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his task. Charlotte took a deep breath and held it, aware of his nearness, aware of the strangeness of the situation to be alone with Daniel Taylor, unchaperoned, so close to him-all of which would be highly inappropriate in any other setting. She felt the tube press against her chest, just above her left breast, and she involuntarily started. The device was not terribly long, so he had to bring his head to within six or seven inches of her body to listen. She released a ragged breath and drew in a shallow one in return, finding it difficult to breathe.
    “Fine. Now I will attempt to hear the heart of the fetus as well. Has the babe been active?”
    “Yes, quite.”
    He pressed the tube with firm pressure against her abdomen and listened intently. He repositioned it slightly and listened again. “There he is.” He listened a moment longer. “Strong and steady.”
    Charlotte smiled. “Do you call all unborn babes `he’?”
    “I don’t know. Don’t think so.”
     
    “I do think it is a boy. Just a feeling I have. I suppose all ladies in confinement say such things?”
    “Yes, and they are often right.”
    “Are they?”
    He grinned. “About half of the time.” Then his grin faded. “Well, next I would normally palpate the” he waved his hands over her abdomen-“uh … area. And examine … other areas as well.” He swallowed, “However, I think, considering your general health and the quickening of the babe, that this has been sufficient for today.” He stepped back, and Charlotte slumped a bit on the table, relieved.
    A soft knock sounded at the door, and Dr. Taylor leapt eagerly to answer it. Charlotte couldn’t see whom he spoke with through the partially opened door, but she could hear much of the muted conversation.
    “You’re wanted above stairs.”
    “Is there a problem?”
    “I’m afraid … quite upset.”
    “I see. I shall be up directly.”
    He shut the door and looked back at Charlotte. “I’m wanted elsewhere, Miss Lamb-excuse me, Miss Smith.”
    Charlotte lowered herself from the table.
    “Gibbs will alert you to our next appointment.”
    She nodded.
    “Good day,” he said, and turned to leave.
    “Good day,” she answered, but he was already gone.
     
    The poor collect milkweed down and with it fill their beds, especially their children’s, instead of feathers.
    PETER KALM, 1772

CHAPTER 4

harlotte read the letter in the garden, which, mess though it ► was, offered her a bit of privacy-something sorely lacking within the manor itself. Gibbs had handed it to her with a simple, “Letter, miss.” And while Charlotte should have been pleased to receive it, especially because the fine, feminine handwriting was clearly her aunt’s, she trembled as she carefully peeled it open. Somehow she knew it bore ill tidings. What else could she expect at present? Surely her father hadn’t forgiven her, asking through Aunt Tilney for Charlotte to come home. She knew this, and still her hands trembled as she read.
My dear niece,
It is with deep sadness that I write to you today. Your father has asked that I sever all connection with you, something I am loathe to do. You know I hold you in the highest esteem and dearest affection, positions unaffected by recent revelations. I hope you will in time learn to forgive your father. He has always held the good opinion of others too dearly, as you well know, and I fear this has laid him very low.
     
There is some small hope, I believe, that your sister may secure the affection of a certain gentleman, whom you well know, before news reaches the ears of those who would compel him to withdraw any connection with your family. Your sister, especially, longs to conceal the unhappy truth as long as possible.
It pains me to write so plainly, but there it is. Your father bids me to beseech you to confine yourself away from the public eye, and to conceal your identity until an engagement is secure. It is too much to hope this could extend past a