Both women, still standing beside the tall carriage, turned to look at her. But it was Sally who sprung into movement first, handing her bundle to Katherine and hurrying over to Charlotte, arms outstretched, her thin face overwhelmed by her crooked, toothy smile.
“Bless me, Charlotte! I didn’t know it was you we was visiting!”
Sally threw her arms around her and held her tight.
Charlotte took the opportunity to whisper urgently. “Sally. Please. Don’t say a word about ... my son. I’ve a baby here, a girl. Please don’t say anything. They all think she is mine.”
“But ... I don’t understand ...”
“Please. I’ll explain when I can.”
“Well, I gather you two have never met,” Katherine said wryly. Charlotte and Sally pulled apart. Katherine was looking at them with a speculative grin.
“Sally and I met in London.”
“Oh?”
Charlotte took a deep breath. “Yes. She worked at the lying-in hospital where I ... spent my confinement.”
Katherine shook her head, lips pursed. Charlotte lowered her focus to the ground.
“That father of yours ...” Katherine grumbled. Charlotte looked up at this unexpected response. “Well, cousin”—Katherine raised a brow—“are we to be invited in for tea or not? I am dying to show off my son.”
Charlotte glanced quickly at the bundled child in Katherine’s arms, where she had been trying to avoid settling her gaze.
“Yes! Forgive me. Please do come in.”
Once they were all inside, Charlotte began the introductions.
“This is Margaret Dunweedy, my great-aunt on my mother’s side. And this is Lady Katherine, my cousin on my father’s side.”
“And this is my son,” Katherine added. “Little Edmund Harris.”
“Oh, he’s lovely,” said Mrs. Dunweedy appreciatively. “How old is he?”
“He was born October ...” Katherine thought for a moment.
Staring at him, Charlotte whispered, “The second ...”
Katherine looked at her, puzzled. “The seventh.”
“So, six months old,” Margaret went on quickly, smiling and glancing at one, then the other of them.
“And this ...?” Margaret nodded toward Sally.
“Oh.” Katherine waved her hand dismissively. “This is Edmund’s nurse.”
“Sally Mitchell,” Sally supplied with a friendly smile.
Katherine sat on the worn, stuffed chair, holding Edmund on her lap. She turned sideways a bit in her seat to show her child off to the fullest vantage. “What say you, Charlotte? Is he not absolutely perfect?”
Charlotte swallowed, her eyes drinking in the still-familiar face—the prominent, upturned nose, the crease between the faint eyebrows. Yet how changed he was! He was able to sit up now, with a bit of support. His cheeks were rounder, his close-set, serious eyes more alert. Her heart ached. Her arms ached to hold him.
“Yes, perfect,” she mumbled, then forced a smile. Edmund gave a toothless grin in response, and Charlotte had to bite her lip to hold back tears.
“I think he looks just like Charles. Do you not agree, Charlotte?”
“I could not say ...”
