She’d questioned the servants after the first carving. Nobody had seen Harry enter or leave Woldsly, not even Oscar, who kept the irregular hours of a bachelor. Her middle brother had remained behind after Tony had left for London. Oscar said it was to keep her and Violet company, but she suspected the real reason had more to do with his creditors in London.

“Romantic of Mr. Pye, isn’t it?” Tiggle sighed.

“Or irritating.” George wrinkled her nose at the swan and placed it carefully on her dressing table beside the horse.

“Or irritating, I guess, my lady,” Tiggle agreed.

The maid came over and laid a hand on George’s shoulder, gently pressing her into the chair before the dressing table. She took up the silver-backed brush and began to stroke it through George’s hair. Tiggle started at the ends and worked to the roots, teasing out the tangles. George closed her eyes.

“Men don’t always see things the same way we do, if you don’t mind me saying so, my lady.”

“I can’t help but think that Mr. Pye was dropped on his head as a baby.” George squeezed her eyes shut. “Why won’t he come back to me?”

“Can’t say, my lady.” The tangles worked out, Tiggle began stroking from her crown down to the ends of her hair.

George sighed in pleasure.

“But he hasn’t gone too far away, now, has he?” the maid pointed out.

“Mmm.” George tilted her head so Tiggle could do that side.

“He wants to go—you’ve said so yourself, my lady— but he hasn’t.” Tiggle started on the other side, brushing gently from the temple. “Stands to reason, then, that maybe he can’t.”

“You’re speaking in riddles and I’m too tired to understand.”

“I’m just saying maybe he can’t leave you, my lady.” Tiggle set down the brush with a thump and began braiding her hair.

“A lot of good that does me if he can’t bring himself to face me, either.” George frowned in the mirror.

“I think he’ll be back.” The maid tied a ribbon at the end of George’s braid and leaned over her shoulder to meet her eyes in the mirror. “And when he comes, you’ll be needing to tell him, if you don’t mind my saying so, my lady.”

George blushed. She had hoped Tiggle wouldn’t notice, but she should have realized the maid kept track of everything. “There’s no way of knowing yet.”

“Aye, there is. And you being so regular like . . .”

Tiggle gave her an old-fashioned look. “Good night, my lady.”

She left the room.

George sighed and dropped her head into her hands. Tiggle had better be right about Harry. Because if he waited too long to return, there would be no need to tell him she was expecting.

He’d see it.

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen