“And I missed you as well, poppet.” The area surrounding Meredith’s heart went hollow. More than her future had been compromised today. With her current situation, what would become of Hope and Charlotte? Of Albert?

Arranging her features into what she hoped would pass for unconcern, she looked toward the doorway. The instant her gaze met Albert’s she knew she’d failed in her attempt for nonchalance. His smile froze, then slowly faded, his entire expression turning to one of narrow-eyed wariness.

Damnation, he knew her too well, and after eleven years, she supposed that was to be expected. Still, his eyes were far too knowing for a mere twenty-year-old. But of course, Albert had seen and survived more than most twenty-year-olds. Her gaze shifted to Charlotte, her cook’s apron still tied around her trim waist, her eyes reflecting the same cautious wariness as Albert’s. Charlotte knew her as well as Albert, although Charlotte had only joined Meredith’s “family” five years ago, shortly before giving birth to Hope. As there was no hiding the truth from either of them, she decided not to prolong the misery.

With Hope’s small hand nestled in hers, Meredith walked up the cobbled pathway. When she stepped into the small parquet-floored foyer, she untied her bonnet and handed it to Albert.

“We need to talk,” she said without preamble to Albert and Charlotte.

Still holding Hope’s hand, Meredith led the way down the corridor to the drawing room. Hope immediately dashed to her child-sized chair and table in the corner and began drawing in her sketch pad. Meredith clasped her hands in front of her and faced her two dearest friends.

“I’m afraid I have some rather disturbing news.” She described the morning’s events at the church, concluding with, “As much as I’d like to be optimistic, I’m afraid I must be practical.