“Yes, for a time. Though I’ve been offered a seaside cottage for a few months and am considering taking it. I think a change of scenery might do Lizette good.”
“Where is the cottage?”
“Not far from Shoreham on the south coast. Nothing very fashionable, I’m afraid.”
“I don’t know a soul there ...”
“Of course it is not that we do not wish you to come. If you wanted to continue on, we—”
“I would. I would like to continue on as Anne’s nurse.”
“Really? Well, wonderful.”
“I do not like to leave my great-aunt so suddenly, but I am sure she will understand.”
“Yes. She seems a loyal friend.” He smiled, thinking of the old woman’s enthusiastic falsehoods, as though she were playing a part in some Shakespearean farce.
“Now that Katherine knows I am here ... well, should she return and find Anne gone, I would have to explain. I am not prepared to go through another false mourning. Although neither would be truly false.”
He nodded.
“And seeing Edmund like that,” she continued, “with her. I don’t know. It is both nourishment and deprivation. Pleasure and pain.”
He bit his lip. “But if you stay here ... you would be more likely to see him now and again.”
“Yes. No doubt you are quite right. And yet, I know myself. I would both hope—and fear—that someone would see a resemblance, or some inexplicable quality in my manner of looking on him. I know I should give myself away. Give him away.” She expelled a puff of dry laughter. “Poor choice of words, that.”
“You hope still to amend your arrangement?”
“Only every other moment. Most of the time I remain convinced I have done the right thing.”
He ran his long hand over his face. “I feel so responsible—”
“Dr. Taylor,” she said almost sternly. “We have been through this before. You are not to blame. Not for any of it. Not even for this.” She nodded toward Anne as a new thought struck her. “Perhaps it is I who should be releasing you to go home without me, back to your former, trouble-free life. As long as you must seemeyou will always be reminded of how I came to be in your employ, will always feel responsible somehow.”
“Atrouble-freelife.” It was his turn to laugh dryly. “I am afraid my former life is as far from me as yours is from you. Though there are days when I am tempted to hope. Like now, when Lizette seems almost herself.”
“Well, then, let us not tarry.” Charlotte smiled bravely. “Let us get this dear one back to her mama. One cannot help but be cheered by her sweet presence.”
“I quite agree. And I am pleased you will meet my wife now that she is recovered.” He hesitated, then continued awkwardly, “It might be better if we did not mention her ... time ... in the manor.”
“Of course. I understand.”
Soon, farewells said and bags packed, Charlotte sat across from Daniel Taylor in the London-bound coach, Anne asleep in her arms. Two other passengers rode with them, an elderly couple with expressions as worn as their faded traveling clothes and drooping hats. The old woman smiled politely.
“How old is she?” she asked.
“Five-and-a-half months.”
The woman glanced at Dr. Taylor, who was already reading a medical journal. “She looks a great deal like your husband.”
Charlotte felt her cheeks warm. “We are not ...”
But Dr. Taylor looked up from his book and interrupted her, saying kindly, “Thank you, madam. Though I dearly hope my daughter shall grow more handsome in time.”
He smiled at the woman, and she smiled in return, not seeming to notice anything amiss.
Later, when both the man and the woman had nodded off, Charlotte leaned across the aisle and asked quietly, “Do you think my cousin suspected anything ... about your coming to my aunt’s as you did and, well, everything?”
