Chapter Fourteen
As the days grew shorter, it became evident that winter was going to arrive well ahead of schedule. But given the lack of anything resembling a summer, Hecate wasn’t surprised.
The Tisdale twins still slept at Doireann Vale now and again, but were least in sight for the rest of the time. Mrs. Trimmer’s cousin lived five minutes from the farm, and had a convenient guest room she was very happy to let out to Phoebe and Hestia. Her own daughters had married and moved away, so having girls back in the house was something she very much enjoyed.
Hecate thought she might also be enjoying the developing romances.
But she could see that both Hestia and Phoebe were beginning to find their feet as normal young women busy about building lives. No longer were they hunting likely protectors or chatting loosely about their London careers.
Even their outfits had changed, since there was no fashionable modiste to garb them in frills and furbelows.
They were in serviceable cloaks on this particular morning, bundled against the sharp wind and bracketing Digby who had come to fetch them, and carrying a few more of their clothes in bags.
Hecate watched them chatter animatedly as they walked away down the drive.
“It’s delightful, isn’t it?” Augusta’s voice sounded behind her. “Watching those two become the girls they were supposed to be.”
Hecate detected a bit of a wistful note in the older woman’s tones. “It is indeed. I don’t believe it’s ever too late to become the person we were meant to be…”
Augusta smiled a little. “Thank you for that, my dear. And thank you for all your care.” She sighed. “I cannot tell you what a low point I had reached when I arrived on your doorstep. And you had no reason to take me in. But you did.” She reached for Hecate’s hand and grasped it tightly. “You saved my life, Hecate. Truly you did.”
“Will you join me by the fire?”
Augusta hesitated. “I won’t be in the way?”
“Of course not.” Hecate held out her hand. “Come. Just an hour. You and I.”
Unable to resist such a persuasive invitation, Augusta nodded. “All right.”
Settled by the fire, and watching the flames dance as the wind whistled around the corners of the building, Augusta sighed. “It’s odd, you know.”
“What is?” asked Hecate.
“That I should sit here and feel no urge to be anywhere else. No desire to buy a new gown, find a new lover…just sit here and let the world pass by.”
“Perhaps the desire to enjoy some solitude was buried beneath the fast pace of your life in London,” Hecate suggested.
Augusta raised her eyebrows.
“Would you give me your hand, Augusta?”
“I…of course…” The older woman extended her arm. “What for?”
Hecate took it and enfolded it with her fingers. “Let me ease your mind.” She closed her eyes.
Augusta remained silent, perhaps in confusion or curiosity.
Within her thoughts, Hecate once again allowed her gift free rein. It had been silent of late, but now, with Augusta’s hand in hers, it returned. A flood of pain made Hecate gasp, and she knew she was sharing some of the heartbreak that only a mother who had lost a child could experience.
“Oh dear God,” she whispered, tightening her grip. “Let it go, Augusta. All of it…”
Whether she realised it or not, Augusta did. The love she’d felt for the father and the heartbreak when he’d turned away from her after she told him about the babe.
And the guilt. Dear Lord, theguilt.
Once again she spoke softly. “It was not your fault. You did nothing wrong. This babe was not meant for you, Augusta. It could not survive. Its spirit will be born to another. You were never at fault in this.” She gripped Augusta’s hand hard as she drained the agony from her. “Believe me. You werenever at fault.”
Augusta broke their connection and fell back in her chair, a weak cry on her lips and tears on her cheeks. “I thought it was me. I thought I’d killed the child somehow…that I had done something…”
