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‘That I had a child? No. He knows that Lucas and I anticipated our marriage, but that is all.’ Isobel paced to the window and stood staring out at the darkening gardens. ‘Perhaps I am worrying unduly after all, for unless one of your people betrays us, there is no reason anyone might suspect Annabelle is not exactly who you say she is.’
‘And I trust them implicitly,’ Jane said, nodding. ‘There might be a danger if she resembled you closely, but as it is, she is very obviously a Needham. It is seven months since you saw her, isn’t it? She is growing.’
‘Yes.’ It seemed like seven years. ‘May I see her now? I did not want to speak of this unless we were alone, but now, I cannot wait. Is she much changed?’
‘I think she is perfect, but you will judge for yourself.’ Her friend’s smile was warm and once again Isobel was filled with gratitude that Jane had taken her child, loved her like her own and yet was prepared to share her so unselfishly. ‘She is bright, quick and very lovely. Come and see—they are in the kitchen with old Rosemary, hindering her efforts to make cakes.’
Isobel almost ran down the stone-flagged passageway and into the kitchen. Two small children were perched on the edge of the big table, legs dangling, their eyes glued to the big bowl of fruit cake mixture the cook was stirring.
‘More plums,’ Nathanial demanded, but Isobel could only focus on the little girl.
She scooped her up, warm and sweet and slightly sticky around the mouth from stealing batter. ‘Surprise!’
‘Aunt Ishbel,’ Annabelle said with a crow of delight and a kiss. She had never been able to get her tongue around Isobel’s name.
‘How pretty you look—and how sticky you are.’ Isobel whirled her round in her arms and everything in the world was right again. Then she stopped at the sight of their reflection in the battered mirror propped at one end of the dresser. Annabelle, female to her chubby fingertips, examined her own image with interest. Two heads of tumbled hair, soft and slippery, sliding out of its pins, but Annabelle’s was blonde while Isobel’s was brown. Two rather determined little chins, but very different noses. Two pairs of wide grey eyes.
‘Pretty,’ Annabelle said with a crow of delight.
‘Pretty,’ Isobel agreed. Oh, thank you, Lucas, for giving me this child. And anyone who saw them together would not pick up any significant likeness, she was sure. She turned to see Jane smiling as she watched them.
‘She grew so quickly,’ Jane said. ‘One minute she was still a chubby little baby and the next, there she is—a little girl. Now I think we can see what
they will be like when they grow up. They are both going to have the Needham height, don’t you think?’
‘Yes,’ Isobel agreed, swallowing the tears that threatened to well up. It was ridiculous to weep because she was so happy to be here and it would frighten Annabelle. ‘I cannot believe how she has grown.’
She had dreamed of the experiences she and her ‘niece’ would share as Annabelle grew up. They would go shopping together, she would be there at her first parties, her first dance. She would hear her whispered confidences about first love.
‘Isn’t it bath time?’ she asked, grinning at little Nathaniel as he stuck out his lower lip mutinously. ‘Come along, I’ll tell you stories about Wimpole Hall where I have been staying and about London and I’ll tuck you up in bed.’
‘Cake,’ Annabelle said. ‘Cake and bath and stories and bed.’
‘Bath and bed and stories now, cake in the morning,’ Isobel countered, holding out her hand to the little boy. ‘How many stairs is it up to bed? I’ll wager you cannot count them yet.’
‘I can!’ He was off at a run and Isobel followed him, her cheek pressed against Annabelle’s soft one. Oh, Lucas, what a lovely child we made. I’ll protect her, I promise. Even if the danger was from the man she now loved.
‘Come and see the kittens.’ Annabelle stood beside the breakfast table and hopped from one foot to the other while Isobel spread honey on her last piece of toast. ‘Mama says I may have a kitten.’
‘A puppy,’ Nathaniel contradicted.
‘Both,’ Jane said, rolling her eyes. ‘But by the time they decide which they are going to have they’ll be grown cats and dogs.’
‘Shall I help choose?’ Both heads nodded as one—this was obviously the solution to an intractable problem.
‘Come along, then.’ Isobel put down her napkin. ‘And wrap up warmly.’
The farmyard was enclosed, with high arches in the walls to east and west. The walls kept out the wind and the stall-fed cattle and the horses kept the barns and stables surprisingly warm, so it was no hardship to sit on a bale outside the cowshed while the children brought out the kittens and puppies for inspection.
‘I think the little boy with the white tip to his tail,’ she said to Nathaniel. The pup was big and bold and looked as though he would cope well with the rough and tumble of life with Nathaniel. ‘And the black-and-white kitten with the white tip for Annabelle—and then they will match.’
Delighted, the children reached for their new pets and Annabelle promptly had her knuckles swiped by the mother cat who had stalked out to see what was going on. Isobel hauled the crying child onto her lap and hugged her and the kitten equally while she wrapped a handkerchief around the scratched hand. ‘It is all right, she was only cross because—’
‘What a charming picture. Maternal love. I thought that must be the secret, from the timing of things.’ The deep, familiar voice cut through the sounds of the farmyard, the child’s sobs, the barking of the sheepdog on its chain.
CHAPTER TWENTY
ISOBEL FROZE AND Annabelle stopped wailing to inspect the new arrival.
