“I am sorry.”
“Do not make yourself unhappy. I feel blessed to have Rachel Cox as my mother. And these children to call brothers and sisters.”
“How well do you remember your first mother, as you called her?”
Thomas’s eyes stayed on the distant sea as he thought. “Quite well, though I cannot recall her features as clearly as I once did.” He picked up a pebble and tossed it as well.
Charlotte swallowed the lump in her throat. She asked quietly, “Do you miss her?”
He looked at her, clearly surprised by the question, or her shaking voice. No doubt he saw the tears in her eyes as well. He returned his gaze to the sea. He was silent for some time, picking at the pebbles near his legs, gathering them into his large hands. Finally he said, “I have all I could wish for with my family here. But ... yes, there is a ... a quiet longing for her. I am a man of two and twenty but still I sometimes dream of her. In the dreams, I cannot see her face, but I can feel her arms about me.”
Charlotte nodded, biting her lip. Tears rolled down her cheeks.
Thomas looked at her, his expression serious and aware. He said nothing but simply waited.
She opened her mouth then closed it again. Finally, voice quivering, she whispered, “My son ... is being raised by another.”
Slowly, he nodded his understanding. “Edmund?” he asked quietly.
She nodded, and neither said more.
As soon as Charlotte stepped into the parlor, Mrs. Taylor rose from the settee. “You have been gone a long while, Miss Lamb. I was beginning to fear I would never see you—or my daughter—again.” She smiled as she spoke, but an understandable mixture of relief and displeasure strained her features.
“Please pardon me, madame. I took Anne for a walk and lost track of time.”
Only then did Charlotte notice the older woman seated across from Mrs. Taylor, half hidden by the wings of the tall arm chair. The lady appeared to be in her fifties and had a beautiful coif of silver grey hair under an elegant black hat.
“Mrs. Dillard has been waiting for nearly an hour to meet Annette.”
“Forgive me. I did not realize you were expecting guests.” Charlotte handed the little girl to her mother.
“Here she is, Mrs. Dillard. Is she not beautiful?”
The older woman rose and Charlotte saw that her attire, though practical, was finely made. Mrs. Dillard stepped across the carpet with dignified ease. “Yes, lovely.” She patted the child’s head with jeweled fingers. “Very like you.”
“Thank you. Please, do sit down again, Mrs. Dillard. I shall call for more tea.”
But the woman remained standing. “Now that I have met your charming daughter, I really must be going. Ladies’ Charity meeting begins—” she lifted the watch pendant hanging from a chain at her waist—“dear me, half an hour ago.”
“I am so sorry to have kept you waiting, Mrs. Dillard.”
“No need to apologize. I understand how difficult it is to find a dependable nurse.” The woman spoke as though Charlotte were not standing there in the doorway. “My daughter has been through two in the last four months. The first one nearly ate the larder down to the walls.” She pulled on her gloves. “Thank you for the kind invitation, Mrs. Taylor. I do so hope you enjoy your holiday here.”
Mrs. Taylor’s smile was forced. “You are very kind. Thank you.”
The woman bid her good-day and Charlotte held her breath, preparing for the worst.
The door closed, but Lizette Taylor still stared after the woman. “There will be no answering invitation, I can promise you.”
“I am sorry, madame.”
“Yes—you did not help me impress the ladies.” She sat down heavily on the settee, jostling Anne, and waved her hand in a fatalistic gesture. “But they would not be impressed in any case. The other two ladies left before tea was even served. They remembered some church meeting they ‘simply must attend.’ I am surprised Mrs. Dillard stayed as long as she did.”
Before Charlotte could form some consoling response, Mrs. Taylor continued, “They were eager enough to respond to my written invitation. And how they smiled when they first arrived—surprised to find a doctor’s wife so finely dressed, I think. But then I began to speak and how their smiles fell from their faces. When they realized I was French, they could not leave quickly enough.”
“Perhaps they really did have obligations.”
Again the dismissive wave.
