Page 29 of A Stolen Heart

“June eighteenth,” the Countess murmured a little sadly. She looked at Alexandra. “I’m sorry. I suppose there is no way it could be you, could it?” However, the look on the Countess’s face told Alexandra that she still wasn’t entirely convinced.

Alexandra still felt uneasy. It was odd that she looked so much like this Simone and that she had been in Paris at the same time and was close to the age of the Countess’s granddaughter.

“I’m afraid there isn’t,” Alexandra said. She went to the Countess and took the woman’s hand in hers. “I’m very sorry. I think it would be lovely to be your granddaughter, but I don’t see how it is possible. I—I hope you will allow me to be your friend, though.”

The Countess smiled and patted her hand. “Very prettily said, child. Yes, we will indeed be friends.”

“Mother, I think it’s time you rested, don’t you?” Lady Ursula said, giving Alexandra a glare. “Thorpe will take Miss Ward home.”

“Yes, I do believe I would like to take a little nap.” The Countess, who had been so full of energy a few minutes before, sounded weary. She gave Alexandra a small smile. “Please excuse me. I find that age makes boring companions of us.” She held out her hand. “Thank you, my dear, for indulging an old woman’s fantasy and coming to see me. I do hope you will call on me again soon. We will talk about America or something else that is more normal.”

“Of course, my lady. I was very happy to meet you.”

The Countess started toward the door, and her companion, the self-effacing Miss Everhart, jumped up and hurried over to give the older woman the support of her arm as she walked out the door. Lady Ursula turned toward Alexandra.

“Thank you for coming, Miss Ward,” she said in the tone of one dismissing a servant or tradesman. “My mother sometimes takes odd fancies, but, as you see, she realizes how unlikely they are soon enough. One cannot fool her long, and she has family to make sure that no one takes advantage of her.”

Her words sounded vaguely like a threat, Alexandra thought, though she wasn’t sure what the woman could be threatening her about. Lady Ursula explained herself no further, just swung around and marched out the door, leaving Alexandra looking after her in surprise.

“Ah, Lady Ursula—ever the diplomat,” Thorpe commented dryly.

“Oh, Miss Ward, I’m so sorry.” Lady Ursula’s daughter rose from her seat and came over to Alexandra. Alexandra had completely forgotten about the girl’s presence until then, so much did she girl fade into the background. “My mother can be quite rude sometimes. She doesn’t even realize it, I’m afraid. Please forgive her. It is just that she worries about Grandmother.”

“Of course.” Alexandra did not think it was worry over the Countess that made the woman rude and brusque, but she would not add to this obviously domineered girl’s burden by criticizing her mother. “It is only natural that she should be concerned about her mother.” She smiled at the girl, who answered with a shy smile. “I do hope that you and I may be friends, too.”

“I would like that very much!” Penelope answered, her face lighting up. “I didn’t get to meet you last night, but Nicola told me you were ever so nice. If it’s all right with you, Nicola and I would like to call on you while you’re in London.”

“That sounds lovely.” They discussed where her leased house was and chatted politely for a few more minutes before Thorpe and Alexandra took their leave.

“Nice girl,” Thorpe commented as they went down the steps. “Penelope, I mean. Her mother’s a tyrant. I don’t know how the poor girl survives. At least Artie was a boy and could set up his own establishment. Penelope’s stuck with her—for life, I fear. Lady Ursula isn’t bad in her intentions. She simply cannot keep from running everyone’s lives for them.”

“Poor girl.” Alexandra took his hand and climbed onto the high seat of the curricle.

Thorpe went around and climbed up on the other side. He took the reins from the servant who had been walking the horses, tossed the lad a coin and slapped the reins. “I hope you weren’t upset by all that.”

“What the Countess said? No…Well, I must admit it was eerie looking into that woman’s face in the painting. She did look a great deal like me, didn’t she?”

“It was rather uncanny,” Thorpe admitted. “I could understand why the Countess fainted when she saw you last night. She’s never really gotten over the loss of her son and his family, you know. It’s been twenty some-odd years, and she never talks about them, but there’s always been something a little sad in her eyes.”

“I feel sorry for her. It must have been awful. I wish I could have said something to help her. I can see how she would want to believe that one of her grandchildren was still alive. But it couldn’t be me!” she added almost defiantly.

“No doubt there is some explanation. Why, you could be a distant relative of the de Viponts. That would be possible—that some member of the family moved to the United States.”

“I suppose,” Alexandra agreed a little doubtfully. “I’ve never heard any mention of them—or, indeed, of any Frenchmen, in our family tree.”

“More likely, though, than that you’re the Countess’s dead granddaughter.”

“Yes, that’s true.” Alexandra was consumed with a desire to get home and talk to her mother. Rhea was the only one who could shed any light on this. She could tell her the details of her birth, where and when and what the midwife said and—oh, all the things that made something reality. Her mother could convince her there was no possibility Alexandra could be anything but her very own beloved daughter—for that was the thing that set up the awful, cold feeling in her stomach. If by some wild happenstance the Countess was right and Alexandra was somehow her granddaughter, escaped from the ruin of the rest of her family, then that meant her mother was not really her mother. That her whole existence was based on a lie!

“It couldn’t be true,” she said, more to herself than to her companion. “It just couldn’t.”

“Of course not,” Thorpe agreed soothingly.

He pulled the curricle up in front of her house and helped her down. The lad at the end of the street, who earned his pennies sweeping the crossing for the fine ladies and gentlemen to walk on, abandoned his job and came running, eager to hold Thorpe’s horses’ heads as he had earlier this afternoon. Thorpe waited for him to hand over the reins, but Alexandra started up the steps without him.

She could see that something brown lay on the stoop at the top of the steps, but she could not make out what it was. Curious, she moved closer. Then she saw it clearly, and a little shriek escaped her before she clapped her gloved hand over her mouth.

A very large, very dead rat lay across her doorstep!