“So there might. Poor Mama! Ten children, and possibly more! She must be quite worn out.”
“At least she is alive,” Juliet said.
“But your mama is alive, too… or at least, she did not die in childbed all those years ago.”
“Then where is she?” she said in despairing tones. “Why did she abandon me? If she still lives, why did she never make the least push to find me?Yourmama is constrained by Papa’s prohibitions, and your brothers too, I suppose, butshewas not, not after…” Her voice died away to nothing.
“After the divorce? No, she would have been free of his authority, but I imagine the shame would keep her away from society and therefore away from London. And how would she find you?”
“Through the family lawyers, I imagine. I am her daughter, after all. She must be dead, Simon. I cannot believe that she would not try to find me. We could have been together all this time. I could have had a mother who loved me, and not—”
“Not Aunt Tabitha?” he said, smiling suddenly. “She was not the most maternal woman, was she? Kind in her way, but she could be harsh… unforgiving.”
“I think she did not understand children,” Juliet said. “She had never had any of her own, or any contact with them, so when I was foisted on her, I am not sure she knew what to do with me. I suppose she meant to be kind, by telling me Mama was dead. Such a scandal! My own mother, being so wicked that her husband divorced her! It does not bear thinking about. What do you suppose she did?”
“The usual thing is breaking the marriage vows.”
“What does that — oh! You mean that she—? With another man? Heavens!”
“You know, I think you are right,” he said. “There must have been the most fearful scandal, the whole thing dragged through Parliament. Everyone would have known.”
“Of course, but—?”
“Well, the duke knew her, so he might remember what happened. He might even know what became of her afterwards.”
She jumped to her feet, and paced rapidly across the room and back. “The duke! But I cannot ask him about it. It would be too shaming.”
“No, but I can. She is not my mother, after all, but it is to do with my family, so I have the right to know.”
“He might not tell you.”
“In which case we are no worse off, but he must remember something of it. He remembered your mother very clearly, so he will know something. If you give me permission, I shall speak to him privately and see what I may learn. He might even know where she is now, and thenyoucould contacther.Think how splendid that would be, if we could find her, Juliet. To meet your mother after all these years… would it not be a fine thing?”
“If she even wants to meet me,” Juliet said gloomily.
12: A Bridge Over The River
The following morning, Sophia and her sisters were permitted a brief visit to congratulate Rowena and admire their new niece. Richard held the sleeping baby in his arms, gazing down at his daughter with a beatific expression on his face.
“Is she not perfect?” he murmured, as the sisters cooed over her. “Look at her tiny fingers… and such long eyelashes! She is the most beautiful creature.”
Sophia stared at the wrinkled little face and blotchy skin, saying all that was proper but rather shocked that she was not, in fact, perfect, despite the delightful little hands now curled into fists and the eyelashes that would be the envy of her friends, if they survived to adulthood. Wisps of dark hair peeped out from beneath an overlarge cap, and occasionally her lips made little movements as she slept. Perhaps she dreamed… did babies dream? And of what could their dreams be filled? Milk, she supposed and the strangeness of the world, so new and so filled with noise and light and colour and movement.
Rowena was sitting up in bed, her breakfast tray still before her. She looked tired and very pale, as if she were recovering from the influenza.
“What do you think of her?” she asked, smiling as the sisters left the baby to Richard and surrounded the new mother instead.
“So small!”
“So delicate!”
“Beautiful!”
Sophia scratched around for something true to say. “She seems to like sleeping in Richard’s arms.”
Rowena rolled her eyes. “She has a perfectly good crib, but he dotes on her… quite the besotted father.”
“And you… how are you?” Charlotte said. “Was it awful?”
