Steam wafted Maria in the face, reminding her of the cold and bitter tea she had invariably dumped earlier that morning. After Lord Granfell had left the kitchen last night, she had been in such a fit that she'd stormed upstairs, quickly undressed, and went right to bed.

When she had awoken this morning—far too early for a good night's sleep—she'd hurriedly written a letter to Maude and Susie. She'd then given the letter and a penny to the post boy before he'd left. Hopefully, they would get the news of her extended stay at Granfell Manor soon.

Today was another uncharacteristically warm and dry day for this early in the spring and every servant was taking advantage of the good weather. Carpets were beaten, curtains aired, and of course, every soiled strip of linen in the whole manor was being boiled, washed and hung to dry.

Maria held her hand over her brows as she looked up at the blue, nearly cloudless sky. Birds were singing high in the branches of the towering oak and chestnut trees. The wonderful smell of baking wafted from the open kitchen door, filling Maria with a sense of homeliness. Truly, it was a magnificent day, and she would have enjoyed it, if she wasn't still so utterly mortified from the night before.

Never mind that. Focus on your work.

Maria bent over the washbasin, rinsing the soapy linens in clean water. Daisy came out the kitchen door, carrying a large overflowing basket. "This is the last one," she called from behind the heap, setting the basket down on a table. Three other baskets of laundry were placed around the workstation: the aforementioned table, a large pot over an outdoor hearth, two watertight open-mouthed barrels and a laundry press.

As the women resumed the process of laundering, silence fell over the group. Maria was grateful for the reprise. Anna, whose back was turned and bent over the baskets, seemed content quietly sorting the laundry.

Daisy gave the young woman a mocking wide-eyed look before turning back to Maria. "I thought last night was a jolly time!" she exclaimed loudly. Anna jolted before returning to her work. "I was right surprised that Mr. Tardy could dance so well. I wonder where he learnt such a skill? He seemed quite eager to show off for Lady Laura. What do you think, Anna?"

Anna stood up stiffly, glared at Daisy, tossed her head back, and quietly hissed, "That man can dance with the devil for all it concerns me!" She turned on her heel and stomped away toward a log pile stacked against the kitchen's outer wall.

"What was that about?" Maria asked Daisy warily.

"Just adding a bit of fuel to the fire," she grinned, leaning in to whisper. "Anna has been smitten with Mr. Tardy for ages now, but she won't hardly speak a word to him. A heated outburst is leagues better than remaining as interesting as a cold dead fish," Daisy explained, her head bobbing as she spoke. "I have three older sisters. I know how these things go."

"Oh, is that so?" Maria remarked, a smile twitching on her lips.

Moments later, Anna returned and threw an armful of logs onto the ground before kneeling down to stoke the fire. Daisy looked thoughtful as she recommenced scrubbing the linen. "Well, it had been a lovely evening until Lord Granfell had to go and make it all sad like. What do you think that was about?"

Maria began to roll out the clean linens in the press, desiring to be far away from this particular topic of conversation.

Anna stood up and drowned several soiled linens into the boiling water with a long stick, her face no longer haughty but no less stern. Her brogue was thick as she spoke, "When I first came to work at Granfell manor nearly four years ago, there was an older maid who'd been here for over a decade. She later followed Lady Anne as her lady's maid when she married Mr. Delroy, but that's no matter."

She breathed heavily as she exerted herself in stirring the heavy mass of linens, her small stature and slim arms making the movement awkward. "I heard from her that when Lord Granfell was younger, he was engaged to a childhood friend. She died while he was still at university, and when he came home for her funeral, he played the same song over and over again, like one of them music boxes." She paused, cocking her head slightly to the side. "I wonder if it was the same one as yesterday? It certainly sounded sad enough to be a dirge."

"What do you say, Mrs. Ross?" Mr. Tardy spoke from behind the women. Anna stiffened visibly and turned her head away. He was holding a rolled up carpet in his arms, intending to bring it back into the manor. "Was the piece Lord Granfell performed yesterday the same as all those years ago? If I recall correctly, you used to work in the kitchens at that time, isn't that right?" he asked.

