JANE FELT FOOLISH FOR ASKING THAT QUESTION out loud when she knew perfectly well that they had never met. He would think she was flirting with him.

Though he had been kind enough to make a joke of it.

We have known each other for a lifetime or ten. For an eternity, in fact.

His eyes crinkled attractively at the corners when he smiled.

The visit to the vicarage had been a little strange altogether. Because elderly Mrs. Mitford had been dressed in her Sunday best and had been looking bright and happy to have visitors on her birthday, and because both Louisa and Edna had virtually ignored her after speaking the obligatory greetings, Jane had done something she had never done before. She had stepped close to Mrs. Mitford and hugged her, and instead of recoiling, the lady had caught hold of her hand and held it tightly all the time they sat together.

Did she still remember that long-ago afternoon when Jane was four? Clearly, she did not bear a grudge if she did. But why would she? Jane had been little more than a baby.

But Jane had remembered.

She had once been absolutely convinced, with no shadow of doubt, that Mrs. Mitford had once been her mother. With her child’s logic, she had not stopped to ask herself when that might have been or how she could possibly have two mothers.

All she could remember now was that it had been a powerful conviction.