and then slipped wearily to her own bedroom. The fire was on in the grate, likely set by the maid earlier in the evening before all of the excitement. She sat down at the end of her bed and pulled her shoes off, stretching her aching feet.
She wanted to sleep desperately, but every muscle and every nerve seemed tight and awake in an agony of alertness brought on by all that she had witnessed that day and all that she had taken on. She thought suddenly of Nigel and wished for his presence. He had always been a good friend, a reliable friend. And though she had long since made peace with his absence, she still thought of him sometimes – especially when she knew how quiet and wise he would have been.
He would have been by her side there with Molly. He would have told her to take Poppy without a second thought. She was sure of it.
“Where are you?” she said softly into the empty room.
She asked that question on occasion, letting her voice linger in the darkness around her – for it was always at night, always when the excitement of the day had eased away and it was only her and her memories. He never answered, of course, and she had never had any letters from him.
The war with Napoleon was only recently over, and she had seen the soldiers begin to re-appear in the village, some of them sliding back into their old lives, some of them raised to new heights by their experiences. Some of them didn’t return at all.
She knew that Nigel was still alive because there had been no death notice given to the small gamekeeper’s cottage. But beyond that, she was unsure how he had fared and if he would ever return. She wondered at herself for still thinking of him – her father always seemed surprised when she mentioned him, as though he had forgotten a boy named Nigel had ever worked for the family. And though she wasn’t sure why, that surprise hurt her. It hurt her so much that she stopped speaking his name aloud, even to Molly. And she held secret the loss of him so carefully that she hardly ever thought of it herself.
Except for tonight.
She lay back on her bed, her clothes still on, and closed her eyes with a sigh, calling out for him again in her head. Where are you?
Chapter 3
A week later, Lord Somerville arranged for Poppy to be re-christened ‘Penelope’ at the parish church. Margaret protested, fearful that a change so significant would startle the little girl yet further. But in the end, her father convinced her it was in the girl’s best interest to start with a clean slate.
Margaret stood beside her throughout the service, silent and supportive. The girl stood like a statue, her face blank, accepting her new elegance without acknowledgement. She had agreed at last to a bath but had borne it silently, as a martyr might, and looked very severe in a new white dress with her hair pulled back in plaits.
As they walked home, she spoke for the first time to Margaret directly, looking up at her with a frown wrinkling her little brow.
“Why am I P’nelopy?”
Margaret patiently explained again, as she had over and over again during the week before the christening. “Poppy is not a proper name for a lady,” she said quietly. “Now that you are living under my father’s roof and my supervision, it is important that you have the name of a young lady.” She felt a lump growing in her throat but pushed back the emotion as quickly as it had come. “It is important to move forward, Penelope.”
“I like Poppy,” she said, kicking at the stones on the path before them. One of the stones skittered forward and hit Lord Somerville’s ankle. He turned and frowned back at them. Margaret forced a smile in her father’s direction and then whispered to the girl at her side.
“Penelope, a lady doesn’t kick stones.”
The girl glowered up at her. She was only four years old, but her expression was that of a much wiser child. Margaret knew that the girl had been forced to fend for herself for the last few years, scrounging around in the gutter at times for meals, tolerating the bullies in town. She saw the look of a fighter about the child and it broke her heart. She put a hand on the girl’s shoulder and amended