"Yes," Maria breathed. She laid the last of the clean and pressed sheets into a wicker basket and hoisted it against her hip. "That is enough chatter," she said a little too sternly. "There is still work to be done."

***

Later that day, Maria sat in the parlor of the guest suite Mr. and Mrs. Thorne were given upon arriving three days hence.

Maria peered through the open door connecting the parlor to the bedroom. It seemed the baby was still sleeping soundly in his bassinet, which was a relief. According to Mrs. Thorne, Matthew had been up half the night feeding. Hunger and regular feedings were a good sign that the premature baby was growing as he should be, but it left his dear mother sore and fatigued.

Mrs. Thorne lay on the carpeted floor, her knees bent and her feet flat on the ground. Her hands rested one over the other on her belly. She yawned widely, her eyes closing before fluttering open again. "So, like this?" she asked before taking a deep breath, her belly expanding with air, then exhaling slowly through open lips.

"Yes, just like that. Well done."

"And this should help me become stronger?" Mrs. Thorne asked with a doubtful smile. "Isn't it a somewhat pathetic form of exercise?" She had been feeling lightheaded and weak since the birth, most likely due to blood loss, but Maria wanted to take the recovery process slowly with Mrs. Thorne. There were some women who within hours after birth were up, walking around, cooking and cleaning, or tending to their older children; while other mothers needed more time to recover from the huge strain their bodies had just undergone. Mrs. Thorne, with her small frame and delicate health, was undoubtedly one of those women. It may have been a blessing in disguise that Matthew had come early. Several more weeks of growth could have left him dangerously large for a woman as petite as her.

"Every day the exercises will get a little more difficult, and with time and consistent practice, you should be feeling much better in a matter of weeks."

"That certainly is good to hear," came a male voice from behind them. Maria turned in her chair and saw Captain Thorne standing in the doorway.

"My love," Mrs. Thorne called, her face instantly brightening. The Captain crossed the room and bent down to pick up his wife. For a moment it seemed she would protest, but with a stern look from her husband, she gave in to the gesture, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Where shall I bring you?" he asked when standing again, his voice like gravel.

"I would love to see the garden," Mrs. Thorne replied wistfully.

"Is that alright, Mrs. Ross?" Captain Thorne inquired.

Maria, amused that permission was being asked of her, waved her hand in a dismissive manner. "Yes of course! It is a lovely day, but I was already out all morning, and I have some writing I would like to attend to. I will stay here and notify you when the baby wakes up again.

Thus agreed upon, Mrs. and Mr. Thorne departed for the gardens. Maria stood and meandered around the room for several minutes, admiring the ornate marble fireplace and beautifully crafted decorations. A replica of a grecian statue stood in one corner of the room. Maria ran her fingers along the slope of the porcelain woman's bare shoulder.

It was so strange being here, not as a member of staff, but as an independent woman. Even helping with the chores this morning had been more for herself than for the estate. She was not used to having nothing to do. Back at the cottage she shared with Maude and Susie, they split the daily workload: gardening, shopping, cooking, mending, going out into the village for their midwifery duties: visiting families and attending births. Here, she had her work with Mrs. Thorne and the baby, but that only took up a few sparse hours of the day. If she did not put effort into finding work, she would be left to her own devices. To think. To remember. And that was too painful.

Yes. Work was good.

Maria walked quietly into the bedroom and over to where the baby lay. He was fast asleep, one little first pressed up against his mouth. Maria rubbed her hands together, warming them, before she gently took the baby's head into her hands and slowly turned his face to the other side. He fussed for a moment, but she kept a staying hand on his profile, until he relaxed and fell back to sleep. She took a step back, and looked up.

Lord Granfell stood in the doorway. Blast the man for his wicked timing.

He was leaning against the doorframe, one hand gripping the edge. "I am in search of my cousin and her husband. Might you know their whereabouts?"

Maria took a deep breath before answering, steeling herself, "They are in the garden."

He nodded, but instead of turning around, his eyes wandered to the bassinet next to Maria.

"How fares my heir?" he asked.

Taken aback, Maria did not answer at first. "Your heir?" she blurted.

