Page 6 of Once Upon a Winter's Tale
He peered into his glass of brandy, swishing it slightly and watching its legs coat the sides of the glass. “It is important I deliver these items.” He pushed the letters across the desk to Albert. “If your mother knows of her whereabouts, ask her to see Lady Wharton receives the letter and have her send a message to me. I would like to see my aunt again. She was a lovely woman, inside and out. I cannot account for what happened between her and my uncle, but it became obvious he cared for her, at least in the end. He wasn’t himself… There were stories…”
The earl let the sentence drop.
“My sincerest sympathies on the passing of your father, Albert. Please extend them to your family.” Patrick stood to leave. “If you find out anything about my family’s whereabouts, would you let me know? Aside from my parents, Uncle Felix was my only family. I would like to know them.”
“Them? Are we speaking of the countess, or are there others?” Albert asked, struck by the inconsistency.
“Yes, of course. I had a dream once that my cousin lived, but it was wishful thinking. We are speaking of the countess.”
Albert stood and shook his friend’s hand over the desk. “Of course, Patrick. I will let you know if I hear of anything of Lady Wharton.” Something felt off, and he wondered if Patrick had held something back. He saw his friend to the door and watched him leave in the Wharton carriage.
As the carriage left their drive, the rustling of satin skirts sounded behind him, and his mother approached from the direction of her parlor. “Was that the new Earl of Wharton?” his mother asked.
“Yes, it was. He left letters for me, but I feel you are the better person to have them,” he said, withdrawing the two notes from his pocket and handing them to his mother.
“One is to your father,” she said hoarsely. Tears filled her eyes.
“And the other is to the former earl’s wife—your friend,” Albert said, hating to see his mother in pain.
She nodded and accepted the letter for the countess but said nothing. Instead, she quietly walked toward her parlor.
Albert was certain she would discuss the letters when she was ready. In the meantime, he had a property to visit and planned to leave in the morning. “Mother, there was one more thing.”
She stopped and turned to face him.
“He asked if we found the countess—if she is still living—to reach out to him. He misses his aunt, and she would be his last family member.”
Albert watched tears run down his mother’s cheek. He wanted to ask more but held back. There would be time later.
Chapter Three
Six days later
Sidmouth, Devon, England
“Miss Brianna, whatshall I do with these cages?” The stable hand stood in the doorway, leaning back awkwardly, struggling to hold a crate-like wooden cage almost his size.
“Roy, you are a dear! The mother cat is ready to have those babies. The crate is perfect! It should keep them safe and give the mother cat plenty of space to have her litter,” Brianna replied. “If you see any sign of her labor, promise to send for me.”
“Yes, Miss Brianna. But if it’s too late—”
“I want to be told. Promise me,” Brianna interrupted.
A recent litter from one of the stable cats had met with disaster after a hawk spotted the babies beneath some shrubs outside of the stable. While the mother cat was away, the hawk swooped in and attacked the nest. Brianna’s heart broke when she heard the mother cat wailing and noticed two kittens had been taken.
Hawks need to survive, but I will not let this happen to another mother cat.
Roy and his father had been kind enough to build this crate for her, and she planned to have them make more, because it seemed like a suitable solution for many of the animals she found that needed to heal.
“How is baby Clover? I was thinking about taking her out to where we found her and seeing if her mother had returned,” Brianna said.
“The fawn was good when I fed her an hour ago,” Roy answered, maneuvering the crate into an empty stall. “Cook sent some food down for the mother cat, too.”
“Cook loves the cats and kittens but pretends otherwise—as does my mother,” she replied.
He pulled out a bottle of milk with a nipple fashioned from the tip of an old glove. “Cook said this is for your baby fawn.”
“That’s thoughtful of Cook. Does she know I’ve named her Clover?” Brianna asked.
