Adding to my embarrassment, the butler has gone missing again.Kelly’s coat is still draped over the drawing room sofa, and he shrugs into thegarment without assistance. I feel my cheeks flame as I open the front door andcurtsy for him. He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t move an inch to leave my home. I pivot toward the stairs, but Kelly’s there before me.
“One question, Hester, if I may, and then I’ll go.” Hiswhiskey-voice is low and serious. “Would you have tea with me in town onWednesday?”
Does he jest? Scalding drinks in china cups with fairy cakesand cucumber sandwiches? Everyone in Stonehenge would be abuzz over it.
“Please say you will. It would be an honor to escort you.”
I hesitate long enough that he feels the need to explain. “Ihave a sister who is dear to me. I left her at home with my parents when I wentoff to medical school, and I’ve always regretted it. Rachel has bloomed in theyears since, but she was quite lonely then.” Kelly clears his throat. “Such awaste, loneliness, and so easily avoided. Add another person to the scenarioand you’ve got it beat.”
Simple words, so genuinely spoken that I cannot refuse. Haven’tI wished to be treated like other girls my age? They wouldn’t fear an outingsuch as this. It would be a feather in their caps. I inhale, straighten my spineto its full length, and smile.
Kelly—no, rather Noah, just for this moment—squeezes my hand.“That’s the spirit.”
The doctor walks out into the night, whistling a merry tune,and I shake my head briefly, wondering what I have gotten myself into. Cordeliajoins me, and we stand at the door together as Kelly rides away.
Ninety minutes later, I am tucked into bed, curtains drawn,telepathically sharing the details of my day with Tom. He is disgruntled, evena little bitter, and waves of jealousy transfer from him to me. The doctorcame to dinner? How cozy. I’ve never been invited.
You know it’s necessary for us to be discreet, and anyway,it’s not like that with Noah.
You’re on a first name basis?
We’re friends. My mother only asked him out of gratitude.
How good a friend is he, love?
Stop being ridiculous, Tom. He’s just a nice man who dinedwith us. You have no cause to worry.
If Tom and I weren’t miles apart, I’d be tempted to box hisears. Instead, I kick a porcelain doll off my bed and hear a satisfying crunchwhen it hits the floor. Obviously, this isn’t the time to mention thatKelly is taking me to tea.
After further reassurance, my love is finally appeased—how cansuch a strong, capable man be so insecure?—and then we make plans. Tomorrow, Iwill steal away at midnight, after Cordie has gone to sleep. He will come tothe French doors in the library and wait for me there.
Once we disconnect, I fall into a dreamless sleep, and my worldis fairly peaceful when I awake.
Until Mama makes her announcement.
8
Mirabile!
A marvelous thing!
“Iam with child,” Mama says, sounding delighted. “Can you believe it, Hester?Over four months gone.”
Quite frankly, I can’t. She has had so many miscarriages overthe years that I thought the childbearing season had passed her by. And beingmy parent’s child isn’t easy. I’m not sure I’d wish the experience uponanother. Still, this little person will not be alone. I’ll help and protect himor her—assist in any way I can.
The more I think of this baby, the tighter my heart feels, asthough there isn’t room enough for all the emotion. Hang it, I’ll call thelittle one Cherub. Gender-identification will be unnecessary, and I won’t haveto resort to using “it”—a horrible term for an unborn child.
“Are you unhappy?” Mama asks, mistaking my thoughtfulness fordismay.
I shake my head and smile.
I cannot remember a nicer day in my household. It goes withoutsaying that Father is away. He’s at his club or business office or somewhere.Mama is feeling tired so she rests in her boudoir and invites me to sit at herside as Cordie reads the Ladies’ Home Journal aloud. My mother laughs atthe humorous articles and interrupts the more serious ones to discuss plans forCherub’s new nursery and wardrobe.
I finally understand about families—why they enjoy spendingtime together. It has taken me two decades to grasp the meaning of this bond.
At supper, I shoo Cordelia out of my bedroom so she might enjoya meal with her friends in the kitchen. I tuck a large square napkin into thecollar of my gown, and run my fingertips over the tray. Now to practice forWednesday’s excursion. There’s a round plate flanked by a set of utensils. Forkon the left—knife and spoon the right. A ceramic mug containing buttermilk sitsthree inches above. I spill half my drink when I bump it with my wrist, butit’s no great loss since I dislike buttermilk.
The entrée smells like poached chicken. No herbs or sauces,just a bland, rubbery thigh if this meal follows my usual menu. I touch thesides of the plate and find servings of rice and peas. Scooping at them with myspoon, I feel like I’m playing a game of chase. The peas bounce off the plateand the rice drops everywhere when I try to eat it. My stomach rumbles, and I stabat the chicken thigh. Hacking at the meat with the side of my fork, I cut offlarge wedges. I chew the chicken as quietly as possible, but it is hopelesswith the size of the bites. Mama and Cordelia both would be appalled andrightly so. All things considered, supper is a failure. An especially messy onewith my lap covered by rice and peas.
Thunderation. How will my clothes survive? I won’t have theblasted napkin tucked into my collar when I’m at tea with Kelly. A frisson ofexcitement runs through me as I think of the outing—my first real meal taken intown. I have two more days to practice feeding myself. Forty-eight whole hoursto ensure that this basic skill is second nature.
Won’t Mama be surprised if I succeed?
It is almost midnight, and Cordelia is snoring like a bansheein the room next to
