Restless and unable to sleep, Lillian had discovered Annabelle was also awake after having been up with the baby. They had seen each other from the respective balconies of their rooms, and had motioned to meet downstairs. It was midnight. At Annabelle’s suggestion they went for a walk in the Marsden gallery, a long rectangular room lined with dour family portraits and priceless works of art. Clad in their dressing gowns, they meandered through the gallery with their arms linked, their pace limited by Lillian’s slow shuffle.

Lillian had found herself turning to Annabelle with increasing frequency during the course of the pregnancy. Annabelle understood what she was going through, having experienced it herself quite recently. And Annabelle’s calm presence was invariably soothing.

“What I mean,” Annabelle said, “is that you may have been so intent on telling Daisy how you felt that you forgot to ask how she felt.”

Lillian spluttered indignantly, “But she—but I—” She stopped and considered the point. “You’re right,” she admitted gruffly. “I didn’t. I was so appalled by the idea of Daisy being attracted to Matthew Swift that I suppose I didn’t really want to discuss it. I wanted to tell her what to do and then be finished with it.”

They turned at the end of the gallery and proceeded past a row of landscapes. “Do you think there has been any intimacy between them?” Annabelle asked. Seeing Lillian’s alarm, she clarified, “Such as a kiss…an embrace…”

“Oh God.” Lillian shook her head. “I don’t know. Daisy’s so innocent. It would be so easy for that snake to seduce her.”

“He is genuinely enchanted by her, in my opinion. What young man wouldn’t be? She’s a darling, and lovely and clever—”

“And wealthy,” Lillian said darkly.

Annabelle smiled. “Wealth never hurts,” she allowed. “But in this case, I think there is more to it than that.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Dear, it’s obvious. You’ve seen the way they look at each other. It’s just…in the air.”

Lillian frowned. “May we stop for a moment? My back hurts.”

Annabelle complied immediately, helping her ease to one of the cushioned benches that ran down the center of the gallery. “I don’t think it will be long until the baby comes,” Annabelle murmured. “I would even venture to guess he will arrive a bit sooner than the doctor predicted.”

“Thank God. I’ve never wanted anything so much as to be unpregnant.” Lillian made a project of trying to see the tips of her slippers over the curve of her stomach. Her mind circled back to the subject of Daisy. “I’m going to be honest with her about my opinions,” she said abruptly. “I see Matthew Swift for what he is, even if she doesn’t.”

“I think she knows your opinions already,” Annabelle said dryly. “But ultimately it’s her decision to make. I’ll hazard a guess that when you were trying to decide your feelings for Lord Westcliff, Daisy didn’t try to influence you one way or the other.”

“This situation is entirely different,” Lillian protested. “Matthew Swift is a reptile! And furthermore, if Daisy married him, he would eventually take her away to America and I would hardly ever see her again.”

“And you’d like her to stay under your wing forever,” Annabelle murmured.

Lillian turned to give her a baleful stare. “Are you suggesting I’m selfish enough to keep her from leading her own life just so I can keep her near me?”

Unruffled by her ire, Annabelle smiled sympathetically. “It’s always been the two of you, hasn’t it? You’ve always been each other’s sole source of love and companionship. But it’s all changing, dear. You have your own family now, a husband and a child—and you should want nothing less for Daisy.”

Lillian’s nose began to sting. She looked away from Annabelle, and to her mortification, her eyes turned hot and blurry. “I promise I will like the next man she’s interested in. No matter who he is. Just as long as he’s not Mr. Swift.”

“You wouldn’t like any man she was interested in.” Annabelle’s arm slipped around her shoulders as she added affectionately, “You are somewhat possessive, dear.”

“And you are incredibly annoying,” Lillian said, laying her head on Annabelle’s soft shoulder. She continued to sniffle while Annabelle held her in the kind of firm, comforting embrace that Lillian’s own mother had never been capable of. It was a relief to cry, but a bit embarrassing as well. “I hate being a watering pot,” she mumbled.

“It’s because of your condition,” Annabelle soothed. “It’s perfectly natural. You’ll be back to rights after the baby is born.”

“It’s going to be a he,” Lillian told her, wiping her eyes with her fingers. “And then we’ll arrange a marriage between our children so Isabelle can be a viscountess.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in arranged marriages.”

“I didn’t until now. Our children can’t possibly be trusted with a decision as important as whom to marry.”

“You’re right. We’ll have to do it for them.”

They chuckled together, and Lillian felt her mood lightening just a little.

“I have an idea,” Annabelle said. “Let’s go to the kitchen and peek in the larder. I’ll bet there’s still some gooseberry cake left from dessert. Not to mention the strawberry jam trifle.”