Page 7 of Under the Champagne Moon
Fleur’s heart twisted. Mrs. Bicton-Morledge had been a distant, almost cold guardian to her younger self, and perhaps it had been in part her own fault. The lady had just lost one child and had another on the way when the family took in Fleur. Having a surly young girl thrust into her care must have bewildered her.
Cora dropped a kiss on her mother’s cheek. “It’s only that we care about you. All of us.”
Fleur turned away from the tender scene and took a step toward the door.
“Wait, Fleur,” the lady said. “Thank you, Cora. Now, will you run along and see to your sisters? I want to speak with Fleur a moment.”
CHAPTERTHREE
Dread threaded through her. Surely the lady wouldn’t send them away, not yet anyway.
“Come pull that chair closer.” Mrs. Bicton-Morledge beckoned her. “Would you like some of this toast? I couldn’t possibly eat all of it.”
“No, thank you, ma’am.” Fleur drew a chair a fraction closer and smoothed the skirts of her lavender kerseymere gown under the white smock she’d borrowed from Mrs. Knollwood.
“You left here as a child, but you’ve come back as a lady. I think you must call me Helena. Will you do that?”
Stunned, Fleur almost refrained from speaking. But perhaps she’d done too much of that in the past. Mrs. Bic… Helena, did not deserve any more defiant silence. “Why… yes. Yes, I will.”
Helena grimaced. “It is better than the Mrs. Bicton-Morledge mouthful. Now why are you wearing that smock? You’re not a servant.”
“Dulcinea—Lady Ixworth—and I, we’re grateful you took us in. And we mean to help you in any way we may.”
There. It had been said.
The lady’s dimpled hand reached for hers. “I’m so happy to see the person you’ve become. I’ve been troubled all these years about not doing more for you as a child. About sending you away. There. I’ve said it.”
Fleur let out a breath, marveling at the echoed sentiment, and her heart lifted.
Helena squeezed Fleur’s hand. “Do you remember…” She took in a breath and started again. “I wanted to tell you what I could of your mother, but my husband felt it would make your… your troubled state worse. And then as you got older… I hoped we might visit you or you might visit us and I could tell you in person, rather than putting it into a letter.”
Heart pounding, Fleur nodded. “I am here now, Mrs., er, Helena.”
“Yes. I won’t die knowing I ought to have told you this. Do you remember anything of the time before you came to us?”
Fleur straightened in her chair. Sometimes an image would flash, cloudy, dream-like, a woman with hair like her own, and soft. But crying, always crying. And another, dark-haired—though she couldn’t put a face to either of them. Often, a strong whiff of jasmine would unsettle the fog, though never enough. Was that why she favored the scent?
She must find out what Helena knew. “No,” she said.
“A Swiss woman who worked as a modiste brought you to my husband. She told him what she knew of your parents, their names, where they were from, and where you born, and he wrote it down. He did give you that, didn’t he?”
Fleur nodded. She’d always known her parents’ names, but the brief account had been among the legal papers she’d received when she’d reached her majority the year before.
“Your mother had sewed for the modiste, but… she died, and apparently, they found you crying beside her body. We were packing to leave—oh there was such chaos, with uprisings and the French army advancing. My husband brought you home, and we took you with us. No one dreamed the war would last this long, but now that it’s surely over, perhaps you’d like to see what remains of your family?”
A familiar flash of anger warmed her face. As if her meager funds would support such a quest.
And what an ungrateful thought. Though she didn’t have much, Mr. Bicton-Morledge had arranged a small income for her before his own family fortunes declined.
“Lady Ixton is my family now,” she said.
Helena squeezed her hand again. “As are we, my girls and I.” A frown creased her brow. “Dulcinea mentioned your wish to find some security through marriage. When the time comes, you must make certain of a proper settlement, a dower and a promise to provide for children. And if there is an entail…”
Ah, yes. Bicton Grange was entailed. Helena and her girls were perilously close to being homeless.
“You mustn’t worry,” Fleur said. “Dulcinea and I, between us, have enough income for a roof over our heads, and yours, and your girls’ as well.” It would be a tiny roof, but they’d have shelter. “Dulcinea will delight in bossing the little girls and you while you recover from childbirth. You are going to be just fine.”
If need be, she’d pour coffee down the village doctor’s throat to sober him, be sure of that.
