She stood at the edge of the village, hands on her hips, and surveyed the daunting task she’d set for herself. She hadn’t been able to sleep last night. Her mind twisted and turned over the condition of Westborough, over its liege, over her own commitment and his refusal to grant her freedom. Damn his eyes for denying her that. On one hand, she was still so angry with the baron that she could spit. On the other, she couldn’t forget the despair in his eyes when he’d confessed to being poor as a church mouse. That he wasn’t able to help his people obviously ate at him. For a man of his station, of his determination, it must strike a blow to his pride not to be able to provide. And it made even worse the fact that she, in part, was unwittingly responsible for that. He’d had the answer in his grasp and because he’d stood up against Feagin for her, he’d lost the chance. Well, she could not give him back the money he so desperately needed, but her work on the village might serve to assuage some of the guilt she felt for adding to his troubles.
