The young woman smiled. “My husband, Mr. Hutton, is curate here. He’s in the church study working on a sermon, but I’m sure he’ll be happy to be interrupted! His study is just back here.” She gestured for them to follow her through a narrow door in the right corner of the nave, next to the lady chapel.

The study was a small room lit by a pair of lanterns, and the walls were lined with full bookshelves. There was also a fireplace not currently in use. Curates were the lowest rung of the clerical ladder, and they were often paid barely enough for survival, which meant no money was wasted on unnecessary fuel. A battered desk took up most of the space, and behind it sat a bespectacled young man who was frowning at the page in front of him. When they entered, he looked up inquiringly, then stood when he saw a woman was entering.

“Good day, Mr. Hutton,” Kendra said. She and Lucas had discussed how to introduce themselves and she’d decided to use her married name since that was how she’d been known when she gave birth in this village. “I’m Lady Denshire and this is my cousin, Lord Foxton.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” he said amiably, though he looked puzzled at having such elevated visitors.

His wife said helpfully, “They want to look at the parish register, my dear. There’s no rule that says they can’t, is there?”

“Not at all, they are public records.” Mr. Hutton fumbled in his pocket for a small key ring, then turned to a double-locked cabinet. When he’d opened the doors, he said, “I presume you’re interested in a particular year?”

“Yes, 1806.” Kendra pulled off her gloves and began twisting them nervously. “Nine years ago in December, my husband and I were caught in a blizzard while heading home for the birth of our child. The baby was coming early so we took refuge at the local inn, the Red Lion. A midwife was summoned, but I was very ill and my life was despaired of.”

Mr. Hutton pulled the volume marked 1806 from the middle shelf and laid it on his desk. “Yes?” he said encouragingly, understanding that there was more to the story.

“My son, Christopher, was born and is a fine, healthy boy. But since I was near death and in pain, I was dosed with a great deal of opium. There were several days of which I have no clear memory.” She took a deep breath and realized that she was holding Lucas’s hand as she came to the most painful part of the story.