidable jawline, and Roman nose.