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All right, here is a clip from WIFE OF FREEDOM.
(Here's the blurb for context: The fictional world of New Acton is on the verge of rebellion, and so is Mary Alwyn, the unfaithful wife of a rebel. But when she betrays her lover for the revolution, her husband holds her up as a hero, labeling her The Whore of Freedom both in public and in print. This becomes Mary's scarlet letter. If she's going to live down the first part of that name, she'll have to live up to the second. She becomes a spy, as bold as her reputation. But she'll never be free until she returns to face her past.)
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Martha was as near a thing as Mary had to a sister, being Mrs. Cress's daughter. She was a thin, prim little thing, but in her gray dress, she looked like a strong little rod of iron. She came up the walk and stopped, and looked Mary over.
Mary realized that her hair had come loose, and her apron was askew. Martha's face registered that this was confirmation of her worst fears. Mary smiled at her, and set down the broom to open the door.
"Come in," she said.
She settled Martha in the kitchen and set to making tea.
"Does the whole village know?" she asked, her back still turned.
"No. Not yet. Mrs. Tuttle has too much respect for Jackie to spread it behind his back."
"Think she'll tell him?"
"No! She'd be too embarrassed. She hopes he'll find out for himself, or you'll come to your senses."
Mary balanced two cups in one hand and the pot in another. Martha shook her head.
"Why don't you use a tray?" She sighed and looked pained. "You've reverted to your childhood, haven't you?"
Mary smiled and nimbly set down the cups and pot.
"Perhaps." Then when Martha took a breath to speak again, she held up a hand.
"Martha, I've heard it all, haven't I? Your mother has said it. You've said it. The preacher has said it. The ladies of the town have said it. I'm sure the king would have said it if he ever met me. Think about it, think about it, think about it. Well, I'm not going to think about it."
She sat down and looked to see Martha was distressed. Not the strong little rod as usual. Weary, actually. Mary sighed. The poor woman had spent most of her childhood worrying about Mary getting into trouble, protecting her from herself at every possible turn. Even taking the blame once or twice. But Mary couldn't imagine her taking the blame on this one. The very thought almost made her laugh.
"I am sorry, Martha," she said. "Don't distress yourself. You have no control over this. And I don't know if I'm relapsing to my natural state, or if this is just some odd gypsy moment. I love Jackie. And I love you. And I fear myself. And I'm not going to think about it."
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