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The truth was, this remarkable child had been passed about like a sack of grain, given only food, clothing, and a roof over her head.
Meager substitutes for encouragement, constancy, and love.
Suddenly, Brigitte knew what she must do.
“Neither of those words, wicked or otherwise, pertains to you.” She grasped Noelle’s hand, leading her back inside the blue room. “Let’s select appropriate romping clothes for you, shall we?” Squatting on the floor, she opened the traveling bag, assessing Noelle’s meager wardrobe.
Clothing was the farthest thing from her mind.
“You know, Noelle, your uncle doesn’t hate you,” she remarked offhandedly. “In fact, I think he loves you more than he knows. More, in fact, than he wants to.”
The last captured Noelle’s interest, and she plopped down on the rug beside Brigitte. “What do you mean? Uncle doesn’t love me. He doesn’t love anyone.”
“You’re wrong. And not only with regard to you. Your uncle loved someone else. Very much, in fact.”
“Who?”
“Your mama.”
“My mama?” Noelle’s eyes widened into huge, glittering sapphires. “Really?”
“Really.” Brigitte sat back on her heels, abandoning all pretense of sorting through clothing. “You’re right about your mama being beautiful. She was. In fact, you look just like her.”
“Mrs. Willett told me that, too. The Willetts kept me longer than anybody. Mrs. Willett even liked me. She said I was real smart. But Mr. Willett didn’t like smart girls. He wanted a boy. They yelled at each other a lot, especially when they thought I was asleep. And Mrs. Willett would cry. Finally, they brought me back to Farrington. That day, in the carriage, she told me I looked like Mama. I guess she was just being nice, so I wouldn’t feel bad that she was returning me.”
“No,” Brigitte countered, determinedly squelching her own distress. “She was being truthful. You have Liza’s eyes, exactly, and her delicate nose and chin. Even your hair is the same color—black as night.”
“Did you know her?”
“Yes I did,” Brigitte answered cautiously. “In fact, I knew your uncle, too. He doesn’t remember me, because I was very young. But I remember him. And what I especially remember is how much he loved your mother.” That much was true. Reaching out, Brigitte took Noelle’s hand. “Darling, this is going to be hard for you to understand. Lord knows, you’re wiser than most adults, but you’re still only four.”
“Three and ten months. I won’t be four ’til Christmas.”
Brigitte’s lips curved. “I stand corrected. Nearly four. Anyway, I’ll try to explain. Your uncle was your mama’s older brother. He took care of her throughout her life. When she died, it was like a part of him died, too. Not on the outside, but on the inside. Can you understand that?”
Noelle nodded. “I felt like that when Mrs. Lawley took Fuzzy away. She said I couldn’t sleep with him anymore ’cause he was too dirty and I couldn’t play with him anymore ’cause I was too old. I cried a lot that night, and my tummy hurt really bad. So, when everyone was asleep, I sneaked downstairs and fetched Fuzzy out of the rubbish.” She pursed her lips. “But Uncle couldn’t do that—fetch Mama back, I mean. So his tummy must have kept hurting.”
“Exactly.” Tears stung Brigitte’s eyes, glistened on her lashes. “I think his tummy still hurts, Noelle. And everything that reminds him of her makes it hurt more.”
Another sage nod. “The night Mrs. Lawley took Fuzzy away, one of the maids heard me crying. She brought me another toy. I didn’t want it ’cause it reminded me how much I missed Fuzzy. Does Uncle feel like that when he looks at me?”
“I think so, yes. Except that, in your case, the new toy was a stranger. In Lord Farrington’s case, you’re a part of Liza—the wondrous legacy she left behind. So, yes, it hurts—maybe too much for him to endure. But that hurt stems from love, not hate. He loves you, Noelle; he just doesn’t know how to welcome that love without allowing in the hurt that’s always accompanied it. It’s our job to help him. We’re going to succeed. I know we are.”
Noelle studied Brigitte with keen, probing eyes. Abruptly, her gaze lowered, and she began playing with Fuzzy’s collar. “After that, will you go away?”
Brigitte had been expecting that question. Given the circumstances, it was more than natural.
So was her answer.
“No, darling, I won’t. Not then. Not ever. I’m married to your uncle now, and Farrington is my home. I’m staying right here with you and Fuzzy.”
Relief swept over Noelle’s face. “That’s good.” A tiny pucker formed between her brows. “But what about your mama and papa—won’t they miss you?”
“They can watch over me at Farrington the same way they always have,” Brigitte replied softly. “They’re in heaven, just like your mama.”
Noelle’s head came up. “Oh! I thought the vicar was your papa.”
“Almost, but no. Actually, he’s my papa’s papa—my grandfather. He raised me the same way your uncle raised your mama.”
