without criticism. ‘Lady Pendleton has several games for us to play today—musical chairs and pass the parcel, and I have seen some spilikins. I think that you and I might play these games together. It is Christmas, after all—and there are prizes to be won.’
Amelia smiled as she saw the little girl’s face light up. Gerard was right to be concerned about his daughter’s nanny. Lisa was clearly a high-spirited child and needed discipline, but not to the extent that she was forbidden time to play or the food that she enjoyed.
Two hours later, Amelia had fallen totally in love with her new friend. Lisa had blossomed, becoming a natural, happy little girl, as they joined in noisy games of pass the parcel and musical chairs. Susannah had been in charge of the music and saw to it that every child managed to win a small gift, which was most often sweetmeats or a trinket of some kind. Lisa won a little silver cross on a pink ribbon, and as a gift she was given a doll with a porcelain head and a stuffed body. It was wearing a pink satin dress that matched hers and, when the party ended, she ran to show it to her father.
‘Beautiful,’ he said and kissed her, gazing at Amelia over the child’s head. ‘Has this scamp of mine been good, Amelia?’
‘Oh, I think so,’ Amelia said. ‘We have enjoyed ourselves, have we not, Lisa?’
‘Oui, merci, mademoiselle,’ Lisa said and curtsied to her. ‘Will you come and see me again, please? I would like you to be my friend.’ There was something a little desperate in the child’s look as she saw her nurse coming to claim her. ‘Please…’
‘Yes, certainly. I shall come in the morning,’ Amelia said. ‘I have a gift for you, Lisa—and I think we could go for a walk together in the park or even a ride in the carriage since it is cold. You, your papa and me—how would that be?’
‘I should like it above all things, mademoiselle.’ Lisa threw herself at Amelia and hugged her.
‘Come along, Miss Ravenshead,’ Nanny said. ‘You are over-excited. You will never sleep and I shall be up all night with you.’ The woman shot a look of dislike at Amelia.
Mindful that it would take time to replace her, Amelia made no reply. However, she turned urgently to Gerard as Nanny led the child away.
‘I must speak to you privately. I have made certain observations and I think you should consider replacing that woman.’
‘You do not like her either?’ Gerard looked relieved. ‘I am so glad that I asked you to take note, Amelia. She was recommended to me, but I have thought her too sour. I was not sure if I was being unfair—and I know that children need discipline…’
‘Not to the extent that all the joy of life is squeezed out of them,’ Amelia said as they walked from the room into a smaller parlour where they were alone. ‘Lisa is high-spirited, but she is a delightful child and has good manners. I think Nanny is too strict with her. She is not allowed to play or to have honey for tea—and that I must tell you is a terrible deprivation.’
‘And entirely unnecessary,’ Gerard said and laughed. ‘I knew I might rely on you, my very dear Amelia. I was afraid that my partiality for Lisa made me too lenient. I have a nursemaid. I shall put her in charge and dismiss Nanny. Oh, I will give her a year’s wages and a reference, but she shall not have charge of my daughter again.’
‘Oh dear, the poor woman. I feel terrible now for she has lost her employment, and at Christmas—but I confess that I did not like her. I once employed a woman of that sort at the orphanage and had to dismiss her soon after, because she ill treated her charges. I do not understand why some people feel it is necessary to treat children as if they were criminals.’
‘Some can be little monsters. I remember that I used to put frogs in the bed of my nanny.’
‘Did you? I did that once and she went to my father. He sent me to bed and I was given nothing but bread and water for two days—and I had to apologise.’
‘My father thrashed me. It did me the world of good, for as he said—think what a shock it was for the poor frog.’
‘The frog…’ Amelia went into a peal of delighted laughter. ‘Oh, no! That is a great deal too bad of you, sir. You have a wicked sense of humour.’
‘Yes, I have at times,’ Gerard admitted. ‘Though I have not laughed so very much of late. Amelia…may I tell you something?’
‘Yes, of course.’
He led her towards a little sofa. ‘Please sit down. This is not easy for me. I have wished to tell you something that almost no one else knows, but I fear it may give you a bad opinion of me.’
‘Have you done something wicked?’ she asked with a smile.
‘I have not told you the whole truth about something.’
Amelia’s smile faded. This was clearly serious. ‘Please explain. I do not understand.’
‘I told you that my wife died after a long illness?’ Amelia nodded. ‘It was not quite the truth. She had been ill, but she had recovered in her physical health at least, though I know now that she must still have been suffering in her mind.’
‘Gerard! Please explain. I do not understand.’
‘Lisette seemed happy enough while she was carrying the child, but afterwards…she complained that I did not love her—that I thought more of the child…’
‘Surely any father would love their child? Perhaps she was pulled down by the birth? I have heard that some women are deeply affected by childbirth.’
‘Yes, it may have been that…’ Gerard hesitated. Now was his chance to tell her the whole truth, but he was reluctant. ‘I may have neglected her. I tried to be good to her, to give her my protection and all that she needed, but perhaps it was not enough for her. I am not the man I was when we first met, Amelia. I have become harder, I think, less caring of others.’
‘Oh, Gerard! I cannot think that you deliberately mistreated your wife?’
He stroked the little scar at his temple. ‘No, not deliberately, but I may have been careless perhaps. Lisette was vulnerable, easily hurt. I should have been kinder.’ He paused, then, ‘It may not be possible for me to love anyone completely. Something died in me the night your brother had me thrashed. At first I believed that you knew—that you felt insulted by my love. I suppose that I became afraid to show love, and Lisette suffered because of my lack.’
Gerard hesitated. He wanted to tell her that Lisette’s death was his fault, to tell her of the night when Lisette had crept into his bed and offered herself to him—of the way he had turned from his wife, because she was not the woman he had loved so deeply. It would be right and fair to make Amelia aware of what he had done, but he could not bear to see her turn from him in disgust. He knew that Lisette had been terribly hurt—that it had driven her to a desperate act.
‘What happened—how did she die?’
‘One day when I was out she ordered a bath and then…’ He paused, almost choking on the words. ‘When I returned I found her. She had slashed her wrists and bled to death. I pulled her from the water and did what I could for her. She died in my arms…’ His face twisted with pain. ‘I did not mean to hurt her. She must have been desperately unhappy and I was not there for her. Something in me must be lacking. How could I not know that my own wife was so desperate that she would take her own life? I have blamed myself for her death ever since.’
He had told her the truth, leaving out only a few details that he felt unable to communicate.
‘Gerard…’ Amelia was on her feet. She held out her hands to him, her expression understanding and sympathetic. ‘My dear—how terrible for you! It was a tragedy for a life was lost—but it was not your fault. Lisette could not have recovered completely from the birth. How could you have known she was unhappy if she did not tell you?’
‘She may have been unwell, but I was not aware of