“I didn’t want to give him cause to doubt”—to question the legitimacy of the child being Lushing’s—“but my hopes could still fail to come to fruition. I’ve had occasions before where I thought I was with child, only to be disappointed, so I shall wait before making any formal announcement.”

“Beckwith is known for his discretion. And I for my optimism. It would be grand indeed to have a little Arthur running around.”

Her stomach roiled. If anyone were capable of detecting that the child did not favor her late husband, it would be Kit.

“He would have made a remarkable father,” Kit continued. “Much more loving than his own. So I shall continue to pray fervently that you are with child. It would be a shame to have Sheffield Hall go on the market.”

“If I am incorrect in the assessment of my condition, perhaps you could purchase it.”

He gave a short laugh. “It will go for an exorbitant amount that is beyond the reach of my coffers.” Glancing over at her, he smiled. “You’ve been set up rather nicely.”

“Lushing was incredibly generous.” But her father had only set aside a dowry for one daughter, and it had been a modest one at that. A small cottage on a bit of land that brought in no income and would now serve as her dower house. He’d thought he’d had plenty of time to get his financial affairs in order with the help of the man she would marry and provide proper dowries for his other daughters. Under Winslow’s hand, Camberley was not even matching the income it had brought in when her father managed it. Tenants were moving to the cities to work in factories, crops from abroad were cheaper than what was grown at home. Even Lushing had lamented his fall in income.

“How are you holding up?” Kit asked.

“As well as can be expected, I suppose. I miss him dearly.”

“As do I.”

She touched the black armband he wore. “I want to thank you for handling all the funeral affairs.”

“It was my privilege to do so.”

“The photograph that the photographer took yesterday morning of Lushing in his casket . . . I don’t want to remember him like that. Would you like to have it?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. It would be a great relief to be honest. I know it was important to him to have it taken, and I don’t think he would have been disappointed that it went to you.” She squeezed his arm. “I miss you as well, you know. You joined us for dinner so often. Please don’t be a stranger.”

“When we’ve both grieved a bit more, I shall plague you with visits.”

She smiled softly. “I look forward to it.”

“How long are you going to stay in London?”