Jasper set out to find them.

“You can come out now,” Julia said.

The door of the large mahogany wardrobe slowly creaked open. A small head emerged, followed by an equally small body clothed in a stained cotton pinafore. It was a little girl, with plaited hair as black as Charlie’s, and a face just as narrow. She gave Julia a frank look of appraisal.

“You must be Daisy,” Julia said. “How do you do?”

The little girl didn’t speak. She merely edged closer, examining Julia’s face and dress, as if drawn by an overwhelming curiosity.

“Have you been in there long?” Julia asked.

“Since the coach arrived,” Daisy said. There was a grave matter-of-factness to her words, reminiscent of the tone Jasper so often took. As if she’d modeled herself on him—the same solemn speech and manner.

“It can’t have been comfortable,” Julia observed.

Daisy shrugged. Another gesture of Jasper’s, all the way down to the dry expression on her dirt-smudged face. “I like small spaces.”

Julia couldn’t help but be charmed by the girl. “Do you often hide in wardrobes?”

“Sometimes.” Daisy moved closer still, sidling up to the bed. “Did you come from London?”

“I did. Your father and I traveled all the way here on a train. It was terribly exciting.”

Daisy didn’t appear at all impressed. “Are you going to live here now? In father’s room?”

“I am,” Julia said. “Is that all right?”

Daisy set a hand on the counterpane. Her thin brows beetled in a frown. “You’re not my mother.”

Julia’s smile dimmed. “No. No, indeed. I’m not. I would never presume—”

“My mother had golden hair,” Daisy informed her.

“Did she? How lovely.” Julia could think of nothing else to say in reply.

She hadn’t met many children in her life. In London society, the youngest of them were kept separate, never permitted to intrude at meals or at parties. During the journey to Yorkshire, Julia had fretted over how Jasper’s children would receive her.

At the time, she’d been optimistic. Confident that kindness would carry the day.

That confidence was waning by the second.

“She was lovely,” Daisy said. “Father loved her very much.”

Julia’s smile threatened to vanish completely. She forced it to remain through sheer strength of will. Jasper had warned her that the children spoke freely of their mother. Julia refused to be hurt by the fact.

But it did hurt, all the same.

Of course he’d loved their mother. He’d said so only last night. And even if he hadn’t admitted to it, the evidence of his regard for her was present in all his actions. Why else would he have taken on the care of the three illegitimate children she’d borne him? Why else would he plan to leave them the whole of his estate?

For love, obviously. Love of his beautiful golden-haired mistress.

“I’m sure he did,” Julia said. “I’m sure he still does.”

“He does,” Daisy said confidently. She touched one of the carpetbags. Her small fingers tugged at a stray thread. “I can show her to you.”