"Yes." It was too complicated to explain the circumstances of how he'd ended up with Noni.
"I see."
Silence.
"And you? Any children?"
Edward shook his head. "Not yet. Hopefully, Mary-Anne and I will be blessed with a child soon."
Edmund, who'd been pouring himself a second glass of brandy, almost spilled the liquid on the table. "Mary-Anne?"
"Yes, that's my wife's name."
"I say. It's just that my wife's name is Mary-Ellen. You know. Both Marys." And they'd been married about the same time, his mother had said. What a strange coincidence.
"Mary-Anne is with her parents now because her father is ill. She was due to return within the next few days, but if the boy has an infectious childhood disease, it might be better for her to stay away."
Edmund nodded.
There was silence again.
Well, dash it. He had better things to do than sit around awkwardly talking to his brother.
Edmund stood up. "I suppose I'll be retiring ... "
"Why didn't you come?" Edward interrupted.
"Come where?"
"Father's funeral."
Edmund stared at the porcelain horseman on the mantelpiece that he'd loved to play with as a child.
He shrugged. "Because."
"Because." Edward's voice was flat. "Is that all you have to say? We waited for you and delayed the funeral as long as we could, but then we had to go ahead without you. Mother was heartbroken and waited and waited for you. But you never came."
"And you know very well why." Edmund's face hardened. "I am not interested in dwelling on the past, going through it all again; who said what to whom and why. I have moved on, as have you." He went to the door.
"Ned—"
Edmund stopped and shook his head. "Let's leave it at that. I am here because the child is ill, and my wife has asked me to do something about it. As soon as he is better, we will leave, and you will be able to resume your lives here, undisturbed by my presence."
He left, his heart pounding.
He'd had nightmares about his father's funeral for months. A small crowd had gathered in the cemetery of the local church. It had been pouring. And it had not occurred to anyone that the shadowy figure under the chestnut tree had been him.
He'd arrived late and had left again before anyone had recognised him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
It was measles.
Fever, malaise, cough, inflammation of the eyes.
"The spots will come soon, most likely tomorrow or the day after," the doctor explained as he packed his bag. "I recommend willow bark tea to bring down the fever. A hot mustard and oatmeal poultice for the chest. And isolation. No contact with anyone in the household who hasn't had it. Keep the room dark and let the illness run its course."
Honoria, the Dowager Lady Tewkbury, said, "We've all had it; that is Edward and Edmund and myself. I dare say most of the staff have had it too, but it is well to be cautious and keep contact to a minimum."