He seemed to have taken the question as an invitation. He left the door frame and walked into the room, his hands clasped behind his back. He looked down at the baby as he spoke. "Mrs. Thorne is the legitimate daughter of the late George Ransom Morrison, the marquess before my father, and my father's cousin. Hers is the most direct familial line of inheritance. It was my intention all along to give her, or rather her son, the familial estates and title as my heir. The fact that he is not my son is of little consequence."

"All along? What about Miss Clarke?"

He looked up at her, his eyes piercing. "Cecilia died before any of this happened," he stated blankly, neither his face nor tone belying any emotion.

A questioning look must have been plastered on her face, for he continued with a sigh, "We found Mrs. Thorne, then still known as Miss Morrison, three years ago, down in Lyme. She lived and worked there as a secretary to a naval correspondence base. That is where she met Captain Thorne, much to my chagrin." He paused his story and motioned toward a chair in the corner of the room, indicating this was going to be a longer tale, and Maria should make herself comfortable.

She hesitated a moment. Really, she shouldn't be in the same room as this man for any longer than necessary. She should excuse herself and go somewhere she could be alone or make herself useful. But there was the baby, and she had promised to watch after him. There was no helping it then.

With a sigh, Maria took the seat and he recommenced his story. "I only knew of her existence after I had inherited from my father and gained access to the marquessial study and familial records. There I found the marriage license and a letter referring to the birth of a Lady Diana Morrison, but nothing of her whereabouts." He grimaced.

"After nearly a year of searching, we finally found her graduation records from a certain boarding school in the south. After speaking with old acquaintances at the school who were still in contact with her, we found her place of residence in Lyme as well," he said in conclusion.

"You're leaving out the best part!" Lady Laura's feminine voice trilled from behind him. She must have entered the room without either of them noticing her, and she was now giving her brother a chastising look. "Really, of course you wouldn't find merit in telling the most romantic part of the story. Poor Mrs. Ross must be bored out of her mind listening to you natter on about records and contacts."

Lady Laura walked over and sat down on the window seat next to Maria. She leaned over to speak softly but clearly, "Diana's father met her mother while he was traveling. She was a tavern maid and he, as you know, a marquess. They had one night of passion under the stars and then they split ways, never to see each other again." She smiled voluminously then. Lord Granfell was looking up at the ceiling, his lips moving but no sound emerging, as if in silent prayer.

"Except," Lady Laura continued, her eyes widening with excitement, "Diana's mother showed up one day here, at the familial estate, swollen with babe, claiming the marquess to be the father. Well, the marquess, quite young yet wifeless and childless, was on his deathbed from a terrible illness he had suffered from for most of his life. He summoned a special license for himself and the woman, and married her before he expired, thus making his child, Diana, legitimate. However, the woman, distraught and in no way a proper marchioness, left and raised Diana with her family in the south until she died, whereupon Diana was sent to a boarding school by her aunt." She concluded the story, leaning back with satisfaction. "Isn't that the most romantic, tragic story you've ever heard? It's almost out of a storybook!"

"Your gratification at the tragedy of the tale is somewhat morbid, do you not think so sister?" Lord Granfell asked somewhat sarcastically.

"Not at all! Diana herself told me the story. Although, she did not know the lord her mother spoke of was a marquess until we found her." Lady Laura retorted. She beamed up at her brother, a mischievous grin lighting her face, but she continued to speak to Maria, "Has Evan told you that he intended to marry Diana?"

When Maria shook her head in response, she continued, "Oh yes! He proposed nearly immediately upon confirming her identity. Something about 'returning the title to its true lineage'," she drawled teasingly in a manner only a well loved younger sister could. "But Diana was in love with Captain Thorne and chose him over the life of a marchioness. Isn't that romantic? Still, the man, infuriatingly stubborn as he is, is just as intent on giving Diana what he believes is her birthright."

"As it is," he responded immediately.

"See?" Lady Laura sighed and rolled her eyes. Then, in one fluid motion, she stood and smoothed her skirts. "Now, I don't know how I was drawn into this topic of conversation, but I really must be getting back to the point of my coming here: Mrs Ross would you be so kind as to accompany me on a picnic tomorrow afternoon?"

