Lady of Milkweed Manor Read online

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, her name is Charlotte Lamb, but I believe you knew her in hospital as Charlotte Smith. She has her daughter with her. Poor fatherless angel . . .”

  Lady Katherine appeared incredulous. “You mean to tell me you are not here to deliver . . . to act on my behest of last autumn?”

  “But of course I will,” Daniel said. “Now that I am here.”

  As soon as Lady Katherine’s carriage disappeared down the road, Charlotte turned away from the window and faced him, her expression downcast.

  “Dr. Taylor, please forgive me.” Charlotte all but pressed young Anne into his arms and took three long steps back. “I had no right to presume . . . to claim your child as my own. How awful that must have made you feel.”

  “And you would know,” he said softly.

  She glanced up at him quickly, as though fearing censure. He smiled grimly, hoping to put her at ease.

  He looked down at Anne for a moment before saying, “I had no idea, until this moment, just what an awkward predicament I placed you in, asking you to do this.”

  “It is not your fault.”

  “Still, I am not sure if what I am about to tell you will be a relief or a greater trial.”

  Her gaze flew to his face. “What is it?”

  He chewed on his lower lip. “Lizette is better.”

  “That is wonderful. You—” she began, but he cut her off soberly.

  “She wants Anne home with her.”

  Charlotte’s mouth opened, but for three full ticks of the clock no words followed.

  Then she said quickly, “Of course. How wonderful. I am happy for you. And for your wife. And, Anne—Anne should be with her mother.”

  “Thank you,” he said with a single nod, then studied the floor. “Considering . . . what just happened here—how difficult this is for you—and the fact that it will become, I’m supposing, only more difficult, I won’t ask you to come with us,” he said. “I will find another nurse and release you to find a more appropriate post . . . or to return home.”

  “I shall not be returning home,” she said.

  “What will you do, then?”

  “I do not know. I imagined I would be occupied with Anne for the foreseeable future. I should have been better prepared.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” She smiled admirably, then asked, “Are you returning to London?”

  “Yes, for a time. Though I’ve been offered a seaside cottage for a few months and am considering taking it. I think a change of scenery might do Lizette good.”

  “Where is the cottage?”

  “Not far from Shoreham on the south coast. Nothing very fashionable, I’m afraid.”

  “I don’t know a soul there . . .”

  “Of course it is not that we do not wish you to come. If you wanted to continue on, we—”

  “I would. I would like to continue on as Anne’s nurse.”

  “Really? Well, wonderful.”

  “I do not like to leave my great-aunt so suddenly, but I am sure she will understand.”

  “Yes. She seems a loyal friend.” He smiled, thinking of the old woman’s enthusiastic falsehoods, as though she were playing a part in some Shakespearean farce.

  “Now that Katherine knows I am here . . . well, should she return and find Anne gone, I would have to explain. I am not prepared to go through another false mourning. Although neither would be truly false.”

  He nodded.

  “And seeing Edmund like that,” she continued, “with her. I don’t know. It is both nourishment and deprivation. Pleasure and pain.”

  He bit his lip. “But if you stay here . . . you would be more likely to see him now and again.”

  “Yes. No doubt you are quite right. And yet, I know myself. I would both hope—and fear—that someone would see a resemblance, or some inexplicable quality in my manner of looking on him. I know I should give myself away. Give him away.” She expelled a puff of dry laughter. “Poor choice of words, that.”

  “You hope still to amend your arrangement?”

  “Only every other moment. Most of the time I remain convinced I have done the right thing.”

  He ran his long hand over his face. “I feel so responsible—”

  “Dr. Taylor,” she said almost sternly. “We have been through this before. You are not to blame. Not for any of it. Not even for this.” She nodded toward Anne as a new thought struck her. “Perhaps it is I who should be releasing you to go home without me, back to your former, trouble-free life. As long as you must see me you will always be reminded of how I came to be in your employ, will always feel responsible somehow.”

