“Why not?” Aunt Belle asked. Evidently, she knew Hope’s secret too. “I’ll give you that men aren’t the most attentive sort, but any talk of a baby should make them focus.”
“Graham is plenty attentive, thank you very much,” Hope said, quick to defend her husband. “It’s just that I don’t know how he will feel about it.”
“Well, I’m sure he will feel happy about it,” Grace said, looking around the table. “It’s nature, isn’t it? The goal of all males, in any species, is to reproduce. I believe he will be plenty pleased by this news.”
“Yes Grace, compare him to giraffe or an egret,” Faith said sarcastically, eyeing Grace.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Grace scowled.
“He’s going to be thrilled, my dear,” Aunt Belle said, giving Faith a lightly chastising gaze. “Absolutely thrilled.”
“Yes,” Hope said, unsure. “I hope so.”
Faith took a bite of her toast, grateful to have any sort of distraction from her own worries. It seemed everyone was just about to return to their meals when Andrews, who was standing next to the doorway, turned. With a nod, he took a step forward.
“Mrs. Jeanne Carlyle,” he said as Jeanne entered the room.
Dressed in a cream-and-brown gingham riding habit with a matching tam-o’-shanter, Jeanne smiled broadly as she came swooping into the room.
“Good morning, my friends,” she said as everyone turned to look at her. “What’s this? So much gloom for so early in the morning. I hope there is nothing in the tea that’s turned your stomachs?”
“Of course not,” Belle said, waving a bejeweled hand at an empty chair. “Please. Join us.”
“I’ve already had my breakfast,” she said, turning to Faith. “Are you ready?”
“Oh dear, were we set for lessons today?”
“Yes. Don’t tell me you forgot.”
“Not exactly, but I’m afraid lessons won’t be possible today,” Faith said, picking up her teacup. “Sweetness has been stolen.”
Jeanne’s smile fell away.
“A horse thief? In these parts?” she asked, unbelieving. “That’s preposterous.”
“It’s true,” Hope said. “And Graham and several of our grooms have gone to try and track him. Much to my dismay.”
Jeanne looked back and forth between Hope and Aunt Belle.
“Do you think the man who shot at Mr. Harris just two days ago is the same one who stole the horse?”
“Well, it certainly wasn’t a faodail,” Faith said, more to herself than anyone, as she sipped her tea.
It was a throwaway comment. She had grown to enjoy the Gaelic terminology, and she seized the excuse to use the newest word she’d learned. But when she cast her eyes on Jeanne, her cheeks had turned ghostly white, and she was staring at Faith with eyes as round as saucers.
“What did you say?” she breathed, her tone barely above a whisper.
Faith gave her a curious look as she gently set her teacup down.
“Did I not use that correctly? I thought I did,” she said, noting her sisters’ confused stares. “It means lucky find, doesn’t it? I meant that Sweetness wasn’t just found, was she?”
“Where did you learn that term?” Jeanne asked, taking a trepid step toward Faith.
Faith looked back at Jeanne, puzzled at the intensity in her voice. She noted that the others were watching their exchange with interest.
“Mr. Harris taught it to me,” she said honestly. “Just the other day.”
Jeanne blinked once, then twice before her shoulders dropped. She shook her head and inhaled slowly.
