Maggie packed the basket swiftly, as if it was a customary task, including a couple of sweet cakes. After handing the basket to Lucas, she led them through the kitchen to the back of the house. She opened the door and pointed. “It’s that cottage at the end of this path. You can’t miss it.”

The cottage was barely visible but the path was clear. Kendra was vibrating with excitement as she and Lucas walked swiftly through a vegetable garden and then along a fenced pasture where several placid cows grazed. The beasts were lean from winter and greedily enjoying the new grass.

The cottage was very small and looked as if it might have been a converted outbuilding. Kendra knocked on the door.

A woman’s voice called, “A moment.”

When the door swung open, Kendra’s first sight of Mrs. Lowell triggered a cascade of images of kindness and concern. Soft words, a cool hand on Kendra’s forehead, brisk orders to push! This woman had surely saved her life, and perhaps Christopher’s as well.

Mrs. Lowell’s expression froze. “Lady Denshire. You . . . you’re looking well. And your son?”

“He is also well, but that is not why I’m here today. I was so ill that for years after giving birth, I recalled very little of what happened. Then a few days ago, I remembered that I also bore a little girl who was not expected to last through the night.” She swallowed hard before she continued. “Was she baptized? Is she buried in the churchyard at Lower Dauntrey? I need to know.”

After a long, undecided pause, Mrs. Lowell sighed. “You have the right. Best come in.” She stepped back, giving Lucas a sharp glance. “You’re not Lord Denshire.”

“No, I’m Foxton, Lady Denshire’s cousin.”

Mrs. Lowell accepted his words at face value. They were in a small sitting room that included a table, several chairs, a rag rug, and a cooking corner with a fireplace. Lucas set the basket of food on the table. “Your daughter sent this. Bread and cheese, a meat pie, soup, tea, and probably a few other things.”

“Maybe she’ll be able to take the soup,” Mrs. Lowell murmured. She lifted the lid of the crock and filled a mug with the gently steaming soup. Then she crossed the room and opened the door into a small sleeping chamber.

Dim light came through an oil paper–covered window to reveal a haggard woman with fair hair lying limply on a narrow bed. She was asleep, her breathing strained and her cheeks flushed with fever. A little girl perched on the side of the bed petting a cat, but at the sight of the newcomers, she stood.

Kendra felt as if her heart had stopped. The little girl had dark auburn hair and changeable eyes. She looked like Christopher.

She looked like Kendra.

My daughter!

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 17