She shrugged. “Papa never did acknowledge anything that wasn’t right in front of him. He was very good at avoiding uncomfortable realities. Besides, Papa never liked my grandmother. And she didn’t like him.”
She worked in silence for a while, the only sound the crackling of the fire in the grate.
He imagined her as a young girl, toiling away in the country, caring for her elderly grandmother, growing vegetables and learning the millinery trade. Then the excitement of being sent for, anticipating her come-out, only to serve as a nursery maid instead. She must have been crushed with disappointment.
She examined the hat with a critical air. “It needs something else. Perhaps some flowers. The fashion this year is for more ornate hats and Mrs. Richards does like to beà la mode.”
Women were amazing. How could she know the latest modes, buried here? And that French accent was good. Someone had taught her well. “Did you ever make your come-out?”
She picked over the pile of bits and pieces, putting together a small posy of ribbons and fabric blooms. “No, never. Papa said there was no need. It was too expensive, he said, and he’d already made . . . an arrangement.”
“An arrangement?”
“It did not please me.” He could tell by the set of her firm little chin she wasn’t going to explain any further. She stitched flowers onto the hat band.
“Could your grandmother not help with the children?”
She shook her head. “She died six months before Papa sent for me. I’d written to him of her death, of course, but he didn’t send for me until after his second wife died and he had four young children and a newborn baby on his hand.”
She sewed on the last flower, and added, quite as if it didn’t matter, “Until then, I didn’t even know I had any brothers or sisters. I knew, of course, he’d married again, but in the ten years he left me with my grandmother, he’d never once mentioned children.”
Ten years! And then to find he had a whole other family, and herself the eldest of six.
The hurt, not to have been told . . .
Abruptly, a shard of memory pierced him. He had a brother he’d never been told about. Or was it two brothers? He wasn’t sure. There were remembered sensations of anger. And . . . jealousy? Or hatred of the interlopers. But the details eluded him.
“When did your father die?”
“Two years ago. And all he left were debts and children, so . . .” She shrugged.
“Is there nobody else to help you?”
She held up the hat, turning it and examining it from all angles. “What do you think?” She put it on and turned toward him. He was astounded. How had that stylish-looking hat emerged from those odd bits and pieces. But he wasn’t going to be distracted.
“Very pretty.” So, she was left wholly responsible for children she barely knew, without support from anyone. Working every hour God sent. He watched her packing up her materials.
“You must resent it,” he said quietly.
“Resent what?”
“Having the children foisted on you without—”
“Foisted?” she said in an astonished voice. “I don’t resent the children in the least. Ilovethem. They’re my family, the most precious thing I have. That’s why I refused to let that cousin take in Susan. As long as I can take care of the children, I won’t let anyone split us apart.”
“But—”
“If I do harbor any resentment—and I admit I do—it’s toward Papa for his foolish, selfish, spendthrift ways that left us with nothing—less than nothing—with a pile of debts! But one thing I’ve learned in life is not to waste time in fruitless recrimination—it helps nobody and only embitters you. Now, I think it’s time for bed.” She smiled brightly and disappeared into the other room.
Her words and the dazzling smile that accompanied them caused a shudder of delicious arousal to pass through him.
He lay back and waited, his body thrumming pleasantly, already partially aroused.
She returned a few minutes later, clad in a thick flannel nightgown and a woolen shawl knotted in front, concealing the shape of her breasts. It was cold, he conceded, and flannel was a reasonable choice. But she didn’t need it. He’d keep her warm.
She placed a screen in front of the fire, then hurried away, returning with a roll of bedding.
“What the devil is that?” He sat up abruptly, setting his head spinning. He could see perfectly well what it was.
