Silence settled, thick and charged.
Beatrice poured the tea with steady hands, though her heart thudded hard against her ribs. She offered Lady Amelia a cup, which the woman accepted with both hands as though it could anchor her.
“We are alone,” Beatrice said softly. “You may speak freely.” Her voice remained calm, though dread flickered at the edges of her thoughts. “What troubles you?”
Lady Amelia stared into her cup as though the steam weakened her courage. A long beat of silence passed, taut as a thread, then her lips parted.
“It concerns… a child,” she whispered.
Beatrice’s heart lurched so sharply she nearly gasped.
Her fingers curled into her skirt. “Go on,” she managed.
Lady Amelia swallowed, her eyes shining. “Months ago, I… I was involved with Lord Simon Pembroke.”
The world seemed to slow for a moment.
Beatrice forced herself to remain still, her breathing even. “I see,” she murmured.
Lady Amelia’s composure cracked, just a little. “It was foolish. Entirely my fault. I don’t pretend otherwise. I fell in love too quickly. I was lonely, and he was… oh so kind, and I thought…” Her voice quavered.
“I sent several letters to Simon, but they all came back unopened. After his silence, I realized I was with child—” She stopped, covering her mouth as if steadying herself. “Everything collapsed. I was beside myself. I—” Tears welled up in her eyes.
Beatrice leaned in slightly. “Please, take your time.”
Lady Amelia nodded, breathing shallowly. “My parents sent me away to a small property in Surrey. No servants except the housekeeper. No visitors. No letters. They said that I had ruined myself and that everything must be handled quietly.”
She pressed her sleeve to her eyes. “That there was no future for me unless I agreed to… to marry a man they had chosen. I was to marry an older gentleman—a widower—the moment I returned.”
“And the child?” Beatrice prompted, though she already knew the answer.
“They intended to give her away the moment she was born,” Lady Amelia said, her tears spilling over. “Not to family, not to anyone who would know her name, but through some charitable intermediary in London—an orphanage they donate to.” She swallowed thickly. “They wanted no trace. No questions. No family. No name. Nothing.”
Beatrice felt a sharp, protective ache bloom in her chest.
Lady Amelia was fidgeting now. “I could not bear it. I begged them to let me keep her. They refused. I tried to run. They found me. I tried to write to Simon, but every letter was intercepted. The ones that made it to him were also sent back.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “When she was born, I had to send her away before I could even hold her properly.”
For a moment, she could not speak at all.
Beatrice exhaled slowly through her nose and reached for Lady Amelia’s hand. “Lady Amelia… I’m so sorry.”
Lady Amelia let out a small, broken sound. “I thought my heart would stop. Truly. The only thing keeping me from losing my mind entirely was knowing that I must find a way to reach someone who could help her. There was one hope. One.” She lifted her gaze. “Miss Verity.”
Beatrice’s breath caught.
Lady Amelia didn’t notice. She was speaking too fast, too desperate. “I had read her essays about women with no protectors. About the cruelty of society when mistakes are made by women and forgiven in men. Miss Verity’s words were the only kindness I had left.”
She trembled. “So when I could not find Simon, I found the printing house. I left my daughter with a note for Miss Verity,and…” She reached into her reticule with shaking fingers and drew out a folded handkerchief. Embroidered on the corner was the Wrexford crest, similar to the one on the blanket Pip came with. “And this crest, so Miss Verity would know that the child was not fatherless.”
Beatrice’s heart hammered.
Miss Verity. The printing house. The crest. Everything was converging all at once.
If Lady Amelia looked at her too closely, if her suspicion sharpened one inch…
But she continued, oblivious.
“I hoped Miss Verity might find Simon,” she whispered. “Or someone who could help. But later, I heard rumors. That the baby… ended up here, with you.”
