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She was about the same age Megs’s baby would’ve been—had he lived.
Megs blinked and swallowed down the old, bitter grief. When she’d first miscarried—and lost her last link to Roger—she’d thought she’d not survive. How could a body endure so much pain, so many tears, and live on? But it seemed that grief really couldn’t kill a person. She had lived. Had healed from the physical trauma of the miscarriage. Had risen from her sickbed, had—slowly—taken an interest in the things and people around her. Had, in time, even smiled and laughed.
But she hadn’t forgotten the loss. The almost physical ache to feel a babe in her arms.
Megs inhaled, steadying herself. She hadn’t seen her brother’s son since he was a week old—a visit she’d cut short after only three days. It had simply been too torturous for her.
“Does William still have such bright red hair?” she asked wistfully.
Hero chuckled. William had been born with carrot-red hair. “No, it’s begun to darken. I think Griffin is disappointed. He claims he wanted an heir with hair as red as mine.” She touched a finger to her own fiery locks.
Megs felt her lips curve in a smile. “I’m looking forward to seeing my nephew again.”
And she meant it—she’d lost too much time with William already because of the pain it had caused her to see the happy, healthy baby.
“I’m glad,” Hero said simply, but there was a wealth of understanding in her eyes. She was one of the few people who knew the true reason for Megs’s hasty wedding.
There was a smatter of laughter as Annalise reached Her Grace only to have the pug get up and flee. Megs was glad of the distraction to look away from her sister-in-law’s too-perceptive eyes.
Her Grace circled the room, panting, before taking refuge under Megs’s chair.
Annalise stared at the dog, her face beginning to crumple. Temperance bent toward her daughter, but the elder Lady Caire was faster. “There, there, darling. Have another biscuit.”
Temperance said nothing, but Megs caught her rolling her eyes as the elegant, silver-haired older lady gave the baby the offering.
Temperance blushed slightly when she saw that Megs was watching and leaned over to whisper, “She spoils her terribly.”
“A grandmama’s prerogative,” Lady Caire said, apparently having heard. “Now, then. I wonder if we might discuss the apprenticeship of the girls of the home.” She glanced at Megs. “The number of children at the home has increased in the last year. Presently we have …”
“Four and fifty children,” Isabel Makepeace supplied the number. “Two new girls were brought in just last night.”
Lady Caire nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. Makepeace. We are pleased that the home is able to help so many children now, but it seems that we have had some difficulties in placing the children—particularly the girls—properly.”
“But surely there is no lack of maidservant positions in London,” Lady Penelope said.
“Actually, there is,” Temperance replied. “At least maidservant positions in respectable houses where the girls are treated properly and given some type of training.”
Isabel leaned forward to pour some more tea in her dish. “Just last week we took back a girl whose position proved to be unfortunate.”
Megs raised her eyebrows. “Unfortunate?”
“The mistress of the house saw fit to beat the girl with a hairbrush,” Lady Caire said grimly.
“Oh.” Megs felt horror sweep through her, and then an idea. “But I’m in need of maidservants.”
The rest of the ladies looked at her.
“Indeed?” Lady Caire asked.
“Oh, yes,” Sarah said, joining the conversation for the first time. “It seems my brother has been reduced to one manservant at Saint House.”
“Good Lord.” Temperance frowned worriedly. “I’m sure Caire has no idea that Mr. St. John was in such straits.”
“Well, the straits weren’t financial.” Sarah sent her an ironic glance. “Godric can certainly afford any number of servants—he simply didn’t bother to hire new ones.”
“Eh?” Great-Aunt Elvina leaned toward Sarah.
Sarah turned toward her and said distinctly, “I doubt it occurred to my brother that he needed more servants.”
