Avery soon maneuvered Elizabeth over to the drawing room window—by design?—and the two of them stood there, talking and looking out and pointing to various things outside. Abigail and Jessica were seated side by side on the sofa. Camille took a chair close to them and Anastasia joined them. It was brave of her, Camille had to admit silently to herself. She and Abigail were the half sisters who had spurned her advances of sibling affection, and even Jessica, who was her sister-in-law and lived with her and Avery as well as Aunt Louise, had resented her at first and perhaps still did.
It was all unfair, of course. Although Anastasia now dressed expensively, she certainly made no parade of her wealth. She dressed with simple, understated elegance. And she behaved with quiet dignity. She was also looking pretty and happy if a little uncertain at the moment. It was increasingly difficult to dislike her. And a bit impossible not to.
“I hoped I would have the opportunity of a private word with my sisters this afternoon,” she said, first glancing Avery’s way and then looking at them each in turn. “We will be making some sort of announcement to the whole family this week, but I wanted the three of you to be first to know that Avery and I are expecting a child and that we are ecstatically happy about it. We do hope you will be pleased too at the prospect of being aunts.”
They all stared at her as though transfixed by shock. But it was really not so surprising. Anastasia and Avery had been married for a few months, and there was a certain look about Anastasia, a glow of contentment and physical well-being that should have spoken for itself. Such an announcement from one sister to three others should surely be eliciting squeals of excited delight, but Jessica looked rather as though she had been punched on the chin, Camille felt like a mere observer, and Abigail—ah, dear Abby!—was recovering herself. She set her hands prayer fashion against her lips and smiled slowly and radiantly around her fingers until even her eyes sparkled.
“Oh, Anastasia,” she said with quiet warmth, “how absolutely wonderful! I am so pleased for you. And thank you for telling us first. That was terribly sweet of you. Goodness, I am going to be Aunt Abigail. But that makes me sound quite elderly. I shall insist upon Aunt Abby. Oh, do tell us—do you hope for a boy or a girl? But of course you must wish for a boy, an heir to the dukedom.”
“Avery says he does not care which it is provided only that it is,” Anastasia said, and Camille could see now the bubbling excitement she had been keeping at bay. “If it is a girl this time, she will be loved every bit as dearly as an heir would be. And really, you know, Abigail, I would not think of a boy as the heir, but only as my son and Avery’s.”
Jessica had caught some of Abby’s enthusiasm and was leaning forward on the sofa. “Is that why you were being lazy and sleeping late every morning a while ago?” she asked.
“Laziness. Is that how Avery excused my lateness?” Anastasia asked, grimacing and then laughing.
“Oh goodness,” Jessica continued. “I am going to be an aunt too, Abby. Or a half aunt, anyway. Is there such a thing as a half aunt?”
Across the room Camille met Avery’s lazy glance. She looked away before he turned back to the window.
“I am delighted for you, Anastasia,” she said, and she was jolted by the look of naked yearning her half sister cast upon her before masking it with a simple smile.
“Are you, Camille?” she said. “Thank you. After the baby is born, you and Abigail must come and stay for a while at Morland Abbey if Miss Ford can be persuaded to do without you at the school—and if you can be persuaded to do without it. I want my children to know all their relatives and to see them frequently, especially their aunts and their uncle. Family is such a precious thing.”
Camille did not think she was being preached at. Anastasia was merely speaking from the heart and from the lonely experience of having grown up in an orphanage unaware that she had any family at all. Camille’s own heart was heavy. She knew how precious a baby felt in her arms even when it was not her own. Sarah was not her own, and Anastasia’s would not be. Oh, how wonderful it must be . . . But the force of her maternal longing startled her.
Abigail and Jessica were laughing merrily—quite like old times. They were suggesting names for the baby and getting more outrageous by the moment. Anastasia was laughing with them. Avery was saying something to Elizabeth and pointing off to the west. The splendor of his appearance contrasted markedly with the simplicity of Anastasia’s. He was wearing a ring on almost every finger, while her only jewelry was her wedding ring. Wise Anastasia. She had chosen not to compete with him. Or perhaps it had been an unconscious choice.
Camille decided to leave before her mother and grandmother returned from their excursion. If she stayed, there would be tea and at least an hour of conversation, and then like as not either Alexander or Avery would insist upon conveying her home. She had made the decision to spend some of her time with her family in the coming week, but she did not wish to be sucked back into the fold at the expense of her newly won independence. She was not to escape entirely, however. Avery turned away from his conversation with Elizabeth when Camille got to her feet.
“I shall do myself the honor of escorting you, Camille,” he announced in the languid manner that characterized him. “I shall leave the carriage for you and Jessica, Anna.”
“There is really no need,” Camille said sharply. “I am quite accustomed to walking about Bath unaccompanied. I have not yet encountered even one wolf.”