she would have feared his rejection. Yet she ought to have known that he cared for her and would listen to her story with sympathy.
It was not her secret that had hurt him so much as her lack of trust, Justin thought. However, she had told him the truth now and he must respect her for that because…he did not wish to lose her. He was not certain why he disliked the idea of an annulment; it was not fear of scandal, though he would be loath to sully his family’s good name. No, it was more—an odd feeling that his life would become an empty wasteland if Lucinda were no longer in it. During the time she was missing he’d never allowed himself to consider his own feelings, but he’d never given up hope that she would be found.
To throw away all the good that could come from his marriage because his wife had been the victim of an evil man would be ridiculous.
He had a few more people he must speak to in town and then he would return to Avonlea. Justin could only hope that his show of temper had not alienated Lucinda altogether. He would try to save their marriage, because he did not wish for a final parting. Meanwhile, he would buy her a pretty trinket to show her that he was sorry for his show of temper.
Lucinda looked around the nursery. It was a large pleasant room that had a sunny aspect and would be warm even in winter. She thought how pleasant it would be if Nanny and Angela could live here. The cottage was well enough for the moment, but as her daughter grew she would begin to wonder why she was forced to live in a cottage while her mother lived in the big house through the woods.
Sighing, Lucinda opened the cupboard door. She had discovered a hoard of treasure in the form of books and small toys. So far she had taken a doll with a wax head, which might have been used by a dressmaker to show off her latest designs, a carved wooden horse and two picture books.
She was reaching for an abacus when a noise behind her made her aware that someone was there. She turned with a little start, feeling absurdly guilty.
‘You startled me, Mrs Mann. Did you wish to speak with me?’
‘Will you be out this morning, ma’am? Cook wondered what to do about luncheon.’
‘Oh, yes, I shall,’ Lucinda said. ‘I was just admiring the nursery. I think my husband and his siblings were fortunate children to have such a pleasant room.’
‘Yes, it is nice,’ Mrs Mann said. ‘Were you thinking of having it refurbished? I know the last lady of the house thought that Nanny’s room needed some attention.’
‘Yes, perhaps I shall,’ Lucinda said. ‘I shall speak to his Grace about it. Thank you, you may go now.’
‘I was wondering about some of the rooms in the west wing, my lady. When you have time you might wish to take a look—especially at the attics. In the old days the servants had rooms there, but they were moved to the east wing because the rooms needed repairs. His Grace’s father spoke of having them improved, but it did not happen. Some of the maids are sharing and it would be better if we could use those rooms again.’
‘Yes, I understand,’ Lucinda said. ‘I shall look at the rooms this afternoon when I return—if that suits you?’
‘Yes, ma’am, whenever you wish.’
Lucinda waited until the housekeeper left and then reached back into the cupboard. She took out the abacus. It would help Nanny teach Angela her numbers and was only wasted here. No one used these apartments and would not until…The thought of having Justin’s child brought a smile to her face. If that were to happen, she would be very happy—yet deep inside her there was pain because Angela would be shut out of this family. Even if Lucinda made time to visit her once a day—and when Justin returned that might be more difficult—she would always be on the outside, never taking her proper place in her mother’s life.
Tears stung Lucinda’s eyes as she hid the abacus under her cloak and went downstairs. Giving her daughter sweetmeats and toys was a poor substitute for a proper home and the security she truly needed. It was useless to repine! The child would be waiting. She must hurry or Angela might have a tantrum. She did have a temper; though Nanny did her best to calm her, she was not as young as she’d once been and the child played her up at times.
‘I thought she was just being naughty at first,’ Nanny said as they stood by the child’s bed and looked at her flushed face. ‘She cried for you most of last night and this morning she threw her milk at me—but then she became hot and I realised she was not feeling well.’
‘Do you think she has a tummy upset?’
‘Perhaps. She ate her supper last night, but this morning did not touch her boiled egg. I thought perhaps we should have the doctor—what do you think?’
Lucinda laid a hand on the child’s brow. ‘I think she has a fever. I shall walk into the village and ask the doctor to call. I shall tell him the child belongs to my cousin and that she died. You are her nanny—that much at least is true.’
‘More lies, Lucinda?’
‘What else can I do?’ Lucinda asked. ‘I brought some things for her—but she is too ill to want them now. I shall go and fetch the doctor straight away.’
Leaving the cottage, Lucinda walked very fast down the narrow lane that led to the village. The doctor’s house was at the edge of the green. She went up the path and knocked loudly. A smiling apple-cheeked housekeeper answered the door within a few seconds.
‘What is your business, mistress…your Grace?’ The woman looked startled and dipped a hasty curtsy. ‘Forgive me. I did not realise… Please come in, my lady.’
‘Is your master at home?’
‘Yes, my lady.’
‘I would see him at once.’
‘Had you sent for him, he would have attended you, my lady.’
‘No matter, I am here and my business is urgent. Please take me to your master now.’
‘Yes, of course. Please come this way, my lady.’
Lucinda followed, her heart thudding. She must be very careful in her deportment. Concern for the child of a cousin was acceptable, but she must do nothing to make him suspect that she was Angela’s mother and not merely her second cousin.
Lucinda was late returning to Avonlea that afternoon. The doctor had taken his time examining Angela and then questioned her severely about the child’s nutrition. She had explained that her cousin had fallen on hard times and that she had known nothing of their poverty until her cousin became ill and subsequently died.
‘I was called away unexpectedly to her deathbed,’ she lied. ‘I had some trouble in sorting out her affairs after the funeral and in finding a good woman to look after her child, who still cries for her mother.’
As Angela had woken and clung to her, weeping and crying, the doctor had seemed to accept her story. He said that her sickness was merely a tummy upset and suggested that perhaps her diet was too rich.
‘If she has not eaten well for a long time, too much food may have upset her digestion. You should give her plainer fare and introduce meat and puddings slowly.’
‘It may be my fault for giving her sweet biscuits and cakes. I wanted to spoil her,’ Lucinda said. ‘We shall follow your advice, Doctor.’