Somewhat bewildered by the sudden change in topic, it took Maria a moment to gather her wits before she too stood and nodded, replying, "Yes, of course, my lady."

"Wonderful! We will set out just before tea time tomorrow." She made a relieved smile before turning toward her brother. "I must be off!" she exclaimed, kissing him on his cheek. "Mrs. Tuckner has requested that we discuss the preparations for the house party next week and I really should not keep the good woman waiting any longer."

"No indeed," he replied dryly.

Lady Laura gave a chiming little giggle before turning to lean down and blow a kiss to the baby. Then, in a flash of pink and white muslin, she left the room.

Now void of the vivacious energy of the young lady, the room felt stagnant and cold. Maria looked at the lord for a moment, then looked down at her hands, held together in front of her. She rubbed distractedly at her knuckles for a moment, the skin dry from this morning's scrubbing.

The story had been wonderful indeed, romantic and tragic, as Lady Laura had said. Maria was still a little stunned that the young lady had shared the story with her. It must be a fairly private part of the Morrison family business, and certainly none of hers.

However there was something about it that gnawed at her, something left out on purpose, or perhaps simply missing.

"How," she began, not knowing what compelled her to speak, "did the marquess know that the baby Mrs. Thorne's mother was increasing with was in fact his child?" She picked up her head at the last word, looking him in the eyes.

"I do not know, but I believe he trusted her," he said with such solid earnestness that it made the air catch in Maria's lungs.

Why, oh why were there tears prickling at the corner of her eyes? This was not the time to become overwhelmed.

"What..." she began quietly, "What was her name?"

"Hannah."

Nodding, Maria turned her face down. She would not swipe at her eyes, she would not! "She must have been a very brave woman," she said.

"Undoubtedly," he said softly. A moment of silence passed between them before he spoke again. "Are you well, Mrs.—"

"Matthew is doing very well, to answer your question," Maria interrupted him. She lifted her chin and took a deep breath, forcing the emotion that welled in her chest and threatened to burst from her down with relentless brutality.

"Ah. That is good news indeed," he replied, dropping the hand he had outstretched.

"He has been feeding and sleeping well, which is all we can ask of the little sprout as of now. Even if you have grand plans for him in the future." She put on her best smile and walked over to the bassinet. She tsked softly.

Lord Granfell stepped up to the rim of the bassinet as well and stood next her, leading down slightly. "What is the matter?" he asked.

"Babies must interchange which side of their heads they sleep on, or else the soft part of their skulls become deformed. I moved his head earlier, but he seems to have a favorite side and switched it back again.

"I did not know babies this young could move their heads," he said inquiringly.

"Their necks are too weak to hold them up, but when lying down they can move them from side to side, yes."

"Hmm, so like this?" he asked as he cupped the baby's head in his hands and slowly turned it. The baby scrunched his eyes together and grimaced at the movement.

Maria watched in fascination at how gentle and elegant his handling of the child was. His features were calm and concentrated as he focused on the child before him.

He cared, she realized with a jolt. He cared. Suddenly, she knew she couldn't hold it back any longer. "My lord there is something I must tell you.—"

A sharp, loud wail bursted from the baby, his little arms flailed about him as he fought against the marquess' gentle, albeit firm, hold.

He released the child and took a step back. "It seems my efforts have not been taken kindly to."

Maria stared in wide-eyed panic at what she had just been about to say. Dear God. She really would have too, she knew, if she had not been cut short. But now the moment was over before it had even begun and there was a living baby who needed taking care of first.

She picked up the boy and bounced him, shushing softly into his ear. "Do not worry, my lord. Most babies react that way when they are near waking on their own. He must be in need of another feeding. I will bring him to Mrs. Thorne in the gardens."

He was still grimacing down at the bassinet before he gave a nod of dissent. "If you would tell Captain Thorne I await him in my study, I would be much obliged. Good day, Mrs. Ross."

"Of course." He didn't even hear me, she thought, not sure if she was upset or relieved. "And a good day to you too, my lord." She plucked a muslin blanket from the side of the bassinet and strode out of the room.