if anyone had known, you would have been taken away from me. This was the only way we could keep you with us.”
“It’s true, Jane.” Grandmama sounded weary but resolute, as if she still held the belief of her strong convictions. “We did it to keep our family together. When my daughter fell ill, we did whatever we could to help her, even if it meant draining our finances. We traveled everywhere in search of a treatment.
“And when we lost Theodora”—she paused, cleared her throat—“to the ravages of that horrible illness, we had only each other left. My husband passed long ago, Sir Henry had no brothers or sisters, and Lydia… Lydia always thought she was more comfortable with her numbers and equations. She never realized how much she needed us.”
Lydia stared at Grandmama, as if hearing this for the first time. Grandmama met her gaze, tenderness softening her features.
“So when we learned of Lydia’s… situation,” Mrs. Boyd continued, “we refused to allow you, an innocent child, to suffer. Especially when we knew that you might well prove to be Lydia’s salvation.”
A strangled sound emerged from Lydia’s throat. Tears filled Jane’s eyes as her mother’s hand tightened on hers.
“It’s true, Jane,” Lydia choked out. “I never… I don’t know what would have become of me if I hadn’t had you. You gave me a purpose in life beyond numbers. You gave me hope and love and… I wouldn’t change any of it. I would have lied to the devil himself to keep you.”
“It was my idea, Jane, so you mustn’t blame Lydia,” Grandmama said. She gripped her cane and rose, then bent to press a kiss against Jane’s forehead. “And it was all done to ensure you remained with us. With Lydia. Remember that.”
She squeezed Lydia’s shoulder and left the room, closing the door behind her.
Jane tried to imagine being raised in another house, with another family—and couldn’t. She would only ever belong to the Kellaways. Only to Lydia.
“I didn’t mean it when I said I hate you,” she mumbled.
“I know.”
Jane looked down and saw a crumpled piece of paper in Lydia’s hand. “Is that…”
Lydia smoothed out the document, revealing the swirled penmanship naming her as Jane’s mother. Beyond the shadow of a doubt.
“It had fallen beneath one of the other globes,” Lydia explained. “Alexander found it.”
“What are you going to do with it?”
“Give it to you.”
Jane looked at her. “Give it to me?”
Lydia nodded and placed the acte de naissance on Jane’s lap.
“What am I to do with it?” Jane asked.
“Whatever you like. It belongs to you. I will never lie to you again. Not about anything.”
Jane stared down at the paper that she’d pored over to the point of exhaustion, trying to believe, to accept, what she’d read. Now as she looked at the document for the hundredth time, she realized how fitting it all was.
There was her name, her birth date. The place where her grandmother Theodora had lived. Papa’s name, Grandmama’s name. Kellaway, Lydia. And a blank line where her father’s name should have been.
Painful, but fitting. And right.
Jane swiped at a stray tear. “I’m sorry.”
“What on earth do you have to be sorry about?” Lydia asked.
“For… for writing to… to him. Keeping it from you. I thought to tell you a number of times, but it was… well, it was a secret I had for myself. Something that belonged only to me.”
“I understand. You’ve no need to apologize.”
“Yes, I do. He told me… he said you had to give up your work after I was born. You could have done so much, Lydia, changed so many—”
“Jane!”
Jane looked up, startled, to find Lydia descending on her with all the force of a mother eagle. Lydia wrapped Jane in her arms and hugged her, pressing her cheek to Jane’s hair.
“Never, never think I gave up anything for you. Never! I wanted you, Jane. You’ve no idea how much. Yes, I was frightened and yes, I made terrible mistakes, but once you were born—when I held you that first time, I knew my world had changed. I knew numbers and equations could never fill my heart the way you did. All I cared about from that moment on was being with you.”
Jane’s tears spilled over as she buried her face against Lydia’s neck and breathed in the familiar scent of her. Her mother. For eleven years, she’d had a vague sense of longing for a mother, when all this time her mother had been right by her side.