However, she’d found in Alicia, a sympathetic ear. The duchess did not question nor criticize her decision, although she made it clear that she did not agree with Hera’s portrait of Hurtheven.
“You had to think of Annis first, dearest,” Alicia said. “As a mother, I can fully understand. However, you cannot anticipate all the possibilities that you’ll find open to you. Hurtheven may surprise you yet.”
Hera touched her crumpled handkerchief to her nose to hide her doubt.
The only way Hurtheven would see her again is if they’d created a child last night. And even then, she was not sure, under the circumstances, he would renew his offer to wed.
She’d been a coward for asking the others to tell him the whole. She’d wanted to spare herself the scene. And she’d thought it best that the news be delivered by his friends.
Now, she wished she had found the courage. She wished she’d forced him to voice his ultimate rejection. Perhaps the pain of it would have made this other pain more bearable.
“Thank you for your many kindnesses.” Hera leaned back against the cushions, taking in the view outside. “You needn’t have come. I’m sure you will miss the children.”
“I already miss them! But”—she chuckled to herself—“I’m sure you noted how thrilled they were to have another week at Hevenhyll before returning with their father to Wisterley. I will see them soon enough. And you must promise to visit.”
“I will.” When there would be no danger of seeing Hurtheven.
“And now, you must turn your mind to your most urgent tasks—reacquainting yourself with your child and settling into your new life.” She gently and kindly redirected Hera’s attention.
And so, they talked of other things, mostly pertaining to the rearing of a young child. If the directors made a definitive decision, she’d have Annis safely at home just before her first birthday.
“Tell me again about the boardinghouse?” Hera asked.
“From the outside, it appears to be just as it was built, the home of a family of means. But internally, the inner sleeping apartments have been transformed into suites of rooms. Each with a bedchamber, a dressing room, and a parlor. Meals are shared in the main dining hall. And residents, I’m told, often gather in the downstairs parlor at night.”
Cautiously, Hera allowed herself to dream.
Her grandmother—Mrs. Grant—had owned and lived in the house Alicia described. She’d been the granddaughter of a country squire—her father, his youngest son. She’d married a wealthy merchant, and they’d had one child, Hera’s mother. Hera’s grandfather, the merchant, had been the moralist who cast out his child.
Hera’s grandmother had not been of the same mind.
After Mr. Grant’s death, Mrs. Grant had turned their home into a boarding house for unwed mothers and widows. She’d written to Hera’s father.
Hera would never know what, if, or how her father had replied.
Imagine! A grandmother who would have taken her in, only a mile’s walk from where Hera had resided with her brother. They might have passed each other in the market or stood in line awaiting a fresh cup of milk!
In any event, her grandmother had willed Hera the whole, with the caveat that the home retain its current purpose. What was left over would be just enough for Hera to support herself and her daughter in a modest fashion.
She and Annis, they would be safe.
The sum bequeathed wasn’t anywhere near what Hurtheven had written in the contract, but Hera did not intend to demand that right.
In fact, at the moment, she couldn’t bear the thought of being in contact with him at all.
* * *
After a gruelingly suspenseful hearing—made only somewhat less potentially hazardous by Hera’s changed circumstance—and the full repayment of all expenses the foundling hospital had spent on Annis’s care, Hera was able to legally reclaim her daughter.
Soon, they were happily settled in their new apartments. With a competent housekeeper in charge of the day-to-day running of the boardinghouse, Hera was able to fully focus on her child.
Annis, at first, was a serious little thing...shy and quiet and reticent. Hardly surprising, given her early circumstances. Hour by hour, however, the tension was draining out of her little body, though she still kept a tight grip on any part of Hera she could grab.
But she did venture an occasional smile.
Hera was content. Each time she gazed into her child’s wide, blue eyes; her bruised heart surged with love. Theywouldheal.
They would heal together, just the two of them.
