Page 18 of Under the Champagne Moon
They would first do some shopping, and then address the more important business. Mrs. Knollwood had known all the Bicton-Morledge girls since they were wee things and having grown up in Reabridge she’d known many of the girls who’d left the village. She’d asked Helena for leave to see the baby everyone was talking about and view the locket. They would pay a call at the vicarage.
“It’s glad I am, miss, that you and your lady have come to stay with us,” Mrs. Knollwood said. “It does a heart good to see my mistress is not alone. Mayhap it’s not my place, but her own family could have done more. Will have to if this child is not a boy.”
“I recall her mother visiting her,” Fleur said. Helena’s mother had showered Phyllis and her baby brother and sister with affection and completely ignoredthe French girl.
“Passed away some years ago, her mother did. My mistress’s brother was killed in France, and her only sister is in India.”
Fleur had forgotten about the brother killed in the early days of the war. No wonder Helena’s mother had shunned her.
“’Struth and I hope that this child is not Phyllis’s,” Mrs. Knollwood said, “for ’twould mean Phyllis is lost to us entirely.”
“A sad thought that. Cora feels certain the babe is not Phyllis’s. When was the last time anyone heard from her?”
“’Twas a few months after she left. She’d married in Scotland, and then she and her man had sailed for Spain to rejoin his regiment.”
“That they married was some comfort, I suppose.”
“Oh, aye. Her mother’s heart wasn’t broken entirely. Her da ought to have let them marry, I say. It’s all well and good to be practical, but young William was a good lad.” She drew in a breath. “What of you, Miss Hardouin? Are you hoping to marry?”
She turned over several answers in her mind. She could set the housekeeper in her place, but that seemed inordinately missish.
Mrs. Knollwood wasn’t a malicious gossip, nor had she ever been unkind.
“Yes,” Fleur said. “I fear I must.”
“If I do say so, miss, Captain Ardleigh seems very attentive.”
Gareth.Despite the chill autumn air, warmth surged in her. “Captain Ardleigh?” she said, managing a bland tone.
Mrs. Knollwood shifted on the seat. “Such a jolly young man.”
Fleur pretended that a difficult patch of road required all her attention.
“So handsome too,” the housekeeper said. “I recall him as a goodhearted lad.”
They had reached the bridge to the island. “Yes,” Fleur said, “he was kind to me as a child. Now, let us see if the vicar is home.”
* * *
Gareth pacedthe four walls of the Bicton Grange parlor, listening to the distant wails and screeches from the nursery floor.
The distracted maid answering the door had ushered him here and hurried out, promising to fetch someone without ever asking Gareth who he was calling on.
When the door creaked, Lady Ixworth entered, back straight, head regal, and a smile on her face that he’d call cheeky—perhaps even devious.
She was a lively one for an older lady. He understood why Sherington admired her so.
He crossed the room and greeted her.
“She’s gone into the village.” Lady Ixworth curved her hand around his arm and brushed her shoulder against his. “She took the housekeeper along in the gig. Helena is resting, the little girls are in the schoolroom arguing, Cora is in the kitchen, and so, you have me to keep you company.”
They’d reached a sofa, and she seated herself, patting the cushion next to her. “Do sit. Or do you want to run after Fleur?”
Her face had grown solemn, reminding him of his warmhearted granny when she had to administer discipline. He couldn’t help grinning. “Why do I sense a scold coming?”
“I never scold, Captain Ardleigh. I state what I think dispassionately.”
“Ah.” She was much like Fleur. “Well, then, perhaps I’m in for an interrogation?”
