Page 4 of The Art of Theft
“Yes,” she agreed without any self-consciousness. “And when she sees how many pressed pansies I’ve made, she’ll know I’ve thought so, so much about her.”
A shard of pain pierced deep in his chest. This was not the life he had imagined for her when he’d first held her, tiny and swaddled, in his arms. “I’m sure Mamma will be deeply moved. And she’ll treasure every one of the pressed pansies.”
“I’m going to make so many that even if she loses some, she’ll still have lots.”
She didn’t sound sad, but determined and matter-of-fact about her absent mother. But what would happen if she were to learn about the divorce? His petition had been logged with the Probate, Divorce and Admiralty Division of the High Court, but the case was unlikely to be heard before the Hilary sitting in January. Or maybe not until the Easter sitting, he was beginning to hope.
When the divorce was granted, he would need to tell his children the truth. But increasingly he worried that they might learn it first from someone other than him. His sister-in-law, the Duchess of Wycliffe, had invited his children to Eastleigh Park for Christmas, and he had accepted: The little cousins adored one another, and he couldn’t deny such joy to Lucinda and Carlisle, despite the rumors they might hear, visiting an estate as large as Eastleigh Park.
The door of the orangery opened. Carlisle took a few steps inside, still holding on to Miss Yarmouth’s hand. When he saw Lord Ingram he let go and rushed to him. “Papa, look at this feather I found.”
“Look at it indeed.” The feather was almost a foot long, perfectly clean, perfectly white, each barb neat and orderly. “A most handsome find.”
“Can I give it to Mamma?”
Lord Ingram was acutely aware of Miss Yarmouth’s presence. He would much prefer never to speak of his wife again in front of an outsider, but he couldn’t very well order the children’s governess to absent herself every time her charges brought up their mother. “Of course you may. Do you have a place to put it?”
“On my nightstand.”
More pain punctured his heart. Carlisle’s nightstand was becoming crowded with small objects that he wished to pass on to his mother.
Lucinda looked up from her pansies. “Can we go to London, Papa? Mamma might be in London.”
He blinked and almost demanded to know where his daughter had got that idea from. Then he remembered that last time they’d been taken to London, they had, much to their surprise and delight, met their mother.
Lady Ingram had been about to go on the run again, not from the Crown, which had promised to no longer pursue her for past misdeeds against its agents, but from Moriarty, a shadowy figure of power she had openly accused of serious crimes. Lord Ingram did not know where she had gone, but he doubted that she was waiting in London to see her children.
Carlisle’s eyes lit. “Can we, Papa? Can we please?”
Once again he was intensely aware of Miss Yarmouth. Thank God she wasn’t looking at him with pity, but it was almost as bad that she regarded him in admiration.
“I don’t think Mamma is in London. She has gone abroad, far away.”
“But if she came back, she’d be in London first,” said Lucinda, most reasonably.
“And I can give her this feather!” said Carlisle, waving the feather in the air.
“If you’d like, my lord, I can take the children back to the house,” said Miss Yarmouth diffidently, trying to help.
“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary, Miss Yarmouth. I am going to take them to Story Cottage. You may see to your other duties.”
“Yes, my lord.” Her reply sounded reluctant, but she went.
“Are you children ready for a nice long walk?”
They were. They were sturdy walkers who didn’t mind a little cold. And they loved Story Cottage, which he had rehabilitated from a derelict hut to something out of the pages of a fairy tale, a tiny, immaculate house in the midst of a tiny, immaculate garden.
They stopped by the manor for a supply of foodstuffs, then set out for the long hike to Story Cottage, at the other end of the estate. Halfway there, Lucinda asked, “So when are we going to London?”
He hadn’t thought she’d forgotten, not this child. “Tomorrow.”
The children exclaimed, “Tomorrow?”
“Yes, tomorrow. We are anyway expected at your aunt and uncle’s place in a few days. And London is on our way. So we might as well stay a short while in London, until it’s time to head to Eastleigh Park.”
The children jumped up and down and hugged him tight. He buried his face in Carlisle’s downy hair and did not remind them that their mother would not be there. In time they would learn that seeing her again would be an infrequent and improbable event.
And he had reasons of his own for wanting to be in London.
