“Is she gentle, quiet, and well-tempered?”
“She seems so.”
“And her hair? Is it red? Redheads have a milk-curdling effect with their temper, according to Dr. Guillemeau of France.”
Esmée hid her exasperation. “Dr. Guillemeau is dead, and his nonsense with him. Alice’s hair is flaxen, anyway.”
“What of her child-rearing principles? I cannot conscience the use of Godfrey’s Cordial to quiet a baby.”
“Rest your mind. Alice cannot afford such.” Esmée worked a flower with silver thread. “Would you like me to send word to the almshouse and see if she’s agreeable to your plan?”
Eliza affected her most pronounced pout. “I suppose so, though I do wonder what the wags will say when they learn an almshouse castoff is beneath my roof.”
“They shall say ’tis your sister’s doing.”
“I suppose. But what else can I manage? I’ve had no success with a wet nurse as advertised.”
“You’d do well to disregard the wags and dwell on Alice and how you both might benefit the other.”
Eliza began a whipstitch on a handkerchief. “Sister, you seem to have an answer for everything and no trouble expressing it.”
“Have you given serious thought to nursing your own child instead?”
“I have not.” Eliza made a face and rang for tea. “Your bluestocking notions are most unwelcome. I shan’t be tethered to an infant night and day.”
“Then if you’re sure, I’ll seek out Alice on the morrow. She’s friend to my maid, Lucy.”
“Very well, then. I lack the time and temper to take care of it. My confinement is nearly at hand.” She rang for the fire to be tended next, as she was cold, despite the shawl Esmée had settled round her shoulders. “Enough talk about mundane matters. I’d rather hear about Captain Lennox.”
Esmée took her time answering. “Henri has been gone more than a fortnight in what is thought to be a two-month sailing.” She bit back a sigh as she stitched. “Sealed orders.”
“Sealed orders indeed. Quinn is quite tight-lipped about the matter. No doubt your stalwart captain is in pursuit of French ships, fooling them with false colors and all the rest.”
“He’s left me a sea chest of letters.” Esmée felt aflutter even voicing it, the chest’s tiny key on her chatelaine.
“Letters? From the past?”
“He began writing them years ago when we parted. I find it quite romantic. I’ve been saving them to read in his absence.”
“And will you marry immediately upon his return?”
“’Tis the plan. On Indigo Island by his new sea chaplain.”
“Speaking of sea chaplains, Nathaniel Autrey is coming to our holiday party.”
“Oh? Is he well?”
“How blandly you ask about him. You’d rather marry a privateer and reside on an all but deserted island when you could live but a stone’s throw from your sister at Mount Autrey.”
“I would indeed.”
Their conversation paused as a tea tray was brought. Esmée abandonedher embroidery, the room’s drafts calling for a steaming cup. She poured and added sugar and cream to Eliza’s, knowing just how she liked it.
“How goes it on the island?” Eliza took a sip. “You’re the talk of the Tidewater, what with your sudden betrothal and being appointed lightkeeper.”
“I can only imagine the tittle-tattle,” Esmée said. “Keeping the light is all I’d hoped it would be, as is life on the island. Serene and simple and beautiful, even in winter.”
“No sand fleas, at least, since ’tis cold.” Dulcet jumped from Eliza’s lap, jarring her cup. “Father said he can see the light from the townhouse’s rooftop in York.”