  “A trouble-free life.” It was his turn to laugh dryly. “I am afraid my former life is as far from me as yours is from you. Though there are days when I am tempted to hope. Like now, when Lizette seems almost herself.”

  “Well, then, let us not tarry.” Charlotte smiled bravely. “Let us get this dear one back to her mama. One cannot help but be cheered by her sweet presence.”

  “I quite agree. And I am pleased you will meet my wife now that she is recovered.” He hesitated, then continued awkwardly, “It might be better if we did not mention her . . . time . . . in the manor.”

  “Of course. I understand.”

  Soon, farewells said and bags packed, Charlotte sat across from Daniel Taylor in the London-bound coach, Anne asleep in her arms. Two other passengers rode with them, an elderly couple with expressions as worn as their faded traveling clothes and drooping hats. The old woman smiled politely.

  “How old is she?” she asked.

  “Five-and-a-half months.”

  The woman glanced at Dr. Taylor, who was already reading a medical journal. “She looks a great deal like your husband.”

  Charlotte felt her cheeks warm. “We are not . . .”

  But Dr. Taylor looked up from his book and interrupted her, saying kindly, “Thank you, madam. Though I dearly hope my daughter shall grow more handsome in time.”

  He smiled at the woman, and she smiled in return, not seeming to notice anything amiss.

  Later, when both the man and the woman had nodded off, Charlotte leaned across the aisle and asked quietly, “Do you think my cousin suspected anything . . . about your coming to my aunt’s as you did and, well, everything?”

  “I cannot say,” Daniel whispered back. “I fear I am not the thespian your great-aunt is. It’s quite possible my expression gave something away. What do you think? You know her better than I.”

  “I think the questions are even now parading through her mind.”

  WANTED

  A NURSE with a good Breast of Milk,

  of a healthy Constitution and good Character,

  that is willing to go into a Gentleman’s Family.

  —M ARYLAND G AZETTE , 1750

  CHAPTER 21

  Charles Harris attempted to read while his wife paced the length of Fawnwell’s newly restored sitting room.

  “Really, Charles. A journey of that length to pay a house call? On a widow who cannot have more than a hundred pounds a year?”

  “What did the woman say?”

  “Something about her son and Dr. Taylor having been at school together.”

  “Well, then.” Charles flipped over his newspaper.

  “I do not believe it. I cannot imagine the Dunweedys affording Oxford or Cambridge. Which did Taylor attend, do you know?”

  “I do not.”

  “I think I shall find out.”

  “To what purpose?”

  “Clearly something is amiss with the entire situation.”

  Charles looked at her over his paper. “Of course there is. Did you not find your unmarried cousin with a child?”

  “Yes, yes. I do not mean that. I mean with Taylor showing up there.”

  “Did you not ask him to get the money to her?”

  “Yes, but I had the distinct impression he was there as a course of habit.”

  Ch
arles shrugged, resuming his reading. “Even if he was there to check on Charlotte, a former patient, I don’t see that as so unusual.”

  “Do you not?”

  Keeping his tone casual and his eyes on his paper, Charles said, “You said Charlotte has a girl . . . a daughter?”

  “Yes. Calls her Anne. Little thing. Not at all as robust as our Edmund.”

  “And what did Charlotte have to say about Edmund?”

  “The usual niceties, I suppose. Though without the enthusiasm I might have expected. She did agree he looks like you.”

  Charles nodded but said no more.

  “I also admit, I studied her child quite closely, thinking to see a resemblance to someone we both know quite well.”

  He looked up at her, feeling suddenly anxious. Had Katherine suspected the child would resemble him? He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

  “Of course she admitted nothing about William. Still I wondered. But then this Taylor showed up, all the way from London. You don’t suppose . . .?”

  “Taylor is a married man.”

  “We both know that is no guarantee of anything. He traveled alone.”

  “Common enough. Besides, I heard his own wife was expecting a child. Taylor is likely a father already.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Indeed.”

  Katherine shrugged, her pretty lips screwed up in thought. She seemed satisfied. For the time being.

