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Mrs. Fowler cupped her elbow, smiling. “I am not saying that there is no basis of truth in some of the things I teach, I merely request that you do not discount it entirely. You never know when the power of faith will prove useful to you, dear. Particularly in matters of the heart.”
A scoff ripped from Amelia’s throat, and she quickly swallowed her embarrassment. Shaking her head, she argued, “Faith is irrelevant in my trials. I lost three husbands, Mrs. Fowler. Three. The ton began calling me the Black Widow after my second husband’s death, and I’m not entirely sure that there isn’t a basis of truth in what they say. I could never bear to submit another man to such ridicule and speculation. I’m destined to remain a spinster forever.”
This woman did not understand. She hadn’t lived through the years of mocking. Those heartless fools who’d called Amelia the Black Widow may have believed themselves faultless, that it was all in good fun, but it had damaged her. They joked about the very thing she most feared—that she had somehow been the cause of her husbands’ deaths.
“Then you are forcing yourself into a life of solitude when it is not necessary,” Mrs. Fowler said kindly.
“Not exactly. There are foundling hospitals and orphanages. I do not need to marry to care for a child or give an orphan a home. I have other options.” Options that would save the life of an unsuspecting man.
“I may not know the future or everything that occurred in the past,” Mrs. Fowler said, her voice low, “but I do know that you did not cause your husbands to die, Mrs. Fawn. If you marry again, you are not condemning any man to an early grave. You were merely the recipient of an unfortunate early widowhood, thrice over.”
Amelia could not help but hold her breath, hearing the very words she had wished for so long to believe. “You call it bad luck?”
“Or perhaps there was a greater reason. I do not know. But your blame is unnecessary.” She smiled. “You may be hurting yourself by closing opportunities.”
The reality of that stung, so keenly had she felt the truth of it with Charles. “Thank you, Mrs. Fowler. Matthew can see you home when you are ready. Would you like to take some refreshment before you go?”
“I believe I shall.”
Amelia led her to the stairs.
A smile touched Mrs. Fowler’s lips. “I do wish I could see Dr. Mason’s face when he first lays eyes on the babe.”
“Whatever for?” Amelia asked. Was there a professional rivalry between the two that she hadn’t known about? She wouldn’t put it past Andrew to find a playful competition in even these circumstances. Though she knew he would always put his patients first.
Mrs. Fowler looked taken aback. “He loves Mrs. Halpert, does he not?”
Amelia laughed. “No, you’ve mistaken him for Charles Fremont. Andrew does not love anyone.”
The woman looked back over her shoulder, an amused glint in her eye. “Oh, well, I am sure you would know better than I.”
The woman did not sound like she truly believed this to be the case, and it irked Amelia to no end. “Charles Fremont,” she enunciated, as though that would help Mrs. Fowler understand her better. She knew she was being ridiculous.
“Yes, dear. So you said.”
Amelia sent Matthew to obtain a tray for Mrs. Fowler before depositing her in the breakfast room. She hesitated, resting her hands on the back of the chair opposite her guest. “May I ask one question?”
“Of course.”
“How did you know that Mrs. Halpert’s back pained her when you arrived?”
Smiling, Mrs. Fowler said, “It is common to have back pain when giving birth, and she was holding her back when I first stepped into the room. I merely made the connection and happened to be correct.”
Amelia nodded.
“Sometimes it is only a case of knowing what to look for, watching for the right signs.” She brightened and looked toward the window. “Like now, I might predict that your brother will return home shortly by the abundance of hoofbeats on your drive.”
Amelia gasped. Howard.
