Written in My Heart Read Free Page A

slaughter, for so many to have fallen. Suddenly sick, she handed the paper to Tamsin and turned away. This list was only men killed, and it was so long. The list of wounded would probably be even longer.
    “Jane,” said Tamsin, hurrying after her as she strode up the street toward the dressmaker’s shop, “it’s a very good sign his name isn’t on the lists.”
    “I know.” She kept her eyes straight ahead.
    “You mustn’t let yourself run mad with worry.”
    “Of course not!” She forced a smile for her friend as they let themselves into Mrs. Lynch’s and climbed the stairs. “I won’t. I can’t. I can only keep praying every night that he’s unharmed, or at least not seriously harmed.”
    Their employer looked up at their entrance. She knew they’d gone to read the casualty reports. “Any word?” Her face softened immediately at Jane’s quick shake of her head. “Thank heavens!”
    “Any word on what?” Millie wanted to know. Tamsin whisked across the room and whispered something to her. Millie’s eyes grew wide, but she didn’t say anything else.
    For a while work went on as usual in the shop. Mrs. Bellows came for her fitting, and Jane took down the nearly finished riding habit, pinning and adjusting until her customer smiled broadly. “Such a fine hand you’ve got, Miss Barton! Finding such a good seamstress here in Caxby is a stroke of pure good fortune, I always tell Mr. Bellows. I’d have to go to London to get anything this fine, if not for you.”
    Jane smiled, even though her knees ached from crawling around the fitting stool to make all the adjustments to the hem. “I’m flattered, ma’am.”
    “You should be, my girl. Mrs. Lynch knows she’s got a prize in you, I hope.”
    “Indeed,” said the modiste warmly. She’d come in to oversee the last of the fitting. “Miss Barton is my right hand.”
    When Mrs. Bellows had left, Mrs. Lynch helped carry everything back up to the workroom. “You may leave an hour early today, Jane,” she said kindly. “You’ve been working such late nights. This habit is almost done, you deserve a free evening.”
    “Did my stitching hold?” asked Millie eagerly.
    Jane smiled. “Every thread. Well done, Millie.” She turned to her employer. “Perhaps I’ll leave just a bit early. Thank you, ma’am.”
    Mrs. Lynch smiled. “Take that dog for a long walk. It will do you both good.”
    Everyone settled down to work. For a while it was quiet in the workroom, aside from Millie’s steps running back and forth to the cabinets for thread or ribbons or anything else needed. Jane bent over her work, taking only the quickest glances out the window when she had to rethread her needle. There was no chance Ethan would come strolling down the street so soon, and Jane knew it, but somehow her eyes went to the window anyway. She forced herself to concentrate on her stitching and tried to keep it from her mind.
    Eventually Millie, as usual, had to say something and thwart her efforts. “I’m very glad Mr. Campbell’s not on the lists, Jane.”
    “Thank you, Millie.”
    “I didn’t even know he was your sweetheart,” the girl went on. “Mum was surprised to hear it, too. Why, she—”
    “Millie,” cried Tamsin as Jane blanched. “Mind your tongue!”
    “Why?” Millie looked alarmed. “What did I say?”
    Jane cleared her throat. “He’s not my sweetheart.”
    “No?” Millie cocked one brow. “You moved your chair to sit by the window to watch for him.”
    Jane gave her a warning look. “I can sit wherever I want.”
    “Of course you can,” put in Tamsin. “Millie, fetch my scissors. This pelisse isn’t going to make itself.”
    “What did I do?” the younger girl exclaimed. “Isn’t it obvious she’s sweet on him? You even told me—”
    “It’s not your place to talk about it!”
    “But you talk about it!” howled Millie as Tamsin advanced on her, a furious gleam in her eye. “Why am I the only one who can’t know