Rosa looked from one to the other, expression uncertain. “But I don—”
“As a nurse, it is my opinion that you could use an uninterrupted evening of rest,” Anne insisted, eyebrows meaningfully high. “Would you not welcome some time away from these rooms? Several hours to ... slip away ... with a sweet lullaby on your lips?”
“Lullaby? What nonsense.” Lady Celia frowned. “She may be young but not that young.”
Understanding dawned on Rosa’s face and her eyes brightened. “Indeed, I would. But only if you’re both sure you can do without me.”
“Of course we can.” Lady Celia waved a dismissive hand. “Go on with you. Get your beauty sleep.”
When Rosa had gone, Lady Celia narrowed her eyes at Anne.
“Are you up to something?”
“I truly believe an evening off will be good for Rosa.”And for herchild and uncle.
“You are certainly protective of her all of a sudden. I wonder why?”
Anne shrugged. “I suppose in part because she reminds me of my own sister.” She looked Lady Celia in the eye. “Fanny? You must remember her.”
“Must I? Why? I remember your parents and grandparents, but I don’t recall your sister. I did not remember you either when Dr. Marsland brought you here.”
“Fanny Loveday? A pretty girl. Far prettier than I. Fair-haired. Rather like Rosa?”
Lady Celia shook her head. “Any reason I should remember her, specifically?”
Annoyance flared, although Anne made a concerted effort to moderate her tone. “Because you forbade your nephew to marry her.”
“Which nephew?”
“Mr. Dalby.” Now that Anne knew more of his character, she did not feel obligated to keep silent about his past connection to Fanny.
Again the older woman shook her head. “I did no such thing. I never even heard him mention her. Are you saying he pursued her with ... honorable intentions?”
“He courted her one summer, when Fanny and I were staying here with our grandparents. Professed to love her. Promised most faithfully to marry her but then announced he must break things off.”
Anne remembered holding Fanny in her arms as her sister sobbed inconsolably, eventually making herself ill over the loss. Anne had been sincerely worried for her sister’s health.
Lady Celia said, “I suppose I threatened to disinherit him, or some such?”
“Yes.”
“I did not.”
“But he—”
“Let me guess.” The woman lifted her chin. “Poor besotted Jude would have kept his promise if not for his cruel aunt. Not his fault. And you all felt sorry for him.”
“Fanny did, yes.”
Lady Celia raised her hands. “Maybe he did admire her. Perhaps his intentions were even honorable, until he realized she had no dowry.”
“She did have a dowry! Not on the scale you are likely accustomed to, but certainly a respectable amount. My mother had some money of her own from a wealthy uncle, and my father is a successful surgeon.”
“Not enough to keep Jude in the style he has become accustomed to. As soon as it had been spent, the two would have been poor.”
“Yet the fact that youcouldthreaten to disinherit him means he expects an inheritance, and they might have lived on that.”
Another shake of her head. “My daughter will receive the lion’s share. I did plan to leave something for each of my nephews. Not a fortune, mind, but at least several hundred pounds. But even if I do, they won’t receive anything until after I’m gone.”
