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conversation with a child, he'd been a child himself.
    "Where is your mother?" he finally asked.
    "Mama is dead."
    "Dead? But I just saw her last night," Stephen whispered, utterly confused.
    "That was Hayley. She's my sister, but she takes care of me like a mama. She takes care of all of us. Me, Pamela, Andrew, Nathan, Aunt Olivia, Grimsley, Winston, and even Pierre. Oh, and our dogs and cat too. Mama is dead."
    "Where's your father?"
    "Papa's dead, too, but we have Hayley. I love Hayley. Everybody loves Hayley. You'll love her too," the child predicted with a solemn nod.
    "I see," said Stephen, who didn't see at all. That young woman took care of all those people? The only adult? But no, the child had mentioned an aunt, had she not? "You have an aunt?"
    Callie nodded, her bright sable curls bouncing. "Oh, yes. Aunt Olivia. She's Papa's sister who came to live with us after Papa died. She looks like Papa except she doesn't have a beard. Only a very small mustache. You have to sit on her lap to see it. She's quite deaf you know, but she smells like flowers and tells me funny stories."
    Without pausing for breath, the child continued, "And then there's my sister Pamela. She's very pretty and comes to almost all of my tea parties. Andrew and Nathan are my brothers." A grimace puckered her face. "I suppose they're nice, but they tease me and I don't like that."
    "And who are the others … Winslow? Grimsdale and Pierre?"
    She giggled. "Winston Grimsley, and Pierre. They all used to be sailors with Papa but now they live with us. Pierre is our cook. He grumbles a lot, but he bakes yummy sweets. Winston mostly likes things around the house." She leaned closer to Stephen in a distinctly conspiratorial manner. "He has tattoos and very hairy arms and says the naughtiest words. He said 'bloody hell' yesterday and he calls Grimsley a 'pain in the arse.'"
    Stephen wasn't quite sure how to reply to that newsy bit of family folklore. Good God, were all children this precocious? He looked at the perfect tiny bow-shaped lips that had just said "bloody hell" and "arse" and felt his own lips twitch. "Who is Grimsley?"
    "He's our butler. His knees make creaky noises whenever he moves and he's forever losing his spectacles. He and Winston were with Hayley when she rescued you. They brought you home and Hayley's been taking care of you ever since. You were very ill," she imparted in a voice that sounding distinctively scolding. "I'm glad you're better so now Hayley can rest. She's very tired and she hasn't been able to come to any of my tea parties." She eyed Stephen with a speculative gaze. "Would you like to come to my tea party? Miss Josephine and I serve the best scones."
    Before Stephen could think up an answer, the door swung open and Hayley rushed into the room.
    "Callie!" Dropping to her knees in front of the settee, Hayley hugged the small child to her. "What are you doing in here? I've been looking for you everywhere."
    "I was inviting Stephen to a tea party."
    Hayley turned toward the bed, a warm smile lighting her face. "How are you feeling this morning, Stephen?"
    "Better. Hungry."
    Placing a quick kiss on the child's shiny curls, Hayley disentangled herself from Callie's clinging arms and approached the bed. She laid her palm against his forehead and her simile broadened. "Your fever is gone. I'll send this imp on her way and be right up with some breakfast. Come along, Callie," she urged with a gentle tug on the child's hand. "The hens are waiting for you. They miss you dreadfully."
    Callie hopped off the settee and skipped the few feet to the bed. She leaned over until her mouth was next to Stephen's ear. "The hens miss me because I don't call them 'bloody stinkin' birds' like Winston does," she whispered. She leaned back and shot him a knowing, conspiratorial nod, then allowed Hayley to lead her to the door.
    When he was alone again, Stephen breathed a sigh of relief. Why was the child not in the nursery or with her governess?