  The Taylors’ London townhouse was a tall narrow building sandwiched between a dozen others just like it. The medical offices were housed on street level, above the kitchen and beneath three floors of living quarters above. When they arrived, Daniel preceded Charlotte into his offices, where he dropped his medical case and picked up a few pieces of correspondence. He gave her a reassuring smile. “This way.”

  Holding Anne, while he carried her heavier bag, she followed him up the stairs. Up on the first floor, he stepped into an adjoining room, the sitting room most likely. Charlotte hesitated on the landing.

  She heard the happy, accented voice of Mrs. Taylor call out, “Daniel! Mon amour. Tu m’as manqué!”

  Charlotte stepped forward tentatively. From where she stood in the doorway, she could see Dr. Taylor’s back, his arms wide, and a brief view of Mrs. Taylor’s dark hair and bright smile before she disappeared into her husband’s embrace. Charlotte averted her gaze and stepped back into the corridor.

  “I’ve missed you too. More than you know.”

  “Have you brought her? Notre fille?”

  “Of course, my love.”

  Charlotte stepped forward just as Daniel reached the doorway.

  She handed Anne to him carefully but swiftly and again stepped back.

  She heard Lizette Taylor’s gasp, followed by a moan that was at once joyful and mournful.

  “Annette! Ma petite. Ma fille. Chair de ma chair.” The words were a warm litany of love and loss. “Tu es très grand.’’ Charlotte heard laughter mixed with unseen tears. “Quel bébé dodu!”

  “Yes, she has been well fed,” Daniel said.

  “La nourrice?”

  “Yes, my dear, I should like you to meet her.”

  Again, Charlotte stepped forward, hands clammy, stomach churning. Her eyes were downcast as she entered the sitting room.

  “May I introduce Miss Charlotte Lamb. Miss Lamb, my wife, Lizette.”

  Charlotte glanced up quickly at Daniel’s wife. His beautiful wife.

  “Madame Taylor,” the woman corrected pleasantly, slanting a look at her husband.

  Charlotte looked back at the floor and bobbed a quick curtsy.

  “Enchantée,” Charlotte mumbled, unsure whether her use of French would please her new employer or not.

  When Charlotte darted another look, Mrs. Taylor smiled graciously at her. And with her smile she was even more beautiful. Charlotte could hardly reconcile this poised, exquisite woman with the howling, pitiful creature she had seen at the Manor Home.

  Lizette Taylor’s eyes narrowed. “Have we met?” she asked.

  Charlotte swallowed, instantly knowing the correct answer. “No, madame. We have not been introduced.”

  Mrs. Taylor scrutinized her a moment longer, then turned her head.

  “Marie!” she called out.

  A maid with red-chapped cheeks entered, greying hair fringing out from her mobcap, “Oui, madame?”

  “Please show Nurse to her chamber, would you?”

  “Bien sûr, madame.”

  “Welcome, Miss Lamb,” Mrs. Taylor said. “I hope you will be happy with us.”

  As do I, Charlotte thought.

  Charlotte did not see Mr. John Taylor, Daniel’s father, that first evening. But the next morning, while she breakfasted alone, he joined her in the dining room and greeted her with a warm smile.

  “Miss Smith! How good to see you again. Oh, forgive me—it’s Miss Lamb now, if I understand correctly.”

  “That’s right. And a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Taylor.”

  He poured himself a cup of tea from the sideboard and sat across from her at the table.

  “I was so sorry to hear of your loss.”

  “I thank you, sir.”

  Keeping his gaze on his teacup, he asked timidly, “It wasn’t anything I did, or failed to do, was it . . .?”

  “Oh no, of course not, Mr. Taylor. I could not have asked for a kinder, more skilled surgeon.”

  “Thank you, Miss Lamb. You are most kind to say so. What a blessing for Anne to have been in your care. Where is the little mite this morning?”

  “Still asleep. Tired from the journey, I suppose.”

  “Yes, and what a boon to have you here with us. With three beautiful ladies under our roof, well, I don’t see how Daniel or I could be happier.”

