“I am quite sure you will be here quite long enough to enjoy yourself,” Ellen said. “I hope so. I know your papa wants to spend some time with you before he has to go into battle again.”

“But there is always a grave danger that he might not,” Ellen said quietly. “You do not know, Jennifer. Your papa always kept you away from the army, which was as well. You were never in Spain and did not see the battlefields after battles.” She shuddered. “If you had seen, you would have marveled that anyone survived at all. Your papa has lived through so many battles. It does not seem fair that he must face yet another.”

“I forgot.” Jennifer laid a hand on her stepmother’s arm, her pretty face contrite. “Your own papa was killed in one of those battles. And you were there with him. It must have been dreadful.”

“Yes.” Ellen patted the girl’s hand. “It was. But at least he was killed instantly. That is a blessing one learns to be thankful for when one has lived close to battle.”

Jennifer squeezed her stepmother’s arm before removing her hand. “And you and Papa married,” she said. “He is fond of you, is he not? I used to be jealous for a while. I think I even hated you until I met you. Do you think I will find a husband here, Ellen? Am I pretty enough, do you think?”

Ellen smiled into the anxious face turned to her own. “You know you are,” she said. “But I would not be in too much of a hurry to fix your choice if I were you, Jennifer. Not with the times so uncertain. There is no point in inviting heartache.”

They lapsed into silence while Jennifer gazed with renewed eagerness and impatience from the window. Indeed, the girl was very pretty, Ellen thought. She was small and shapely, with masses of shining dark ringlets peeping from beneath her bonnet, and an eager, dark-eyed, rosy-cheeked face.