Appertan swallowed, then straightened his shoulders. “We need to speak to Jennette, Mrs. Webster. Would you bring her to us?”
Mrs. Webster pulled a bell cord that summoned a plump, older woman, obviously the housekeeper, then sent her off with the request. Michael could only imagine the maid’s reaction after how Appertan had treated her. If she was innocent of the plot against Cecilia, she’d be frightened that Appertan might send her away permanently—or take her child. If Jennette was guilty...
Casually, while Mrs. Webster poured tea, Michael stood, ignoring the shot of pain in his leg as he leaned on his cane and limped to the window. He’d noticed the rear exit was on that side of the house, and he kept watch as if admiring the grounds. No one ran out. Mrs. Webster saw his interest and began to talk about the roses she tended all summer.
Cecilia could barely swallow, she was so nervous. Her spoon rattled against the fragile china cup as she stirred her tea. She’d almost jumped when her husband had stood up, but seeing him at the window, she understood his purpose. Her brother’s knee jiggled with nervousness, and she longed to grip it, if only to stop him.
They heard two sets of footsteps in the corridor, and a shot of tension like lightning moved among the three of them. Oliver stood up so fast, he almost tipped over the cup Mrs. Webster was offering him. Baffled, she leaned back to look up, then saw visitors blocking the doorway.
Cecilia held her breath as Jennette stood beside the housekeeper. It was obvious the girl had been crying, for her face was stained with tears, and the housekeeper’s blouse was covered in wet spots at the shoulder. Jennette took one look at Oliver and shuddered, averting her eyes. But that shudder wasn’t one of anger, but fear.
Cecilia glanced at Mrs. Webster, wondering how she could ask the woman to leave her own parlor.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Oliver told Jennette urgently, as if he didn’t care who overheard him.
Jennette trembled and held a handkerchief to her eyes and wouldn’t look at him.
“Lord Appertan,” Mrs. Webster began, coming awkwardly to her feet, “I don’t understand what is going on. Jennette has been an exemplary servant. If you wish to hire her back, the proper etiquette suggests ...” Her words died away as she looked from person to person. “I don’t understand.”
“Jennette,” Oliver began, stepping forward.
The maid shrank back against the housekeeper, who put a bracing arm around the girl and glared at Oliver, all rigid disdain and disapproval. Cecilia had thought the woman simply overweight, but now she guessed she had the physique of one who’d worked hard all her life, and now she meant to protect the maid under her authority.
“Jennette, please,” Cecilia began, “we don’t mean to hurt you. We simply need answers.”
As if she’d somehow gathered her strength, Jennette gazed at Oliver tearfully. “I knew you’d find me, but I couldn’t leave. I had nowhere else to go. You must want the baby, but you can’t have her!”
Mrs. Webster’s mouth fell open in growing understanding, and it was hard to look at her, knowing what she now thought of Oliver—knowing what everyone would soon think. When Michael came to Cecilia’s side and put an arm around her waist, she was grateful for the support.
“I haven’t come to take the baby from you,” Oliver insisted. “This is about my sister.”
“This isn’t about Lady Cecilia,” Jennette said, her voice rising with hysteria. “She was good to me—but not you!”
Cecilia exchanged a glance with Michael. That didn’t sound like someone who wanted to harm her.
Jennette hiccoughed on a sob, then whispered, “I should have gone farther away. But I was tired and sick, and Miss Hannah saw me on the road and insisted I come with her.”
“Hannah,” Cecilia breathed, feeling an ache of loss, even as she remembered her friend’s compassion. Michael gently squeezed her waist.
At the mention of her daughter, Mrs. Webster put her trembling fingers against her lips and bowed her head.
“Miss Hannah said I should stay.” Tears fell down Jennette’s cheeks. “I—I told her about the babe, but she didn’t care, God bless her. When she died, I d-didn’t know if I could trust that strange Miss Penelope, but Miss Hannah had told her everything. What choice did I have?”
Cecilia stiffened, even as she saw Oliver’s look of shock. Penelope knew about his bastard? Cecilia felt a tingling down her back, an awareness of something crucial and important. Penelope had known the truth, and she’d still agreed to marry Oliver. That wasn’t surprising—she would become a countess, and there were many girls who would wish for that. It wasn’t just power and wealth—Penelope loved Oliver.
But ... wouldn’t she have given Jennette money to go away once she was engaged? Instead, Penelope had kept her nearby, under her control. Cecilia almost swayed, knowing how much her own need to be in control had gotten her into trouble. One couldn’t control life easily; one had to learn the grace to go along with whatever happened—to trust in God, oneself, and those one loves.
But Penelope ... Penelope must have thought she might need to use the baby to control Oliver someday.
“Where is your child?” Michael suddenly boomed out.
Jennette shot him a startled look, as if she’d only just realized he was in the room. “Who are you? You’re not taking Darlene!”
“I am Blackthorne, Lady Cecilia’s husband,” Michael said shortly, using Cecilia’s previous title as if to make Jennette understand. “Is the child with Miss Webster?”
Cecilia gasped in horror. “You don’t think—”
Oliver was gaping like a fish. “No. I don’t believe it.”
