a glance at Theo—who perhaps wasn’t concealing her distress as well as she thought. ‘Shall we have tea?’
‘Of course. I’m devilish thirsty myself,’ she said drily. ‘I’ll ring for Franklin.’
After instructing the butler to bring tea and refreshments, Theo joined her aunt on the sofa.
‘How long can you stay? I’ll have Reeves prepare you a room. It’s a bit hectic with the children not settled yet, but I think we can make you comfortable.’
‘Children?’ her aunt repeated. ‘So you still have them—Jemmie, the boy your father took in when his sergeant father died? And the little girl you wrote me about. Besides Charles, of course. How is the poor little orphan?’
‘Doing well,’ Theo said, her heart warming as she thought of him. ‘A sturdy four-year-old now.’
‘Goodness, that old already! His father’s family never...’
‘No. Lord Everly’s commander, Colonel Vaughn, wrote to his father again when I returned with Charles after the birth, to inform him of the poor mother’s death in childbed, but the marquess did not deign to reply.’ She neglected mentioning how she’d rejoiced at learning she’d be able to keep the child. ‘So, he’s still with me. Indeed, I can’t imagine being parted from him.’
‘You’re quite young enough to marry and have sons who truly are your own,’ her aunt replied tartly. ‘I suppose you had to do your Christian duty and accompany that unfortunate girl, enceinte and grieving, back to England after Everly was killed. I do wish you’d made it to London for the birth, though. How unfortunate to have his mama fall ill, stranding you at some isolated convent in the wilds of Portugal! Naturally, after her death, you felt obliged to take charge of the infant until he could be returned to his family. But with that family unwilling to accept the boy and Richard gone—are you sure you should continue caring for him? As for the others, would it not be better to put them into the custody of the parish? Under a colonel’s guardianship, such an odd household might have been tolerated in the army overseas, but even with your papa present, such a ménage here in England would be considered very strange.’ She sighed. ‘You were ever wont to pick up the stray and injured, even as a child.’
‘I’m sure you would have done the same, had you been there to see them, poor little creatures left on their own to beg or starve.’
‘None the less, without Richard... It’s just not fitting for a gently reared girl to have charge of...children like that.’
Theo laughed. ‘After growing up in India and all those years following the drum, I don’t believe I qualify as “gently reared”.’
Her aunt gave her a fulminating look. ‘You’re still gently born, regardless of the unconventionality of your upbringing, and are as well, I understand, a considerable heiress. Despite your...unusual circumstances, I wouldn’t despair of having you make a good match. Won’t you come to me in London for the Season, let me find you a good man to take your father’s place in your life?’
With a firm negative shake of her head, Theo said, ‘I can’t imagine a prospective suitor would look kindly on the idea of taking in a child not his own. Since I won’t give up Charles, I doubt my fortune is large enough to tempt any man into marrying me. That is, any man I’d consider marrying.’
‘You do yourself a disservice,’ Lady Amelia protested. Giving Theo a quick inspection, she said, ‘Your figure is fine, your complexion lovely, and those brown eyes quite luminous. I’m certain my maid could do wonders with that curly dark hair. You’re a bit taller than is fashionable, but with the proper gowns, I think quite a number of eligible gentleman might come up to snuff. You are the granddaughter of an earl, after all.’
Waving Theo to silence before she could protest again, Lady Amelia continued. ‘If you love Charles as you say you do, you must know the best thing for him would be for you to marry! Give him a father to pattern himself after, someone who could teach him all those manly pursuits so important to gentleman, and introduce him to the clubs and societies he must frequent to be accepted by his peers. As for the other children... I don’t wish to set your back up, but it really would be better for them to be placed in an institution where they can learn a vocation. You do them no favours, to raise them above their stations.’
Ignoring her aunt’s words about Charles, which had the uncomfortable ring of truth about them, Theo said, ‘I don’t intend to raise the others above their stations. In fact, arranging for their proper care is the main reason I decided to come here. I have to admit, I’m looking forward to having a settled home again myself, something I’ve not had since we left India.’
She left unspoken her fear that making a life alone in England, the ancestral home in which she’d never lived, whose ways often seemed as strange to her as India’s would to her aunt, might prove a daunting task.
No matter, she would master it. She must, for the children and for herself.
‘I did wonder why you chose a manor in Suffolk. As I understand the provisions of the will, Richard left you numerous properties, along with your mama’s considerable fortune. Why did you not settle on one of them?’
‘The solicitor informed me that all the properties are let to long-term lessees, whom I wouldn’t wish to displace. So I asked Mr Mitchell to find me a suitable country manor to rent, something with a sturdy outbuilding nearby of sufficient size to be turned into a dormitory and school. A place where the children can learn their letters and be taught a trade.’
Her aunt laughed. ‘Goodness, that sounds like a great deal of trouble! Wouldn’t it be simpler to send them off to the parish? It’s only two children, after all.’ At the look on Theo’s face, she said, ‘It is just the two?’
‘Well, you see,’ Theo explained, well aware of her aunt’s probable reaction to the news, ‘Colonel Vaughn told me before we left Brussels how much he appreciated what Papa and I had done for the orphans. After Waterloo, I...found two others, and in a reply I’ve just posted to his letter enquiring about the possibility, I assured him I would be happy to take in more.’
‘Theo, no!’ her aunt cried. ‘You can’t mean to bury yourself in the country and turn into some glorified—orphanage matron, looking after the children of who knows who!’
‘Who else will look after them, if I don’t? Should I just stand by and see the offspring of our valiant soldiers end up in a workhouse? Besides, I need something useful to do with my life, now that...now that I won’t be running Papa’s household any longer,’ she finished, proud to have made it through that sentence without a tremble in her voice.
‘My dear Theo, you’re far too young to behave as if your life is over! I know you believe you buried your heart when Marshall fell at Fuentes de Oñoro. But I promise you, one can find love again—if you will only let yourself. I’m certain Lieutenant Hazlett wouldn’t want you to dwindle away into an old maid, alone and grieving.’
‘At seven-and-twenty, I imagine society already considers me at my last prayers,’ she evaded. Though it had been more than five years now, she still couldn’t speak of the horror of losing Marshall. Loving so intensely had led to intolerable pain, all she could endure. She had no intention of subjecting herself to that ever again.
Besides, she could never marry someone without telling him the truth—and she didn’t dare risk that.
‘I’ll not argue the point—for
