Chapter Seventeen
Once their landlady had collected their dishes and left, they sat in the quiet, the only sound the muted crackling of the fire and the wind in the trees outside.
It was beautifully peaceful, Tessa thought.
Flora, clean and well fed, was snuggled sleepily on her lap.
Her precious new daughter. Tessa could hardly believe it.
Marcus was sipping wine and staring into the flames, seemingly deep in thought.
Tessa broke the silence. “How are we going to explain Flora when we go back to England?” The question had been nagging at her ever since they’d decided to keep her. It was one thing for Marcus just to announce it, but he was an earl and used to everyone obeying him without question.
But arriving with a toddler out of the blue would be bound to cause gossip and speculation.
She didn’t care about her own reputation—that was lost long ago—and Flora was too young to care.
But when it came time for her to marry, things would not be so easy.
Ton families were very particular about who they admitted into their ranks, whose blood they allowed to mingle with theirs.
Of course, all that was a long way off, but still, it needed to be considered.
“I’ve been pondering that very question.” Marcus set his glass of wine aside. “That blacksmith said this little one’s father was an aristo, an officer—an English officer.”
“Yes. What are you getting at?”
“Louis was an English aristo and an officer. And this wee one has the same coloring at Louis.”
“Yes. but . . . You can’t possibly be imagining that Louis was her father? He died at Waterloo, long before this little girl was conceived.”
He nodded. “I know that. But how many others do?”
She frowned. “Marcus, what are you suggesting?”
“What if your brother didn’t die at Waterloo, but crawled off somewhere, wounded with a head injury. He was taken in by a Frenchwoman who cared for him until he was back to health, but unable to recall his name or anything else. In gratitude, he married her, and they had a child.”
“It’s a fairy tale. Who would possibly believe it? And then what? We found her by accident?”
“No, we sought out the child. Louis died after she was conceived—perhaps a piece of shrapnel migrated to his heart or brain or something. It does that sometimes, I’m told. But it doesn’t matter what he died of—we’ll keep it vague. It would be speculation on our part anyway.”
Tessa nodded. She could see how that might be plausible. “It’s not too far from what we know about how Flora.”
He continued, “Just before Louis died, he got his memory back and wrote to you, to let you know he was alive. But he died before he could send it. His widow forwarded it with the news of his death scrawled on the outside, but it was addressed to Edgar, who never told you.”
“Anyone who knew Edgar would easily believe that,” she agreed. “But after he left for America, we found the letter.”
“Exactly. So you received the letter—you hardly know anyone in society so nobody can say you didn’t—which is why we decided to visit Waterloo on our honeymoon, not only to visit the battlefield where your brother was so gravely wounded, but to enquire after his widow.”
She nodded slowly. “That would work.”
“Only when we went looking for Louis’s widow it was to discover that she had recently died, and little Flora was an orphan. Naturally we would take in your niece.”
She thought about it for a minute or two. “It sounds all right, but will we need to explain that to everyone? I’m not very good at lying. I go bright red whenever I try.”
He gave a slight smile. “We won’t have to explain it at all.
I will share a few salient snippets of the story with people like my aunt, and my friend Barney, both of whom are inveterate gossips.
They will do the rest, all unwitting. Soon there will be a dozen different versions circulating in the ton, and we will not deign to even discuss it.
All you would ever need to say—and only if someone were ill-mannered to ask intrusive questions—is ‘We are raising Flora as our daughter.’ Do you think you could do that? ”
She nodded eagerly. “I could. That would be perfect.”
“It will help matters that Flora also has blue eyes and blonde hair, like you.”
Tessa blinked. She hadn’t thought of that. “Oh, that’s why you were talking about her hair. Yes, and her eyes are very blue, like Louis’.” She thought for a minute. “Could we call her Flora Louise, after my brother?”
“An excellent suggestion.” He picked up his wine and drained the glass. “A good thing he wasn’t the brother called Edgar—Flora Edgarina or Edgarella would be quite a mouthful.”
She laughed. It was all happening, she thought. Becoming real. It was a good story—close enough to the truth for it not to feel much like a lie. And Flora would have a home with people who loved and would care for her.
And Tessa would have what she’d always wanted: a child to love. A family. And a home, even if it wasn’t Ferndale.
#
A KNOCK ON THE DOOR signaled the arrival of Clothilde with an armful of small clothes in a large willow basket behind her. “Nothing new, I’m afraid m’sieur,” she explained to Marcus. “The basket is for the little one to sleep in. I hope that is all right.”
