Page 101 of The Belle of Belgrave Square

Daisy shrugged. Another gesture of Jasper’s, all the way down to the dry expression on her dirt-smudged face. “I like small spaces.”

Julia couldn’t help but be charmed by the girl. “Do you often hide in wardrobes?”

“Sometimes.” Daisy moved closer still, sidling up to the bed. “Did you come from London?”

“I did. Your father and I traveled all the way here on a train. It was terribly exciting.”

Daisy didn’t appear at all impressed. “Are you going to live here now? In father’s room?”

“I am,” Julia said. “Is that all right?”

Daisy set a hand on the counterpane. Her thin brows beetled in a frown. “You’re not my mother.”

Julia’s smile dimmed. “No. No, indeed. I’m not. I would never presume—”

“My mother had golden hair,” Daisy informed her.

“Did she? How lovely.” Julia could think of nothing else to say in reply.

She hadn’t met many children in her life. In London society, the youngest of them were kept separate, never permitted to intrude at meals or at parties. During the journey to Yorkshire, Julia had fretted over how Jasper’s children would receive her.

At the time, she’d been optimistic. Confident that kindness would carry the day.

That confidence was waning by the second.

“She was lovely,” Daisy said. “Father loved her very much.”

Julia’s smile threatened to vanish completely. She forced it to remain through sheer strength of will. Jasper had warned her that the children spoke freely of their mother. Julia refused to be hurt by the fact.

But it did hurt, all the same.

Of course he’d loved their mother. He’d said so only last night. And even if he hadn’t admitted to it, the evidence of his regard for her was present in all his actions. Why else would he have taken on the care of the three illegitimate children she’d borne him? Why else would he plan to leave them the whole of his estate?

For love, obviously. Love of his beautiful golden-haired mistress.

“I’m sure he did,” Julia said. “I’m sure he still does.”

“He does,” Daisy said confidently. She touched one of the carpetbags. Her small fingers tugged at a stray thread. “I can show her to you.”

Julia blinked. “Your mother?”

Daisy nodded, as solemn as a little judge. “She’s here.”

The fine hairs rose on Julia’s nape. She felt, for an instant, as if a goose had walked over her grave. “I don’t understand—”

“She’s outside,” Daisy said. “Sleeping in the garden.”

Twenty-Three

Jasper found Charlie and Alfred in the east wing of the Hall in what had once been the servants’ quarters. The damp set of rooms boasted peeling walls, rotting floorboards, and mildewed furnishings covered in dust-covered sheets long yellowed with age.

Jasper didn’t dare venture over the threshold. The flooring couldn’t support anything greater than a child’s weight. It was precisely why the boys chose the room.

“Your hiding places are beginning to lack creativity,” Jasper said, propping one shoulder against the doorframe. “This is the first place I looked.”

Charlie and Alfred were perched in the deep-set window embrasure, a stack of playing cards set between them.

“Not the first place,” Charlie said under his breath.