“All will be well with her.” Selena was still talking. “You know how clever she is. She will find work, perhaps in a great house like this, and is sure to find another family that esteems her, as they should. Though, I am sad to think we will never see Philomena again.”

Hugh, unable to speak another word on the subject, left the room.

The cruellest thorn in his heart was the knowledge that he had only himself to blame for this disaster. Had he remained at the Hall, trusting Philomena, she would still be here. What a fool he was, undeserving of the happiness that had been so close. Philomena had slipped through his careless fingers.

Hugh tried to tear his thoughts away from her, but Philomena’s face shone bright in his mind. The memory of her dimples tormented him. How hard he had worked to make the child smile against her will, for the pleasure of seeing them appear. He recalled the feel of Philomena’s body, held all too briefly. Remembering the touch of her lips, he closed his eyes, overcome with anguish.

Was he destined never to know the happiness of a loving home life? He had tried marriage once, with Beatrice, and it had resulted in naught but pain and, worse, in his wife’s death. The only happy outcome of his married life was their son, John. How would he face the long days here at the Hall, with no Philomena to smile at them both in the warmth of the nursery?

Hugh cared nothing for her background, for the lies or the false address Philomena had supplied. Whatever, whoever she was, he needed his love beside him. Life was nothing alone.

He sent for the coachman. Ince visibly quaked, twisting his hat around in nervous fingers.

“Miss Selena tells me you saw Miss Philomena to the train,” said Hugh. The man’s hands began to shake “There is no need to be afraid. Just tell me that she set off safely for Bristol.”

The silence stretched out for long moments.

“Oh, my lord, I am sorry.” Hugh could hardly make out Ince’s words; the coachman’s voice shook so. “She would not let me see her on to the train, my lord. She sent me away. I am sorry. I was wrong, and—”

“You do not know whether or not she went to Bristol, if I understand you correctly?”

“That’s right, my lord.”

Every bone in Hugh’s body ached with weariness. The coachman’s confession meant that no one knew where Philomena had gone. He sighed. “You may go,” he said.

Ince made himself scarce, hardly believing his good fortune in escaping Lord Thatcham’s famous wrath. Hugh trudged up the stairs to the nursery, which he supposed should be called the schoolroom, in future. He pushed the door open.