“I told Charlotte as well. She was most relieved, I can tell you.”
“Charlotte?”
“Yes, she stopped by the inn this morning.”
“Oh? She did not return to Crawley?”
“Nay. She’s staying on in Shoreham for a time.”
“Is she?”
She nodded. “Something to do with your Dr. Kendall, but I didn’t hear the particulars. Place was too loud to hear much of anything.”
Daniel swallowed. “I see.”
Taking a deep breath, he changed the topic. “Mrs. Taylor is still asleep. Peacefully at last. Do your best to keep Anne quiet so as not to disturb her. I am just going to ride into town and send a message to my father. I shan’t be long.”
“Yes, sir.”
When Daniel returned an hour later, he opened the door gingerly and was relieved at the peace and quiet that greeted him. He laid aside his hat and went in search of his wife. No one was in the parlor or dining room. She wasn’t still sleeping, surely—although they had lain awake together until the early morning hours.
Upstairs, he found their bedroom empty, the bed neatly made. Peeking into the third-floor nursery, he saw it, too, was empty. Stepping down the passage, he tapped lightly on Sally’s door, thinking to check on Anne. Sally answered the door, sleep etched plainly on her features, her mouth stretched wide in a yawn. “Must have fallen asleep,” she said.
“Is Anne awake?”
“I believe so.”
“She isn’t here with you?”
“Mrs. Taylor wanted to have her to herself. Poor dear said it felt like a month of Sundays since she’d held her little girl.”
Daniel smiled. Had Lizette’s maternal feeling been restored, along with her affection—and desire—for her husband? Nearly as quickly, his smile faded.
“Where are they? I saw no one downstairs.”
“Off to get some fresh air, I believe she said. Oh dear, have I done wrong?” Sally’s expression grew pained. “She told me to go on and have a rest. And after last night, I was happy to oblige.”
“I’m sure all is well,” Daniel muttered, already heading for the stairs. But he wasn’t sure at all.
“Should I start packing, sir?” Sally called after him.
“Packing? Why?” He paused midway down the staircase.
“Mrs. Taylor said something about going home.”
He froze. “Home?” But he had assured her he would not yet take her back to the Manor.
“Aye. Are we returning to London soon?”
“I ... I don’t know,” he called over his shoulder as he rushed down the stairs.
He found Mrs. Beebe in the kitchen.
“Have you seen Mrs. Taylor?”
“Yes, sir. She went outside with the little one.”
“When was this?”
