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“She got my history out of me, and to cut a long story short, she showed me the error of my ways and told me how to make it up to everyone. I’m to kick Harry Sutton out of my life and give up the stage, because that makes it too easy for him to find me.

Instead, I’m to work behind closed doors at the Lyon’s Den, where Harry can never enter. ”

“But what about your son?” Surely, the ingenious Mrs. Dove-Lyon would have made plans for Oliver, too?

“I hope, if you can find it in your hearts, that you’ll take him at the Forty Court Foundling Hospital, that your sister runs, Miss Bellamy.

I know he’s not a foundling, but neither of his parents is any good.

Without the income from my acting and Piers’s money, I won’t be able to give him much of a life—and it might be best to keep him away from his father until he’s grown big enough to deal with him.

I don’t want Oliver being caught up in one of Harry’s schemes. ”

Charlotte tucked her handkerchief away and raised her head as if to signal that the performance was at an end.

“You needn’t make your minds up now. But I think Oliver would like the orphanage far more than running from place to place like a wanted criminal—terrified of a father who beats him, and unavoidably neglected by a mother who has to work to put a crust on the table.”

Belinda tugged at Piers’s sleeve. These decisions touched him more nearly than they did her, but it sounded an excellent idea.

“My betrothed considers the latter an acceptable solution. My future brother-in-law, the Earl of Aylsham, may take more convincing.”

Charlotte inclined her head. “Understood. I want him to be happy, and close enough to visit when I can.”

Belinda bit her lip. “Indeed—we’ll want to make sure the boy takes to it.

I tried hard to persuade that street urchin you saw, Miss Lavoisier, to consider the Foundling Hospital so he could get an education, but he much preferred running wild on the streets.

I don’t know what’s to become of him now his mama’s passed away. ”

Piers clasped her hand. “Don’t worry, my love—we’ll find somewhere for him. A couple who can be both firm and fair, and teach him reading and arithmetic so he can make something of himself is what’s needed. There must be someone like that in London, looking to adopt and improve an orphan.”

The blaze of light through the east window faded, leaving the church dull and dark. Belinda felt the breath of a chill on the back of her neck.

Piers released her and straightened. “It’s getting late, and we need refreshment. I think this interview is at an end—you’ve left us with a lot to think about, Charlotte.”

“What about the parish clerk?” Belinda reminded him. “Mrs. Dove-Lyon specifically said—”

“No need.” Charlotte picked up the leather volume and handed it to Piers. “Look at the entries for December. The deaths, I mean. We were living in this parish when... it happened.”

Piers strode to the church door and pushed it open, then stood under the porch, examining the tome.

“What is it?” Belinda whispered to Charlotte, while Piers ran his finger down the entries.

“That’s the parish register. It’s better if he tells you the rest,” Charlotte replied. “Return it to the vestry when you’re done—the clerk can collect it from there.”

Belinda nodded, then went to stand beside Piers. He lifted his head and she saw his jaw was tight and he was focusing on nothing. She waited, not touching him, allowing him his thoughts, his moment of peace. When he finally spoke, it was as if he’d returned from a long journey.

“The entry notes the death of an infant, named Oliver Darvill, at the age of one year and nine months, in December 1807. Mother is Charlotte Lavoisier, of this parish. The father is cited as being one Piers Darvill, of London.”

He snapped the book shut and turned to Belinda. “Wait here while I put this somewhere safe.”

She waited, twisting her hands together as he made his way slowly toward the vestry, then returned, blank-faced as a sleepwalker. Seizing his hand, she led him into the sunlit churchyard, and back to the spot where they had first encountered Charlotte.

“You believe it then, that Oliver—the first Oliver—was yours?”

He sighed. “I have no reason to doubt it. Besides, there is a strong resemblance between the boy in my locket and my paternal grandfather—Maman has a miniature portrait of him in a cabinet at the parsonage. This is real. I feel it in my soul.”

Belinda looked down at the grave, with its diminutive headstone. At least Charlotte had had the decency to spend some of Piers’s money on a fitting monument for his son.

She took Piers’s hand and pressed a kiss upon his knuckles. “We’ll set him up with a finer one, as soon as we get the chance. He deserves it.”

“I suppose I should thank her for this, at least. Where is she?”

A scan of the graveyard revealed no sign of Charlotte, and Piers went back into the church while Belinda explored the road beyond. Nothing. Charlotte Lavoisier had vanished.

“I suppose it’s for the best,” Belinda remarked as Piers escorted her toward the inn. “I’m sure you have more questions, but for now, you must come to terms with the knowledge that your son is dead.”

Now the words were out there in the world, they sounded harsh and cruel. “I’m so sorry!”

Piers paused in the inn’s doorway. His eyes were soft as he took her hand in his. “We have more in common than we thought. We have each lost a child.”

“Indeed, but I fell apart, whereas you are being a tower of strength.”

“But I have you now. Never chide yourself for what happened after you lost your baby—you found strength in time. It took courage to do what you did at the Lyon’s Den—I’m sorry I ruined it all for you, and that you ended up having to work in the kitchen.”

She beamed up at his handsome, beloved face. “But it turned out all right in the end, didn’t it?”

He took her in his arms and, not caring that they could be seen by any passerby, kissed her with a passion that filled her soul to the brim. Then he smiled at her, and she knew she would do whatever it took to see that smile every moment of every day, for the rest of her life.

“It turned out all right in the end,” he echoed and gave her a look that told her everything she needed to know.

This was what it felt like to be truly loved. There was no better feeling in the world.