‘Or maybe that other one-what’s her name, Belle? Maybe she thinks our Penny-Rose is prettier and she’s decided to tear her eyes out,’ another added, and his comment was greeted by hoots of laughter.

The entire team was in on the conversation now. They were all male, mostly a lot older than Penny-Rose, and concern for their protégée was behind their good-natured banter.

‘How would they know our Penny-Rose is prettier? We only see her for five minutes every morning before the dust settles back,’ one demanded.

‘She is pretty, though,’ the first lad said stubbornly. ‘Real pretty. If the prince saw her without her dirt…’

‘Well, he hasn’t.’

‘His mother has.’

‘Not without her dirt, and, anyway, what’s that got to do with the price of eggs?’

‘No, lass…’ Bert cut across the banter and his eyes were still troubled. ‘Seriously, they’ve asked to see you. You spoke to the old lady, didn’t you? You didn’t say anything to upset her?’

‘No.’ Penny-Rose wiped filthy hands on her overalls, thinking fast. ‘At least, I don’t think so.’

Penny-Rose had arrived at the castle with the team of Yorkshire stone-wallers six weeks ago, and she’d had her hands full ever since. There was so much to be done! After years of neglect, the west farmyard walls had almost entirely collapsed, and if they weren’t mended soon, the north and south walls would do the same.

So she hadn’t had time for socialising. The only contact she’d had with the titled landholders had been a conversation with the castle’s elderly mistress.

Marguerite had been out walking, and had come across a stooped figure sorting stones. ‘Good heavens, it’s a girl,’ the woman had said, startled, and Penny-Rose had chuckled. She’d deferentially hauled off her cap, letting her curls tumble to her shoulders.

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘You’re part of the stone-walling team?’ the woman had demanded, her amazement deepening, and Rose had smiled and once more agreed.