“My next clear memory was the midwife putting Christopher to my breast and saying very firmly that I had a fine baby boy and I must take care of him. When I held him, I became determined to survive and the mists began to clear. But I’d lost a lot of blood and had childbed fever and was very weak for a long time after.”

“You had twins and one was stillborn?” Lucas asked quietly.

“Twins, yes,” Kendra said, her voice tightening. “But the other baby, a girl, wasn’t stillborn. I . . . I remember holding her. She made a feeble little cry, like a kitten. She was so tiny and frail! I had decided that if I had a girl, I would name her Caitlin, for my mother. She had dark hair like Madeline, but she was a shadow child, not robust and healthy like your daughter, Suzanne.”

The sight of Madeline in her arms had awoken the memory of her Caitlin. So fragile, so precious and fleeting. Kendra’s voice turned savage. “The true horror was hearing Denshire say to get rid of it, he didn’t need a sickly girl that surely wouldn’t last the night. He yanked her from my arms and . . . she gave a terrible little cry.”

As the agony of that moment seared through her mind, Kendra began sobbing uncontrollably. She turned her face into Lucas’s shoulder.

“Mon Dieu!” Suzanne whispered in a horrified voice. Her arm tightened around Kendra at the same time as Lucas’s. The warmth of their joint embrace saved Kendra from fracturing.

As she sobbed her pain and anger away, she found a clarity she hadn’t known in years. At length she lifted her head and drew a deep breath. “Lucas, I’m sorry for soaking your coat.”

He smiled at her. “No apology is necessary. It makes a man feel very manly when a beautiful woman cries on his shoulder.”

His light tone surprised her into a crooked smile. “Best not to encourage me!”

She hoped she never wept with such grief again. She rose to her feet, giving both companions a brief grateful hand squeeze first.

Then she paced across the room as she ordered her thoughts. Now that light had been shined on the dark core of her hidden tragedy, she felt strong again after years of weakness. She turned to face Lucas and Suzanne, profoundly grateful for them. Suzanne, who had a Madonna’s warmth and a survivor’s steel. Lucas, who had endured a fractured life and become strong and compassionate.

Aloud, she said, “Lucas, thank you for sharing your family with me.”

“The pleasure is ours,” Suzanne said with a smile. “I always wanted a sister.”