“I don’t see why you ’ave to go to London.” Crossing his arms, Da took a drag of his pipe.
Fancy stared at her father in disbelief. She and Knight had arrived at her family’s camping ground a quarter hour ago. Standing outside the caravan, she’d shared in detail what Knight had read to her from the newspaper.
“But I explained, Da,” she said urgently. “The price o’ shares in Mr. Murray’s railway company are plunging, the papers blaming Bea for it. They’re calling ’er vile names, saying she’s refusing to let Mr. Murray’s company lay track through ’er land because she wants more money. Seems like everyone in London invested in ’is company, and now there aremobsafter Bea and Mr. Murray’s blood. I ’ave to go to London—to be by Bea’s side.”
Worry flashed in her father’s bespectacled gaze, but he shook his head stubbornly. “Ain’t nothing you can do to ’elp ’er, petal. Murray’s a wealthy toff with connections, I’m sure ’e’ll sort it all out—”
“This may be beyond Murray.” Knight spoke up, his expression grave. “To ease Fancy’s worry, I will offer him my resources and help him however I can.”
She sent him a grateful look. He was such a noble man, the very best of husbands. Although no words passed between them, he seemed to read her thoughts, slight crinkles fanning from his eyes.
“But you be recently married to me girl.” Da’s voice vibrated with a tension that she didn’t understand. “You ought to be taking ’er on a wedding trip—”
“Da, what is the matter with you?” Fancy exclaimed. “Bea is my bosom chum and a friend to all us Sheridans. You taught me to never let down a friend.”
She couldn’t hold her frustration in any longer. Her father was acting strange—had been since Knight had proposed to her. Something was going on with him. He brought his pipe to his mouth again, his hand a bit unsteady, as if he was…afraid?
“Whatever it is, Da,” she said, gentling her tone, “you can tell me.”
“Ah, Fancy. The truth is…”—his eyes glimmered, his beard trembling—“I be afeared for you.”
“There’s no need to be afraid,” she said patiently. “I’ll just be keeping Bea company.”
“I ain’t afeared on account o’ Miss Bea.” Da took a shaky breath. “It’s on account o’ you, Fancy, going to London. There be a reason why I’ve ne’er taken you there.”
“I know you think the city isn’t safe but—”
“It ain’t because o’ that. It’s because o’you, me girl. Your past.”
A tingle raced up her spine. “What do you mean?”
“Me and your ma, we didn’t tell you everything about the day we found you in the fields.” Da drew on his pipe as if to fortify himself. “We kept it a secret from you, me Fancy, because we wanted to protect you.”
Premonition shivered through her. “Protect me? From what?”
“I don’t know,” Da said heavily. “But whoe’er left you in the fields that day…they did it because they thought you be in danger.”
The tingle became a chill that spread over her insides. At the same time, a wall of reassuring warmth came up behind her: Knight. Although he was not touching her, she could feel his protective strength, and it anchored her.
“You will explain that statement, Sheridan,” Knight said.
Da exhaled. “Wait ’ere. I ’ave something to show you.”
He went into the caravan. The sounds of rummaging came from within, and he returned scant moments later. He held out a piece of folded fabric to her.
With brimming curiosity, she unfolded it, holding it up.
“It’s a babe’s christening gown…mine?” she asked, astonished.
The garment was of immaculate quality and showed no signs of aging. The thick ivory silk slid smoothly beneath her fingertips, and lace as delicate as a spider’s web trimmed the neckline and wrists, a wide panel extending down the front.
“When I found you, petal, you be wearing this, wrapped in a velvet blanket as fine as any I’d seen. That is why I named you Fancy,” Da said in a gruff voice. “You looked like a wee faerie creature, and when you saw me, you stopped crying. You looked at me with big, wondering eyes and cooed. I knew then I couldn’t leave you there.”
Shock percolated through her. “But who would abandon a babe in such finery…and why?”
“May I?” Knight took the garment from her, examining it with an expert eye. “French silk, first-rate. The lace looks equally expensive, Belgian most likely.” He’d turned the gown around, pointing to a bit of embroidery on the left shoulder. “Did you see this?”
Fancy leaned in to take a closer look. The tiny, bell-shaped bloom was exquisitely rendered in shades of red and pink, flecks of yellow at its center.
