“Of course you could, for you’ve known my husband longer than I have.”
Charlotte’s mouth went dry, and she studied the child’s face again, glad for the excuse to savor the sight of him.
“Yes, I see the resemblance,” Charlotte said quietly. “Indeed.”
Charlotte excused herself and she and her great-aunt went into the kitchen to prepare tea. Charlotte helped her hostess bring out the tray of tea things and served their guests, trying in vain to keep her hand from shaking as she poured tea and passed the plate of scones. She was relieved Margaret had decided to purchase an unaccustomed sweet from the baker in addition to their usual sparse fare.
Katherine handed Edmund over to Sally and placed one of the damask napkins in her lap in his place. Katherine took a sip of tea, barely covering a grimace—Margaret made their tea weak to conserve—and began filling the awkward silence with her articulate speech, telling how they had closed up their London home for a few months and returned to Charles’ estate.
“Charles feels the country air will be so much better for Edmund. I am not so sure how I shall fare, so isolated from the rest of the world. How I shall miss the season in town. But you know how it is—maternal sacrifice and all that. Whatever is best for my Edmund.”
Charlotte’s stiff smile began to waver, and she brought her teacup to her mouth just in time to cover the quiver of her lips.
Katherine took a bite of her scone, with a somewhat more approving expression, leaving the room silent again. Even Margaret was not her talkative self for once. Perhaps she found having a titled lady in her home somewhat intimidating.
Then, above the dainty clink of china cups on saucers and the clicking of the mantel clock, a baby’s single cry pierced the silence. For a moment it seemed everyone froze, or didn’t appear to have heard. Charlotte kept her eyes on her teacup, praying Anne would fall right back to sleep. Another cry arose. Margaret looked over at her first. Sally looked down at Edmund—sitting happily on her lap—then glanced up at her, questioningly. Katherine looked around the room at them all.
Charlotte got to her feet and said brightly, “Well! That was a short nap.” She walked to the guest room and looked down into the cradle at Daniel Taylor’s daughter. Anne’s face was a wrinkled peach of need, which relaxed into contentment as soon as Charlotte lifted her into her arms.
“Forgive me. I don’t know what else to do,” she whispered and returned to the parlor.
“And this is Anne,” she said, returning to her seat on the settee and holding the child close to her. She attempted to move the conversation along. “We were all so dreadfully sorry about the fire. Have the repairs been completed?”
“Yes, for the most part,” Katherine said, eyes on Anne.
“And Mrs. Harris. That is ... Mr. Harris’s mother. She is well, I trust?”
“Yes. Quite well. Pleased to be back in her beloved home and delighted with her new grandson.”
“Of course she is.”
“You are familiar with her other grandson, are you not?” Katherine asked.
“Yes. Mr. Bentley visited the vicarage on occasion.”
Katherine looked at Charlotte closely, then her gaze dropped again to the child in her arms. She set down her plate.
“Here, let us see her. Anne, was it?” Katherine held out her hands, leaving Charlotte little choice but to rise and place the child in her arms for inspection.
“Hello there, Miss Anne,” Katherine began, situating the girl on her lap. “Was that you making all that fuss? Not very ladylike, are you? Oh, that is better. I believe she has fixed her eyes upon my feather.” No conventional platitudes about the child’s beauty nor perfection from Katherine Harris. “She is so different from Edmund. They look nothing at all alike.”
Was that relief in her voice? Had she suspected, somehow, her own husband?
“Well, that is not surprising,” Charlotte said. “You and I are not so closely related. And though they were born only a week or so apart, boys and girls are often so different—”
“She is a bit on the small side, is she not?” Katherine interrupted.
“Perhaps a bit,” Charlotte allowed.
Katherine seemed to study the child more closely. She looked from the babe to Charlotte, then back again.
“We have not seen William for quite some time,” she said quietly, not lifting her eyes from Anne’s face.
Charlotte did not answer immediately, for she had not seen him nor anyone from home these many months, save Aunt Tilney and Charles. Neither of whom she could mention.
Just when Charlotte decided Katherine expected no response, that she had merely mentioned William idly, Katherine looked up at her, eyebrow raised in question.
Charlotte shrugged. “Nor I.”
