style="font-size:15px;"> “You truly are an angel of mercy, Mrs. Martin,” Lady Elspeth sighed as she settled back. “But I did so want to chat with you.”
“Later. First, you must rest and rally your strength.” Laura paused. “By the way, does your daughter know the nature of your illness?”
Lady Elspeth opened one eye. “No. I thought it best not to tell her. For years she’s begged me for a baby brother or sister. I feared if … if this ended as the previous two have, she’d be disappointed—and upset. When her dog died last summer, she was distraught for days.”
“She’s upset now, worrying about her mama,” Laura said gently. “‘Tis your choice, my lady, but if it were me I’d tell her what afflicts you is normal and shall soon pass. Children that young do not understand how babies arrive. If you tell her only that a new sibling is a happy possibility, she would probably be no more than mildly disappointed should your hopes … not be realized.”
“She worries?” Lady Elspeth said. “Ah, my poor babe. I suppose I’ve been too ill and cross to notice. Perhaps you are right, Mrs. Martin.” She forced a tired smile. “A wise angel as well as a guardian one.”
“Rest now and I’ll fetch your tea. We’ll talk later.” Much later, if I have any say in it, Laura thought.
She’d brushed through that well enough, and the idea of walking in the garden with Lady Catherine—someone with whom she needn’t be always on her guard—was enormously appealing. Perhaps she’d slip invisibly through the last few days of tending Kit Bradsleigh and reach home safely after all.
Chapter Eight
Feet clothed in sturdy walking boots and hands encumbered by a linen cloth filled with jam tarts fresh from the oven, two days later Laura entered the garden.
Though she still spent much of her time alone, keeping vigil over Kit Bradsleigh at night and dining in her room, she now had these afternoon outings with Lady Catherine to look forward to. Dr. MacDonovan had informed her this morning that, unless their patient took a sudden turn for the worse, he expected to leave at week’s end. By then, Kit Bradsleigh would no longer need round-the-clock care.
Which meant surely Kit’s older brother would be leaving soon, as well. A departure which she viewed with increasingly mixed feelings.
Removed from his too perceptive scrutiny, she’d be safe once more. And if life without the surge of mingled elation and alarm he sparked in her whenever he appeared would be less energizing, she’d do well to remember why she’d previously rejoiced at a life of dull monotony.
She’d also be able to return home, though she’d still spend much time at Everett Hall tending the recuperating invalid. And visiting her new friend Lady Elspeth.
Laura shook her head ruefully. Lady Elspeth insisted Laura called her “Ellie,” claiming she could not remain on formal terms with the woman who’d saved her brother’s life and the practitioner whose treatments had considerably eased her own misery. She treated Laura with such beguiling warmth that, having been so long deprived of the companionship of a woman her own age, Laura had great trouble maintaining any reserve.
Catching sight of Lady Catherine, whose nurse, though recovered from her ailment, was happy to let Laura walk her energetic charge about the garden, Laura waved.
She loved spending time with Catherine, despite the ever-present ache of regret for what might have been and now would never be. She’d grown up the youngest child of a large family. When her elder siblings returned to visit with their offspring, it was only natural that the aunt, hardly older than her nieces and nephews, should join them in the nursery. Only natural, as well, that with only adult companions most of her days, she reveled in their company.
Better even than the warm memories Catherine’s chatty escort revived, or Laura’s freedom when with the child to relax the constant guard she otherwise maintained, was the precious ability to wander the grounds as long as she liked, protected by Catherine’s small hand in hers from having to worry about encountering the earl alone.
In fact, Laura and her charge had met “Uncle Beau” every single afternoon. Always delighted to see the earl—who seemed to take equal delight in his niece, Laura noted with approval—Catherine had no qualms about monopolizing Lord Beaulieu’s time and attention. Laura was able to observe him and indulge in the heady thrill of his company, freed of the stomach-clenching anxiety that normally afflicted her in his presence.
Since Catherine had confided her uncle planned to meet her after their walk to take her riding, Laura was not surprised when, soon after she and Catherine seated themselves on their favorite bench beside a fragrant hedge of late-blooming damask roses, Lord Beaulieu approached.
Awareness of him flashed over her nerves like a wind-driven ripple across a lake’s calm surface.
“I saved you a tart!” Catherine cried, running over to offer him the crumbling remains of a pastry.
Ignoring the grubbiness of the jam-stained fingers, the earl accepted the treat. “Kind of you, princess. And I must thank the little wizard who coaxes the squire’s cook to come up with these delicacies for tea every day.”
“Not me,” Catherine pointed out with scrupulous fairness, munching the last bit of her tart. “Laura does. Cook likes her. I do, too. Don’t you, Uncle Beau?”
The earl turned his smiling face toward Laura—and caught her staring. She felt the warmth of embarrassment flood her cheeks and tried to look away, but his smile fading to something deeper, more intimate, he held her gaze … one minute, two. “Very much indeed,” he said softly before turning his attention back to his niece.
While her cheeks burned hotter and fluttery wings beat within her stomach, Catherine continued, “Uncle Beau, I have a secret! Only Mama said I could tell you and Laura, so it’s all right to share, isn’t it?”
“If she said you could, poppet.” The earl flashed Laura a brief but oddly intense look. “I love secrets, and I never tell anyone.”
Lady Catherine’s eyes gleamed with excitement as she grabbed her uncle’s coat sleeves. “It’s wonderful, and you’ll never guess. Mama said next Easter, I might get a new brother or sister!”
So Lady Elspeth had confessed, Laura thought, pleased.
“That’s indeed wonderful news,” Lord Beaulieu said. “Which should you prefer—a sister or a brother?”
“I don’t suppose it matters. I’m ever so much older, it shall have to mind me. Mama says getting a baby is a curious sort of game. Playing it makes her sick sometimes, but if she wins, she gets to keep a baby. But not everyone wins, so I should not be disappointed if we don’t get a baby after all.” Lady Catherine wrinkled her brow. “It’s a very odd sort of game, don’t you think?”
Lord Beaulieu laughed. “I wonder what your papa would say to that?”
“Well, I much prefer ball and spillikins, but Mama says I can’t play the game anyway until I’m a lady, and married. If we should get a boy, he can ride and play catch with me. And if it’s a girl, I shall give her my old dolls and my dresses when I outgrow them. But only pretty ones. Not ugly ones like
