They had stopped walking again, having run out of terrace. Abigail bit her upper lip as she fought tears. “I havebeen wondering,” she admitted, “how I can justify living here on Harry’s bounty when he has very little himself except his officer’s pay. I am not even sure he is still receiving all of that. At the same time I did not know how in all conscience I could continue to accept the very generous allowance Marcel has made me since he married my mother.”
“Then wonder no longer,” Anna said, squeezing her arm and turning back in the direction of the house. “Harry will have more than just his officer’s pay, and you... Accept what is yours by right, Abigail. Please. We are equally our father’s daughters.”
Abigail released her arm, fumbled for her handkerchief, dabbed at her eyes, and blew her nose. Then she caught Anna up in a wordless hug.
“And may I say,” Anna said after they had both sniffled a bit more, “that I admire your decision to do what you want to do with your life instead of giving in to what the family has been urging you to do for at least the last five years.” They continued walking more briskly back to the house as a light drizzle began to fall again. “Trying to fit into society in order to find a husband is clearly not what you want to do, and I do not for a moment believe it is cowardice or the fear of rejection that holds you back. You will find your way eventually, or perhaps thisisyour way and you have already found it. Either way, I believe in you, Abigail. I really do.”
“Were you by any chance a teacher once upon a time?” Abigail asked, and they both laughed, because indeed Anna had been a teacher at the orphanage. Together they hurried up the steps and into the house to get out of the rain. “I had better go and find Mama and the grandmamas and aunts and let them know that I will be staying here with Harry when they all leave. Perhaps then they will stop fretting over him so much.”
“I would not count on it,” Anna warned. “It is more likely they will merely add you to the to-be-fretted-over list.”
They both laughed again.
“Oh, Anna,” Abigail said as they turned to go their separate ways inside the house. She hesitated a moment. “My brother and sister call me Abby. You are my sister.”
“Thank you, Abby.”
And from this moment on, Abigail thought as she hurried away, that must be how she thought of Anna. Just as Camille had been doing apparently for the past five years. She must not just think kindly of her.
Anna was hersister.
Six
The Westcott family and Mrs. Kingsley left Hinsford a week to the day after the arrival of the Bath contingent. They seemed happy to have assured themselves that Harry was indeed home safe and no longer hovering at death’s door. They were less happy at having failed to persuade him either to return to London with them or to allow them to send a nurse and even a physician to see to his future care. Harry—as the Duke of Netherby had predicted—had listened politely to all the suggestions made by his mother, his aunts, and his grandmothers, but had remained firm in his determination to stay at Hinsford without any resident medical care. He reminded them all that there was a perfectly decent doctor in the village even if he was probably seventy or so.
It was good to see his friend so firmly asserting himself, Gil thought. He had never really done it in Paris, quite unlike the old Harry.
Now everyone was leaving.
After breakfast on the appointed morning, all was bustle in the hall, out on the terrace, and on the staircase while various persons dashed up and down in pursuit of forgotten or might-have-been-forgotten items. Carriages were lined up outside while horses stomped and snorted or stood patiently awaiting further orders. Some of the men helped the coachmen and servants from the house sort out the luggage and load it onto its rightful vehicle. The women hugged Harry and the sometimes reluctant children and one another. Children darted everywhere, usually to places they were not supposed to be.
Gil helped load the carriages, though he kept an eye on Beauty too. She was always gentle with children, and she knew these particular children well by now. But almost all of them found it necessary to dash at her to give her hugs, and she was noticeably agitated, perhaps sensing that they were all leaving. The little Cunningham boy hugged the dog and would not let go even when his mother called him to the carriage. It was obvious to Gil that he was sobbing quietly into Beauty’s neck.
“Remember what we talked about last night, Robbie?” his father said, coming closer and rubbing a light hand over the boy’s shoulder.
“You will forget,” the boy said sullenly, scrubbing the back of one hand across his eyes and nose before Gil handed him a handkerchief.
“No, I made you a promise,” Joel Cunningham told him. “Have you ever known me to break one?”
The boy frowned up at him, sniffed, and shook his head. “I really, truly can have a dog all of my own?” he asked.
“And of your own choosing too,” his father said. “We will set about finding one after we get home. You may take your time about it until you see just the one that belongs with you.”
“Promise?” the boy said.
“I promise,” Cunningham said gravely, squeezing his shoulder. “Give the handkerchief back to Lieutenant Colonel Bennington now. It is time to leave.”
Robbie hugged Beauty one more time and subjected himself to a face licking. The back of his hand dealt with the resulting moisture and he dashed away to the carriage while Cunningham smiled ruefully at Gil and shook his hand.
“Thank you for sharing your dog,” he said, “and even allowing Robbie into your room. I think perhaps we have found an answer for him at last.”
As Gil turned his attention to a large trunk of the dowager countess’s that needed hoisting aboard her conveyance, he saw the boy seated inside his father’s carriage. He was lifting his arm to set about the shoulders of his deaf brother, who must have been aware of his distress and had snuggled up against him.
What would it have been like, he wondered, to have grown up as part of a family? But before any of the old, pointless bleakness could intrude he shook it off and repositioned the trunk so that there was room beside it for Lady Matilda’s smaller portmanteau.
Another quarter of an hour passed before everyone was finally aboard one or other of the carriages and coachmen were slamming doors and climbing to their perches. Horses snorted with impatience to be moving. Gil stepped back to stand beside Harry, who had come outside a few minutes ago.
And something struck him.
