Page 24 of What a Widow Wants

“That is the polite thing to do when someone does something nice for you.” She really must find time to work on Ella’s manners a little before she had to leave for Kent.

After a long pause, Ella whispered, “Thank you, Aunt.”

“You are welcome my dear.” Lavinia’s voice had not warmed.

Fanny glanced sharply at the woman she’d always considered distant and aloof toward her and Ella.

Fresh tea arrived with a plate of fairy cakes.

Fanny’s mouth watered. She’d not had this children’s treat in a very long time. Newly baked, too, as the smell of the sweet glacé topping was thick in the air. She reached for one of the petite cakes she remembered with such fondness from her childhood.

“Wait, Mama.” Ella grasped her hand before she could take a cake. “Aunt must always pour the tea and take her cake first.”

“Very good, Ella. That is correct.”

Raising her eyebrows at Lavinia, Fanny eased back in her seat. “I am sorry, Lavinia. I had no idea.”

“Ella must be taught to be respectful of her elders. She has made excellent progress over the last few weeks.” Lavinia poured tea. “You take sugar but not milk, is that correct, Frances?”

“Yes, thank you.” A glance down at Ella showed her daughter sitting with her back straight as a poker, hands folded neatly in her lap, eyes staring straight ahead. The tension in her small body seemed to roll off her in waves.

Lavinia handed her the cup. “Ella takes sugar and milk, just as I do.” She dropped two lumps into the third cup, and poured again. A long stream of milk followed before she handed the brimming cup to Ella. “Be careful, my dear. Don’t spill it on your pretty dress.”

“I won’t, Aunt.” Ella maneuvered the cup to her lips, took a sip, grimaced, then set the cup and saucer on the table.

“Is something wrong with your tea, my dear?” Lavinia stared at the girl like a cat about to pounce on a mouse.

“Oh, no, Aunt.” Shaking her head, Ella was quick to deny it.

Perhaps too quick.

“It was hotter than I expected is all.” Resolutely, the child picked up the cup again, sipped, and smiled.

Fanny set her tea down, slowly. Although she’d not had tea with Ella in months, she well recalled that the child had always taken it as she did, without milk. Fanny herself had never been fond of it and Ella had seemed to follow suit. Why this sudden affection for it now? Her daughter looked positively bilious. “Don’t drink too quickly, darling. You’ll make yourself ill.”

“I won’t, Mama.”

“Take one of the fairy cakes. They look delicious.”

“But Aunt hasn’t—”

“I shall put one on a plate for Aunt Theale.” Fanny slid a petite cake, glazed with pink sugar icing, onto the saucer and thrust it at Lavinia. “There.”

Caught off guard, her sister-in-law had no choice but to accept the cake. Her eyes narrowed at Fanny.

“And I have my cake, so you may have yours as well.” With a deft hand, Fanny distributed the confection to Ella in the proper order of rank. Was that the lesson Lavinia was trying to teach her daughter? At what cost to the child?

Ella, her eyes pools of blue on a field of white, shot a frightened look to her aunt.

Lavinia nodded, although her mouth looked as though she’d bit into an unripe persimmon.

“Thank you, Mama.” Moments later Ella was nibbling the cake, some of the tension in her slight body eased.

Almost as though the strain of this encounter had flowed from her daughter to her, Fanny tensed, gripping her cup so hard she feared the handle could snap off in her hand. Better if it did. That would keep her from pitching the lot—tea, milk, cup, and saucer—at Lavinia. She’d been torturing her daughter in the name of good manners. Well, manners did not dictate the inclusion of milk in tea just to honor the hostess. And although the order of service might be decreed, to deny a hungry child a treat had nothing to do with manners.

She must remove Ella from this hateful household. Lavinia had taken advantage of her absence to impose these arbitrary rules on her child. That would cease from this day forward. At least she would attempt to put measures in place. Drat. She would be leaving in a week or so for Kent and could scarcely bring her child with her. With no one to intervene for Ella, the girl would be at the mercy of Lord and Lady Theale.

Relaxing her grip on the cup once more, Fanny sipped the cooling brew. At last she had hit upon a completely different reason for marrying Lord Lathbury—security for Ella. Matthew would be an excellent father, Fanny was certain of that, though she’d never heard him speak of children, nor seen how he fared in their company. He would take both of them away from Theale’s repressive rules and none too quickly, apparently. She would have to arrange a meeting between Matthew and Ella to see how they got on. If she were to marry the man, he would thereafter be her child’s guardian. A godsend, perhaps, or a nightmare.