Before Ginny reached Kimpton Manor’s portico, the door swung wide. “Lady Maudsley, Lady Irene, Lady Cecilia. Come in out of the rain.” The Kimptons’ old and very proper butler, Oswald, stood just inside. “Lady Kimpton awaits you in the parlor.”
“Thank you, Oswald.”
They handed off their cloaks and umbrellas, and Ginny led the girls in. “Lorelei?”
Lorelei rushed over. “Oh, Ginny.” Her eyes were swollen, her nose red, her flaxen hair disheveled and out of sorts.
Ginny hugged her. “What’s happened?” She followed Lorelei’s eyes to Irene and Celia. They were so young. For all Irene’s ever worldly-wise manner, she was still a child. And there she stood with her wide gray gaze as unsure as Ginny had ever seen her. Celia’s pose was more comforting with her thumb tucked securely in her mouth.
Lorelei dabbed her eyes. “Please forgive me, ladies. It’s been a trying day. Lady Irene, perhaps you’d care to take Lady Celia to the nursery. Nathan is crying, and there’s no one about to get him to stop except the two of you.”
Irene took Celia’s hand. “Of course,” she said without the slightest inflection in her voice. She did try a small smile, however, and Ginny couldn’t have been more proud. Spontaneously smiling was not in Irene’s repertoire.
After the door closed softly behind them, Ginny led a shaken Lorelei to the settee. “Tell me, dear. What is all this about?” She held her hand in a tight squeeze.
“When we returned from the theater last night, it was quite late. I-I looked in on Nathan, then Corinne as I always do. Then this morning she didn’t come down for breakfast, I thought nothing of it. But as the morning grew later—” Lorelei’s face fell in her palms, her body wracked with her sobs. “I should have tried to wake her last night. I should have stayed home.”
Ginny wrapped her arms around her friend. “You couldn’t have known, Lorelei.”
“She swallowed almost an entire bottle of laudanum.”
“I’m so sorry, Lorelei.” Ginny was at a loss; she owed Lorelei so much. She could only hug her friend, be glad that she could be there for her.
The door opened, and Kimpton walked in with Brock. Another older man followed. His whiskers, streaked with gray, twitched but not with a smile. The somber expression in his eyes had Ginny rising with a trembling Lorelei, each clinging to the other.
Kimpton came over and took Lorelei’s hand from Ginny. “Lorelei, Dr. Pogue has news.”
Ginny’s stomach coiled into a million knots, and suddenly Brock was at her side, his arm around her waist. A large protective barrier. He tangled his fingers with hers. Still, nausea threatened enough that she feared casting up her accounts.
Dr. Pogue leaned forward and clasped his hands at his lower back. “My sincerest condolences, Lady Kimpton. I did everything I could.”
The air in Ginny’s lungs refused to expel. A white-hot light flashed behind her eyes, and her head felt close to exploding with the force of a musket. Her knees gave way, but Brock caught her, lowering her to the sofa behind them.
This could have been her girls the year before. Abandoned by their mother, if not for the marquis risking all to save her. He was the sole reason her children still had a mother. Silent tears rolled down her face. Had Corinne intentionally taken so large an amount? If so, how could she have left her beautiful baby boy behind? Such an action seemed unfathomable to Ginny. If it turned out to be suicide, how on earth could they keep it quiet? This would taint Nathan for the rest of his life.
Lorelei’s soft sobs were the only sound in the large parlor. “Why?” she whispered, echoing Ginny’s own mantra.Why? Why? Why?
Kimpton shot Brock a speaking glance. Brock squeezed her hand. She read his mind as clearly as if he’d spoken. He rose and moved swiftly across the room to usher the elderly man from the room. Kimpton led Lorelei to the settee, situating her next to Ginny. He looked at Ginny, his gaze reflecting the depths of his anguish for Lorelei. “Please, stay here, darling,” he said softly. “I’ll return shortly.”
Ginny took hold of Lorelei and nodded. She couldn’t have spoken had a gun been held to her head.
The tears streaming down Lorelei’s cheeks broke Ginny’s heart. “Why would she do such a thing? She had a home here. I did my best to welcome her. I don’t know what else I could have done.” All remaining resolve, if any, collapsed. “What of… of Nathan?”
“This was not your fault, Lorelei.” Ginny gripped her hands. “You said it yourself. You gave her a home.”
“She’s my brother’s wife. I couldn’t just toss her to the streets like so much rubbish.”
“Who knows why someone chooses death over life,” Ginny whispered. “As you said, she was not well.”
Lorelei calmed somewhat and agreed. “No. No, she wasn’t. This is absolute proof. The depths of her pain must have been”—she shook her head—“immeasurable.”
“Yes.” Ginny pulled her handkerchief from her reticule and pressed it into Lorelei’s hand. “You have a child to raise now. Your brother’s child, and he’ll need you more than ever.”
Lorelei swiped the tears from her face, blew her nose, and straightened her spine. “You’re right, of course. Thorne and I are his parents now.” Kimpton and Brock reentered the room.
Kimpton strolled over to a tray and poured out four glasses of brandy. He handed off one to each of them. “For medicinal purposes,” he said. He leaned over and kissed his wife. “You are correct, my dear. Until we locate Harlowe, Nathan will indeed be raised as our son. He is forever welcome here.”
Ginny looked away, blinking hard. How true and sure their love for one another was. She wondered if they realized how precious and rare their gift was. Could this have been her and Brock? Could it now, if she grabbed her courage with both hands and trusted him?
