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“She doesn’t need to. I visited the gallery at the Foundling Hospital. There was not a single painting there that was any better than Jane’s work.” Phoebe plopped down on the sofa again, a pleased smile on her face. “I am right. You shall see.”

Jane put a hand to her head. There was no reasoning with Phoebe when she set her mind to something, and it was going to be almost impossible to extricate herself from this confusion without breaking Lord Bloxley’s confidence.

“Then I suggest we allow her to read the letter to find out for herself,” their mother said.

Phoebe gave a dramatic sigh. “Very well.” She leaned forward. “Read it, Jane.”

Jane was beginning to think that if her heart pounded much harder, she might collapse. “Forgive me,” she said, reaching for the back of the chair. “But I suddenly find myself not feeling very well. Would you mind terribly if I retire to my room for a little while?”

Her mother frowned. “You do look rather pale.”

Phoebe rose again, concern replacing the excitement in her eyes. “Are you in terrible pain? Let me help you.”

“There is no need; I shall be fine.” Jane managed a reassuring smile. “I did not sleep well last night, but I have no doubt that if I rest for a short time, I shall be much improved by dinnertime.” She pointed to the small pile of letters still sitting on the salver. “Stay here. You and Mother have invitations awaiting responses.”

Phoebe eyed the top envelope. It was cream in color and bore an elegantly embellished B. “Perhaps there will be some event that will interest you too, Jane.”

Jane nodded. She could not actually think of what that could possibly be, but passive agreement would undoubtedly speed her getaway.

“Enough talking,” their mother said. “Jane, you must go to your room to rest. We cannot have you feeling poorly when your Aunt Millward arrives. Heaven knows, you are quite her favorite in the family.” She reached out and pulled the bell. Moments later, Alice appeared at the door.

“You rang, ma’am?” the young maid asked.

“I did,” her mother said. “Jane is not feeling well. Would you please assist her upstairs?”

Alice bobbed a curtsy. “Of course, ma’am.” Jane took a few more steps toward the door, and Alice met her halfway, slipping her arm through Jane’s. “Not to worry, miss. I’ll ’ave you t’ your bed in no time.”

“Thank you, Alice.” Jane forced herself to relax. An escort would not have been her first choice, but she would accept Alice’s unquestioning help over Phoebe’s relentless probing.

Slowly, they crossed the hall and started up the stairs. The letter burned in Jane’s hand. More than once, she was tempted to pause their unhurried progression up the staircase and sit down on the next step to read it. But in this instance, privacy was more important than immediacy, so she forced herself to push on without so much as a glance at the envelope.

At last, they reached her bedchamber. Alice opened the door and stood aside so Jane could enter. The room was not as large as her bedchamber had been in Yorkshire, but Jane loved it. Bright sunlight poured in through the two large windows, bringing the vivid colors of her floral bedspread to life. A chest of drawers topped with a pretty blue-and-white washbasin and jug sat next to a tall wardrobe, and in the corner, a writing desk and chair looked out over the gardens.

Alice led her to the large four-poster bed and waited until Jane was situated on it before positioning three pillows beneath her head.

“There now, miss,” she said. “Give me ’alf a moment and I’ll ’ave a fire burning for you.” She started toward the fireplace, where kindling had already been laid in preparation for the evening.

“It’s all right, Alice,” Jane said. She would rather endure the room’s cool temperature than prolong her wait any further. “The blanket over there will suffice.” She pointed to a wool blanket folded across the back of her chair.

“Very good, miss.” Alice picked up the blanket and brought it to Jane. “Will there be anything else?”

“No, thank you,” Jane said.

Alice was carefully tucking the covering around her legs, and Jane’s grip on her patience was beginning to slip. She closed her eyes. One more minute. Surely that was all it would be. She felt Alice’s hands pat the blanket in place once more, and then came the sound of her soft footsteps crossing the wooden floor. The door opened and gently clicked closed again.

Jane opened her eyes. Pulling her arms out from under the cover, she withdrew Lord Bloxley’s letter from the envelope and began to read.

Claremont House

28th April 1788

Dear Miss Hadford,

I am most appreciative of your efforts with regard to Asher Barton. Both your letters arrived today, and although I was grateful to hear that you had located and spoken with Asher, I found your subsequent observations regarding his welfare concerning. Determined to learn more about Mr. and Mrs. Stanley, I made a second visit to the Foundling Hospital and spoke once again to Mr. Morris.

It appears that over the past twelve years, Mrs. Stanley has been a wet nurse to six wards of the Foundling Hospital. Each was a male child, and of the four who preceded Asher and the baby currently in her care, three died before they returned to the hospital.

Three of the four! Jane placed her hand over her mouth. Infant and child deaths were all too common in England—particularly amongst the lower classes—but to lose three boys on three separate occasions . . . Jane shook her head, a vision of Asher’s gaunt face and large brown eyes filling her mind. Returning her attention to the letter, she prayed that this discovery had alarmed Lord Bloxley as much as it did her.