Distracted, Hetty pointed to a midnight-blue ribbon. “I’ll take two yards, please.” What else could she say? The child was back sleeping in the corner, yet Hetty’s mind was crammed with questions, all of them far too probing and impertinent to ask.
She paid, put her purchase into her reticule, and then went to the tea shop to meet her mother who also remarked upon her distraction.
“I’m…missing Lysander because I saw a baby that reminded me so much of him,” she said, frowning. No, she wasn’t going to mention the hair. She just couldn’t.
“Oh darling, you’re just like I was with my f
irst.” Her mother smiled and reached across the table to pat her hand. “It’s so hard to be without them, and I will admit that it is a darling age. Celia’s a little more of a handful now that she’s walking, but every age is delightful. Now wipe that worried frown off your face. I’ll be finished my tea soon, and then we can meet John Coachman.”
Hetty rose. “I think I’ll dash back and get another length of ribbon,” she blurted. “No need to hurry on my account. I’ll be back shortly.”
She tried to keep her pace measured and sedate as she returned to the stall, deciding that, yes, she would ask at least some of the probing questions that might help her ascertain the lineage of the ribbon seller’s child.
But as she rounded the corner and started walking toward the stall she was surprised to see, from a distance, the young woman Rosie sitting upon a stool in a dim corner holding the child, and astonished when she got closer to see that the child was suckling at her breast.
The young woman rose and reordered her clothing just as Hetty reached the counter, and her shock must have been apparent for Rosie immediately explained, “Mrs. ‘Ancock got the babe when I still ‘ad me milk from me second.” She glanced over her shoulder, perhaps to ensure her mistress was out of earshot, before adding, “She can’t abide goin’ nowhere wivout the little ‘un, even though it ain’t ’er own. That’s why she takes me along fer when it needs feedin’.”
“The child’s adopted?”
Rosie nodded. “Everyone knows it, so I ain’t tellin’ secrets. Mr. ‘n Mrs. ‘Ancock bin married twenty-two years ‘n ‘spected ter go ter their graves childless, ‘cept it seems their wishes fer a babe was granted when Mrs. ‘Ancock were gived one by a respectable young lady wot weren’t in a position ter keep it.”
Hetty stared at the baby. “He’s…a very nice-looking child,” she said lamely, but the questions were swirling around her head. “How old is he?”
“‘E were a newborn when ‘e came ter Mr. ‘n Mrs. ‘Ancock ‘bout three months ago.”
That made him about six weeks older than Lysander. Hetty smiled weakly. No, she couldn’t ask them, for what would this young woman know of the child’s parentage?
So she asked for a red ribbon, only realizing she had no use for such a color as she traipsed back to rejoin her mama, hoping not to be quizzed on her disordered wits.
All she could think was that if Sir Aubrey had no brothers in the country who might have sired a child with such distinctive white and black hair, then who else other than Sir Aubrey could be the child’s father?
Her husband had certainly made no secret of his rakish reputation when he first got together with Hetty, and though he might be a reformed man now, there was no telling what he might have got up to in the weeks preceding his unexpected and impulsive marriage to Hetty.
She felt ill. In all the fourteen months they’d been married, there’d been no secrets between her and Sir Aubrey. Or so she thought.
And then another thought occurred. Perhaps Sir Aubrey had no idea he’d fathered a child on a respectable young lady, who’d had no choice but to give it away. Indeed, Hetty had been in the very position where that might have happened to her had fate not dealt so kindly with her.
The thought was too distressing. Imagine having to give up one’s own child because of the shame? Hetty thought she’d die if that had been thrust upon her.
No, there was only one solution. She could not confront Aubrey, but she must also put out of her mind any angst or recrimination toward him. No doubt he was oblivious to the fact he had a son growing up on a farm to the north in far more straightened circumstances than their own beloved Lysander. But if Hetty were to keep enjoying her loving family unit, she would have to do what she could to ease her conscience.
She had no idea exactly what she would do; but she had to do something.
Chapter 15
Stephen was glad to be back at The Grange and to note that Sybil was her usual serene self. Clearly, she had not been rattled as he had by suggestions that someone knew something about their affair.
This evening, Lord Partington was dining with them as Hetty was still in residence. Even when he was with his mistress, and it was just the two of them— Sybil and Stephen—they took infinite care in front of the servants never to disclose the nature of their relationship. In fact, Stephen was almost certain, and proud of the fact, that none of them could have discovered their secret. Dinner was conducted with the usual decorum. Hetty chattered the most. She seemed happy these days, he was pleased to note. Sir Aubrey was clearly a better match than he’d have believed. In fact, the couple appeared as smitten a year after their nuptials than they’d been when they’d wed so hastily.
He wished he could have married Sybil.
The syllabub was delicious, Sybil declared, smiling down the table as Stephen gazed at her. She was so easy to please. He smiled back, quickly transferring his look to Hetty, though not before he caught the flare in Sybil’s eye. She wanted him to come to her tonight, even though she sat at her husband’s right hand. He could tell. Much as Stephen wished he could legally sleep with her every night, there was something enormously erotic about the veiled glances they shared, her sudden flush of consciousness as he fixed her with a smoldering look.
Suddenly, he was in a fever of impatience to get dinner finished. His Lordship might request his company for coffee and port though Stephen doubted it. The old man looked out of sorts tonight. Perhaps he might go straight to his own apartments. Stephen doubted he’d head off to the little house by the bridge to see Miss Hazlett with Hetty visiting. He thought of Lord Partington’s daughters by his mistress—Lissa and Kitty. They were both beauties—clever and enterprising, too—who could have married well under different circumstances. Lord Partington was a harsh father to his bastard offspring, he thought. Just as he was a harsh husband to Sybil. Stephen knew if the slightest whisper got about regarding his affair with Sybil, they could consider it finished.
It was why he was prepared to pay any amount to keep it secret.
At last. The ladies were rising. Stephen and Lord Partington rose too, nodded to each other and with relief, Stephen saw that his Lordship had no desire for anyone’s company tonight. In fact, his leg seemed to be troubling him, particularly as he limped from the room with the aid of Puddles the butler on one side and Sybil on the other.