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Silverton looked pained. “He did not.”
“But of course not,” Kitty whispered. “He’s made it very clear I am not a daughter who has made him proud. Something of an irony that Lady Partington, who has been so very kind to me, is here. I doubt she would have been had she known who I was.”
Silverton shrugged. “You might be surprised.”
Kitty gave a small laugh. “I think I’d prefer not to put it to the test. Now, give me a moment to gather myself, and then I shall greet Miss Mandelton with all the aplomb you could desire. And with not a single pained or reproachful glance in your direction.” Like the true actress she was, she plastered on her most carefree smile and shooed him to the door. “Begone, dear, kindest of men. I shall rejoin you downstairs as soon as I’ve changed.”
Chapter 14
Hetty had never believed it was possible to be so happy. She’d been married more than a year, and yet frequently she awoke to find her darling Aubrey gazing at her as if he’d married her only yesterday.
Another wonderful thing was that Aubrey was only too happy to indulge her with her desire to visit her darling mama so frequently. He and her parents got along famously these days, so trips to The Grange were always happy affairs with much fussing over the babies. How lovely there were only a few months between baby Celia and her little Lysander so that they could grow up the best of friends.
Right now, the adults were in the drawing room discussing their plans for the day. Aubrey and Lord Partington were of a mind to go shooting on the neighboring estate, while Hetty and her mother wanted to attend the market in town.
“Can’t we take the babies?” Hetty asked, but her mother shook her head. “It’s too chilly today, and Celia is only just getting over a cough. Let’s leave them snug and warm and in Mabel’s good care, and then you and I can stop for a bun and tea at Sally Forrester’s afterward.”
By the time they’d put on walking dresses and pelisses the weather had worsened, but Hetty was feeling ebullient. She and Aubrey had enjoyed the most delicious lovemaking, and just before they’d parted ways as they’d meandered along the path at the back of the house, he’d snatched her hand and pulled her into the bushes for a deeply passionate kiss that only underscored the fact she was the luckiest girl in the whole country, if not the world.
John Coachman drove them the short distance to the village and helped them out. The usually quiet square was crammed with people from all over the district here to sell their wares, and Hetty was keen to buy some ribbons for a new bonnet she was making for Lysander.
She wished she had her baby with her to show him off, but her mother had been right; the chill was too much if one had the choice, though there were plenty of infants accompanying their parents who were selling everything from gilt gingerbread to oysters. Despite the gray skies it was a festive atmosphere, and Hetty was enjoying the contrast with her usual quiet days at The Grange or the London revelry Aubrey often cajoled her into enjoying with him. Yes, she’d finally agreed, there was a time for babies and a time for her husband, and if her husband wanted her company to Lady This’s ball or to the opera or ballet, she was only too happy to be seen with the dashing and gallant Sir Aubrey. It wasn’t just the unusual streak of white that cut through her husband’s inky black locks that turned people’s heads, but the magnetism of his hazel eyes and his feline grace. Hetty was sure every woman under thirty was madly jealous of her.
Of course, Araminta was jealous, and the thought was both disquieting but also gratifying. Who would ever have thought Hetty would have won Sir Aubrey when Araminta had gone to such lengths to have him?
But Sir Aubrey had chosen Hetty. And what a happy, loving marriage it was. Of course, Hetty shouldn’t give Araminta a second thought, but knowing that Araminta was so unhappy with Lord Debenham was worrying. Who knew what her sister might get up to if she were dissatisfied with her lot?
Several rods containing a variety of brightly-colored ribbons blew in the breeze, attracting Hetty’s attention, though really it was the cherubic child in the crib in the corner that most engaged her. Hetty loved comparing babies, especially when they were around the same age as her own. It was an endless fascination to learn whether they were crawling or taking their first steps or at what age they’d first smiled.
“What a darling little boy,” she remarked to the woman who came to assist her. “What’s his name?”
The woman beamed. She looked like a well-satisfied farmer’s wife with her ample bosom and rosy cheeks as she laid out the ribbons, beckoning to a girl she referred to as Rosie, who looked about twenty, to come and help.
“My little one is not quite as old as yours,” Hetty said to Rosie. “What’s his name?”
“Hamish,” replied the girl with an embarrassed glance at the older woman. “‘N I ain’t ‘is mam.”
The portly, pleasant-faced older woman bustled around the back of a collection of boxes and scooped the baby out of its crib, obviously eager to show off her pride and joy. Hetty was delighted, and even more so when the child gripped the finger she offered it, gurgling with delight.
“I’m sure one never gets tired of cuddling them, no matter how many there are,” said Hetty. “I have a little boy called Lysander. He’s my first, so I’m still getting used to it all.”
“Hamish is my first, too,” the farmer’s wife told her, putting her cheek to the child’s. “Blessed, we were, my Jacob and me, to be granted a babe this late in life.”
Hetty could see by the rapturous look in the woman’s eyes how much this child meant to her, for surely the woman must have been over forty. Suddenly, she felt a pang for her own child back in the nursery at home. It was rare for more than a couple of hours to go by without Hetty sidling off to give her son a cuddle.
“May I hold him?” she asked, stretching out her arms. The little boy was well rugged up in swaddling clothes with a white knitted bonnet tied beneath his chin, so she wasn’t concerned that the cold would harm him.
“’Twould be an honor, ma’am.” Smiling broadly, the woman held out the baby who immediately began to squirm and protest.
‘Hush now, Hamish,” she crooned, trying to settle him and attempting to retie the ribbons that held his cap on. But the baby was not about to cooperate. With an impatient sweep of its hand against its head, it dislodged the cap which went sailing through the air to land on the counter.
“Now, now, Hamish, the lady just wants to get you a cuddle,” said the farmer’s wife in mild remonstrance as she took back the child, glancing at Hetty. “Isn’t that right, ma’am?”
But Hetty couldn’t answer. She was too occupied with the sight of the child’s hair—a healthy crown of inky black locks throwing into sharp relief the swathe of white hair at its left temple.
Hamish’s mother seemed not to notice Hetty’s shock as she replaced the boy’s cap then turned to put him back into the cradle.
“Now, ma’am, any of these ribbons take your fancy? We have every color in the rainbow, plus more, and if you’ve a mind for some fancy lacework, there’ll be some of that to show you next market day after me Jacob has done his rounds.”
