nothing on this earth could ever harm her.
“I am with child,” she surprised herself by saying suddenly. “And it is not my husband’s. I conceived it from a lover less than a month after his death. And now I have started to let people think it is Charlie’s, and I don’t know what to do.”
“Are you, Ellie?” he said, his free hand smoothing over the back of hers. “The important thing is, are you happy about it? Did you love him?”
“Yes, I did,” she said. “Totally and passionately, Papa. Nobody else existed in the world for a week. Just for a week. Less, even. He was a friend of Charlie’s and of mine. And then, before either of us knew what was happening, we were lovers. But it was all wrong. I loved Charlie. Or thought I did. Now I am so consumed with guilt and confusion that I no longer know what love is.”
“Well,” he said, patting her hand, “you will have a child to love soon, Ellie. You will find out. Does he know?”
“No.” She gripped his hand. “I couldn’t possibly tell him. I don’t want him ever to know.”
“It is sad, Ellie,” he said, “to be deprived of your child. Does he love you?”
“No,” she said. “Oh, he did for that week, as much as I loved him. But love is the wrong word. It was not love. And he does not feel whatever it was for me any longer. He is leaving London soon.”
“And you will be staying,” he said, “with relatives of your husband’s and a child of your lover’s. Well, girl, you will sort out your own future. You always did. I have great faith in you. But you know, you can always come here, Ellie. This will always be your home. And I will always be your papa even if I didn’t beget you. But I think I did.”
“Oh,” she said, lifting their joined hands so that her lips rested against his knuckles, “if you knew what a burden has been lifted from my shoulders just by telling you all this! I think there is still a little of St. George in you, after all.”
He laughed with some amusement and she smiled up into his eyes.
“You’ll come back again?” he asked. “You won’t disappear altogether again, Ellie? You’ll come back to see me?”
She nodded and got to her feet. “I have been here much longer than I planned,” she said. “I’m glad I came, Papa. You are really the only person of my very own left.”
“Come and be hugged, girl,” he said, and waves of memory washed over her as his arms closed about her and rocked her against him. Memories of bedtime, when her mother had been too busy getting dressed for the evening’s entertainment to come to the nursery to kiss her good night. Even the same smell, some curious mixture of brandy and snuff and cologne.
“Oh, Papa,” she said, giving in finally and totally to self-pity and really not caring for the moment, “how am I going to bear it when he goes away forever?”
“You’ll have your child,” he said, “and your papa. You’ll do, girl. You’ll do.”
THE EARL OF AMBERLEY was sitting sprawled on a sofa in a room adjoining the nursery of his house, his arms stretched out along the back. He was half-smiling as he watched his wife nursing their daughter.
“She is sleeping,” he said.
“I know.” She sighed. “And I should put her down, shouldn’t I? She is going to have to be weaned fairly soon. She is seven months old already. It is not fair, Edmund. Children should remain tiny babies for far longer than they do.”
“Well,” he said, “when Caroline has finished at your breast, Alex, we will just have to see about putting another child there, won’t we?”
She flushed. “Will we?” she said. “Oh, Edmund, you have me tingling right down to my toes.”
He grinned. “It seems a shame to waste the moment, doesn’t it?” he said. “And Caroline is asleep. However, I have just recalled that the minute I step back out into the nursery, I will have to give Christopher that promised piggyback ride. And I am talking about giving you more children?”
“We are really going back to Amberley next week?” she said, smiling. “I won’t believe it until we are there. Home again. It will be bliss.”
“I was somewhat surprised that Lieutenant Penworth has agreed to come along with Madeline, weren’t you?” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “But I am glad. I want to get to know him better. And having him to tea does not accomplish that. Madeline is so very careful to protect him from any awkwardness.”
“And only succeeds in making the whole situation impossibly awkward,” he said. “Amberley will be good for him. I think he has what it takes to cope with his handicaps if he is left to himself, Alex.”
“You mean if Madeline will stop coddling him,” she said.
“I don’t want to be unkind to her,” he said. “She has done wonders for him, I believe, and she is wholly devoted to him. I have never seen Madeline so unfocused on herself.”
“Will they be happy?” she asked.
He shrugged. “If they want to be, I suppose,” he said. “Being at Amberley should help them to get to know each other better. I mean, in more than a nurse-patient sort of relationship. The Simpson ladies will be here later. You are sure you want to invite them to Amberley too, Alex? I did not talk you into it?”
“You know I would have argued if I had disagreed,” she said. “I don’t. But I am not sure they will come, for all that, Edmund.”
“Dominic has made a definite decision to go into Wiltshire,” he said.
“But Mrs. Simpson is bound to feel awkward with us,” she said. “We are his family, after all. It would be lovely if they would come, though, Edmund. It was an inspired idea on your part. Madeline is friendly with both of them, and Anna has become very close with Miss Simpson. And Walter too, it seems. And it would be good for them to have the greater freedom of a country estate during the time of their mourning. And I like them. I would enjoy their company.”
“I feel under a great obligation to Mrs. Simpson,” the earl said. “I am still of the opinion that Dominic might well not be alive today if it were not for her. I would like to show my gratitude in some way.”
“Then we shall ask them when they come to tea,” the countess said. “I hope they say yes. You speak to them, Edmund. You are much more persuasive than I am.”
“Am I?” he said, getting to his feet and taking the sleeping baby from her arms. “I don’t suppose I can persuade my son to forgo his piggyback ride and my wife to visit our bedchamber with me, can I?”
She laughed. “No, you certainly may not,” she said. “You will behave yourself until the decent hour of bedtime, my lord.”
“I didn’t think I would succeed,” he said with a sigh.
JENNIFER WAS BUBBLING with high spirits. She still had moods of guilty remorse and would shed tears when she remembered that she was in mourning for her father. But Ellen did not resent the fact that the girl was returning to her youthful enthusiasm for life. Those two intense months they had spent grieving were quite enough for one so young.
Everything seemed to be going well for Jennifer. She had made friends and was having numerous outings. She had a few admirers, though Ellen did not think she was attached to any one of them. Including Lord Eden, she was relieved to find. Jennifer did not talk of him any more than she talked of Walter Carrington or Anna’s friend Mr. Phelps. And she did not appear to be nursing a private
They had visited Sir Jasper Simpson more than once, and Mr. Phillip Simpson on one occasion. And Sir Jasper appeared to have accepted Jennifer as his granddaughter. Indeed, the girl confided to Ellen after one visit, he had told her that she had the look of her grandmother when she smiled.
And he was as good as his word. He was holding a dinner and quiet evening party in honor of his newfound relatives. He had asked both of them if there was anyone in particular that they wished him to invite. Ellen had said no, but Jennifer had had her grandfather smiling indulgently as she had eagerly listed almost all of her acquaintances: Lord Eden, Anna and Walter Carrington, Mrs. Jennings, Lady Madeline, the Emery sisters.
“Lady Madeline is betrothed to Lieutenant Penworth,” she had said. “I knew him in Brussels, Grandpapa, but he was badly wounded and he does not like to be seen in public now. I don’t believe he would come.”
“But I will send him an invitation anyway,” the old man had said with a chuckle.
