The Confessions of a Duchess by Nicola Cornick Page A

and was standing in the doorway. “Have you had fun, darling?
    I hope you were good for Rachel.”
    “Mr. Blount gave Lady Harriet some sweets, ma’am,” Rachel said. “I hope you do not mind. And Mrs. Morton gave her some lilac ribbons for her hair and a little scrap of lace to make a doll’s dress. Very generous, people are.”
    “Yes, they are.” Laura kissed Hattie’s bulging cheek and smoothed a hand over her soft curls. She knew most of the shopkeepers in Fortune’s Folly pitied her the lack of a husband and her straitened circumstances, but because they felt uncomfortable giving a duchess charity they would always slip Hattie presents instead. Almost all of Hattie’s clothes were made from off cuts from Mrs. Morton’s gown shop and Hattie was likely to develop a very sweet tooth as a result of the grocer’s generosity, for scarcely a day went past without him leaving a small bag of sweets for her, or a packet of biscuits or a new cake recipe he was apparently trying out. Mrs. Carrington, who acted as cook housekeeper for Laura these days, grumbled that she was quite capable of making her own cakes, thank you, but she said it quietly because she knew as well as everyone else that without the generosity of their neighbors the household would in all probability starve.
    “Mr. Wilson gave me two turnips,” Rachel said with a giggle. “He said Lady Harriet would enjoy making a lantern from one for Halloween and Mrs. Carrington can turn the other into soup.”
    “That sounds delicious,” Laura said, “though I do not know how you managed to carry everything home.” She smiled at Hattie. “Will you enjoy making a lantern, darling?”
    “Yes,” Hattie said, wriggling to be freed. Laura put her down and she turned her face hopefully toward Rachel. “Can we make it now?”
    “Not now, milady,” Rachel said firmly. “It’s time for nuncheon.”
    “Don’t tell me,” Laura said resignedly. “Mr. Blount also gave you some hot-cross buns.”
    “And some oaten biscuits and strawberry jam,” Rachel said. “He said it would only go to waste if I did not take it.” She held out her hand to Hattie. “Come along, madam.
    Time to wash all that candy from your fingers.”
    “I can do it myself,” Hattie said with dignity, spurning her helping hand, and Laura smothered a smile.

    “Proper independent, she is,” Rachel said. “You mind, madam. She’ll be walking into the village all on her own one of these days if we give her half a chance. Strong-minded, she is, the poppet.”
    Laura listened as Rachel took Hattie off to the closet to wash, her daughter chattering all the while about making the turnip lantern and wheedling a promise from Rachel that if she was a good girl they would go down to the water meadows to play. Laura listened with half an ear, tidying and folding Hattie’s clothes as she did and feeling a mixture of contentment and a strange poignancy that she could not quite place. Strong-minded, Rachel had said. Little Hattie, independent and bold and happy, with her ebony curls and her fearless nature…Pride and a kind of astonishment rose in Laura that she had produced such a miracle as her daughter, that she and Dexter together had created something so exquisite and extraordinary. She doubted she would ever stop feeling that sense of awe.
    Guilt stirred in her. Dexter was denied the pleasure of knowing his daughter and of seeing her growing up. She was denying him that right and she wished she did not have to do so, but she had no choice. Never for a single moment could she risk Hattie’s future, her happiness and her security.
    The echoing jangle of the doorbell broke her thoughts.
    “Hello?” A feminine voice wafted up the stairs to her. “Laura? Are you at home?” Glad of the distraction, Laura hurried down the stone stair and out into the hall.
    Carrington was nowhere to be seen. Yet again he had not heard the bell. Laura sighed.
    There was no point in bemoaning the