  She smiled at him. “And you, sir, how do you fare?”

  “I miss the work, I must say. I take great pleasure in feeling useful, helping people, you know. I miss it.”

  “Of course you do. Is there no hope of returning?”

  “Daniel says not.” He looked about the room, as if to reassure himself they were alone. “That Miss Marsden has quite a hold on me, I’m afraid. Says if I ever practice again, she’ll bring me up on charges.”

  “But certainly your word, sir, against such a woman’s . . .”

  “That’s right, Daniel mentioned you met her.” He sighed. “It’s not her alone who holds power over me. It’s her patron, the father of her child, or so she says. Some rich and revengeful lord, to hear her tell it.”

  “May I ask who the man is?”

  “A Lord Phillip Elton.”

  “Lord Elton . . .”

  “You know him?”

  “The name is familiar. I think he might be known to my uncle.”

  John Taylor shook his head sadly. “Well-known and well-connected, I’m afraid. There’s naught I can do. For myself I might risk it, but I would not endanger Daniel’s career any more than I have done already.”

  “Would you mind, sir, if I made a few inquiries on your behalf?”

  “I would not mind, but do not trouble yourself, my dear. I shall be happy again now that I have my granddaughter here at home.”

  Charlotte and Anne were to share the nursery on the third floor. It wasn’t a large room, but it would do nicely. John Taylor hauled up an old screen from one of the exam rooms in the office downstairs. With her permission, he set it up between the door and Charlotte’s bed, to give her some semblance of privacy should one of the family wish to come in and pick up Anne, whose cradle was on the other side of the room.

  During those first days they were all in London, Lizette Taylor seemed happy indeed. Happy, especially, to have her daughter back in her life. She held Anne for hours on end, bouncing her on her lap, speaking to her in French, singing French ditties and lullabies. Anne, for all her unfamiliarity with her own mother, was delighted with this enthusiastic attention and went happily from Charlotte’s arms to Lizette’s with little fuss. Charlotte wa
s relieved for Mrs. Taylor’s sake.

  Anne was slower to take to her grandfather, unaccustomed as she was to male attention beyond the occasional visits her father had made over their months in Crawley. But still, after the first few days, her lower lip no longer quivered when he spoke to her—though she watched him carefully whenever he came near.

  Sensitive to how Daniel’s wife must be feeling, having missed those first precious months of her daughter’s life, Charlotte was careful to stay in the background as much as possible, only offering to take Anne when she began to fuss or it was clearly time for another feeding.

  So she was not sure of the cause of Lizette Taylor’s growing moodiness.

  “You take her, Miss Lamb, I feel a headache coming on,” she began to say nearly once a day. Or, “There you are, back to Nurse. Ta mère must lie down and rest.”

  The spring that year was gloomier than usual, and during the last half of April it rained five out of every seven days. Such weather could make the cheeriest person morose, Charlotte thought.

  Mrs. Taylor began spending hours in the sitting room alone, reclining on the settee, staring off into nothingness. Often she would neglect to raise the shades in the morning, or to light a lamp when darkness fell. With only one servant about the place, there was often no one to do it for her. Charlotte helped as much and as quietly as she could. She prayed as well.

  “I am worried about Lizette,” Daniel’s father said quietly as the two men sat in the dining room over lukewarm tea. Gone were the days of after-dinner port for this household.

  “As am I,” Daniel confided. “I have been wondering if a change of scenery might do her good. I’ve been offered a seaside cottage for a few months.”

  “Where?”

  “The south coast. In France she lived by the sea.”

  “But . . . the Manor Home—what of your work there?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps I can find someone to take my place for a time. I know how important the Manor is to you, but I can only do so much.”

  “It is important, Daniel. It is my life’s work.”

  “It was your life’s work, Father.”

  Daniel saw the light dim in his father’s eyes and immediately regretted his words. “Again, I ask your forgiveness, Father. I have no right to take my exhaustion out on you.”