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Josie looked at her, lower lip thrusting forward. “I am a lady. Nurse Millie bathes Anabel and me together because we are both ladies.”

But Henrietta had barely recovered from her husband’s blithe invasion of her bath time. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Josie,” she said gently. “Very young ladies, like yourself and Anabel, may bathe together. But grown-up ladies bathe in private.”

Henrietta ended up bathing Josie instead. There’s something tantalizing about a steaming tub of hot water, after all, and once Keyes had swirled rose petal oil in the water, Josie started hopping on one foot and begging to get in. She had a sturdy little body with just a hint of a toddler’s tummy. Henrietta tried to wash her, but spent most of the time stemming floods of water as they sloshed over the sides of the tub. Josie talked the entire time, without pausing for breath. She showed Henrietta the scar on her knee from when she fell down the servants’ steps in the back (“Nurse Peeves said it was my own fault because I wasn’t supposed to go down those stairs”). She told her three times that she wanted a mama puppy for her birthday. Henrietta 314 Eloisa

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tried and failed to explain the dissonance between mama and puppy.

At some point, the nursemaid, Millie, appeared, having discovered the whereabouts of her missing charge. Henrietta sent her away with apologies. Josie stayed in the tub until the water was chilly and little bumps formed on her legs. She talked . . . and talked . . . and talked. Even when Henrietta plucked Josie out of the bath and wrapped her in a piece of toweling, Josie still talked. She told Henrietta about the frog she had seen in the pond at the bottom of the garden last summer, and the ducks that were born there and decided to live in the stable. She told Henrietta all about the Christmas dinner during which her mother apparently threw a serving platter at the vicar. She told Henrietta that Anabel looked like a plucked chicken when she was born, and that her mother had sent the baby to the nursery, and said not to bring her back until she had more hair. Josie loved this story; Henrietta hated it.

It wasn’t until Josie wound down, exhausted, that Henrietta knew exactly what she had to do. She would drink the blue bottle, because Josie and Anabel needed her. Because she loved them. She had responsibilities, and she couldn’t let herself think about her own baby, she simply couldn’t. There was nothing she could do for that baby. Dying in labor wouldn’t keep her child alive. It wouldn’t, it wouldn’t, it wouldn’t. Perhaps if she said it a thousand more times, it would seem real.

“It’s time to return to the nursery,” she said to Josie, when she finished combing her hair.

Josie’s lower lip trembled. “I don’t want to.”

“Anabel will be missing you.”

“I don’t care!”

By now, Henrietta knew all the warning signs. Sure enough, within thirty seconds Josie was crying so loudly she could probably be heard two streets over. And her refrain was Fool for Love

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remarkably consistent: “I’m a poor—” The sob that tore up from her chest stifled the motherless part, but Henrietta knew it was there.

Suddenly she bent over, picked up Josie and plumped her onto her bed. Enough was enough.

“Josephine Darby,” she said, hands on her hips, “be quiet and listen to me.” Josie never paid any attention to that sort of command and she didn’t now. Her crying notched up a bit louder.

“I am your mother.”

Josie kept wailing.

“I am your mother! ” Henrietta shrieked. Josie’s eyes went as round as marbles, and she fell silent.

“Haven’t you noticed, Josie?” Henrietta demanded. “You have a mother: me.”

Josie blinked. And stared.

Henrietta knelt down in front of Josie and pushed her damp hair out of her face. “I love you, Josephine Darby. And I’m going to be your mother, whether you want me to or not.”

Josie’s pointed little face seemed to be frozen in shock. Henrietta took her hand and started walking toward the door.

“I’m your mother, and Simon is going to be your father. You don’t have to call me mama, but that’s how I think of myself.”

Josie still didn’t say anything, and Henrietta made herself keep walking toward the nursery.

When they reached the third-floor hallway, Henrietta smelled toasting cheese and Josie suddenly twisted away and dashed into the nursery.

“Anabel!” she shrieked. “I’ve been downstairs and had a bath!” She ran around the nursery a few times just as if the whole conversation hadn’t happened.

Henrietta stood in the doorway. What did she expect? That Josie would suddenly call her mama and all would be well?

“I hope I didn’t keep her too long, Millie,” she said to the girls’ nurse. “We had a lovely time.”

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