When Marcus translated, Tessa hesitated. Clothilde, seeing her doubt, added hastily, “Everything is very clean, I promise you, madame. And nobody will be deprived—in fact they were grateful for the money.”
“But won’t they need these for their own children? Tessa asked.
Clothilde dumped the basket with the pile of clothing onto the bed, and shook her head.
“Non, madame. There will be no babies born in this village now, not until the children grow up.” She added softly, with a matter-of-fact gesture, “No husbands or unmarried young men left in this village, madame. Only boys and old men. The war, you understand.”
Tessa bit her lip.
Clothilde placed the basket on the bed. “Choose whatever you want, madame. The women need the money.”
Tessa handed Flora to Marcus and came to examine them. Most of the tiny garments were mended and some were patched, but every one of them was clean and sweet smelling, of lavender, or soap and sunshine, and washed so often the fabric was downy soft.
She imagined each mother sorting through the small garments, deciding which ones she could spare, and realizing perhaps that the next time they would be needed it would be for a grandchild. And they needed the money now.
She picked one of the little garments up. It looked like a christening gown, beautifully embroidered, white on white. There were no patches, no trace of any mending. The fabric was fine, and though soft, it felt. . . new?
She turned to Clothilde, a question in her eyes.
The girl dropped her gaze and said quietly, “Never used, madame. Her baby died.”
Tessa needed no translation to understand that. She felt her eyes fill, and, blinking, turned quickly away. “If you’re sure the women want to sell these?” Clothilde nodded. “Then we’ll take them all.”
The girl beamed at her. “Merci, madame. It will make a big difference to their lives. The living must be fed and clothed, after all. Now, shall we put the little miss in this one?” She selected a tiny nightdress and passed it to Tessa.
With some difficulty, Tessa managed to get Flora into it. Clearly, she preferred being naked, and wrapped in just a towel, riding high in Marcus’s arms.
Next Clothilde passed Tessa a large square of well-washed flannel. Bemused, Tessa accepted it. What was it for?
The girl, recognizing her uncertainty, said, “For the little one. For bed. So she doesn’t wet it.”
“Oh, a napkin. Yes.” Wondering how to fasten the thing, Tessa tried to tuck it under the little girl on her lap. Flora resisted, kicking the cloth away.
“You permit, madame?” Clothilde said, trying to hide a smile.
“Yes please.” Tessa handed the child over.
Clothilde laid the cloth on the bed, placed Flora on it, briskly flipped the nightdress up and began to fasten the napkin around her nether quarters.
Flora resisted mightily, arching her back, squirming and thrashing her little legs, doing her best to avoid being imprisoned by the evil cloth. “Non!” she said. “Non!”
“Her third word,” Marcus commented, amused. He leaned over Clothilde, caught the baby’s eye and said firmly. “Oui!”
“Non!”
“Oui!”
“Non!” Flora glared up at him.
Marcus scowled down at her. “Oui!”
She scowled back at him. “Non!”
Tessa, seeing the two almost identical expressions on man and baby, began to laugh. The sound distracted Flora, who paused in her struggles as she glanced across at Tessa. In a flash, Clothilde had the cloth wrapped around her bottom and between her legs and knotted it firmly.
The little girl tried to unfasten it, but Clothilde knew her business. She stood back, smiling. Flora scowled.
“You’re a stubborn little creature, aren't you?” Marcus told the little girl. He scooped her up into the air. “You’re going to be the devil of a lot of trouble when you’re older, aren't you?”
Tessa laughed.
Flora stared down at him, frowning and puzzled, her little legs dangling. He tossed her up in the air and caught her. Her eyes widened, then a peal of baby laughter came from her. “Encore!” she demanded. “Encore!”
“And thus she adds a fourth word to her vocabulary,” Marcus commented, and tossed and caught the little girl again.
Tessa laughed again. It was a delightful surprise seeing Marcus so at ease with the little one. She’d half expected him to be awkward, but she was obviously the inexperienced one.
“You have nieces or nephews, don’t you?” she said.
“Yes. Both.” He tossed Flora up one more time, and set her down beside Tessa, saying, “That’s enough, young lady. Much more and you’ll throw up that nice egg you had for your dinner.”
Flora frowned, clearly wanting to understand the words, though she snuggled against Tessa contentedly enough. Clearly she’d forgotten about the hated napkin.