“I am so sorry, my dear. So very sorry. How this loss must pain you.”
“Indeed it does. At times I can barely breathe for it.”
“I understand. And yet, who can question God’s will? Perhaps He allowed this so you might return to your family.”
“I do not see how this changes anything.”
“But it does! The evidence is—”
“Evidence! He was not evidence—he was my son. My precious little boy, my heart.”
“My dear, forgive me. I do understand.” Her aunt wrapped her other arm about her shoulders.
“I am so glad you are here.”
“May I ask, then ... whose child this is?” She nodded toward the basket.
“Dr. Taylor’s daughter.”
“And why are you ...?”
“His wife is ill. He has asked me to be the child’s nurse.”
Amelia Tilney lifted her gloved hand from Charlotte’s and laid it across her lace-covered chest.
“Can you seriously be thinking of accepting this offer?”
Charlotte nodded.
“You know what disgrace such a thing would bring to your family were it known?”
“More disgrace than I have already brought?”
“Substantially. My dear, if you must have a post, be it that of a governess.”
“And who, pray, would hire me to teach and mold their children?”
“Many families would. Many fine families.”
“Now that I haven’t a babe with me, you mean. I shall not lie about it.”
“I understand your scruples, my dear—though some might wonder where they were in other matters.”
“Aunt—”
“Forgive me. You know I only want the best for you.”
“I do know that.”
The older woman squeezed her hand again, and the two sat quietly for a moment. Then her aunt continued, “I think your secret is still safe, my dear. Your father and sister know, of course, and the people here, but they are not likely to be in contact with the type of family with whom you would seek a situation.”
“Surely others have guessed ... or at least suspect.”
“Suspicions do not allegations make. Of course there is the ... father. Does he know?”
“Yes.”
“And is he trustworthy?”
