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quiet statement.
    “We are traveling to London,” he explained.
    “Oh, splendid,” she exclaimed. “Would you mind terribly
taking a package with you? Some jerseys and scarves we’ve knitted for my
daughter and her husband.”
    “Of course,” he answered. So that was the source of all the
knitted outerwear hanging in the hall.
    “Are you friends of the Hastings family?” she asked.
    “Since I was a boy.”
    “Then you know Simon? That is, Lord Easton.” Her blue eyes
sparkled with curiosity.
    “Quite well. We attended Eton and Cambridge together.”
    “But that’s wonderful! I am Beatrice’s mother.”
    Jack looked at Mary Morgan in surprise. “I’m sorry. I had no
idea. But of course you and Lady Easton lived here for many years.” Good Lord,
he thought as the pieces of the puzzle snapped into place in his brain. What an
odd situation. The Countess of Palmerton was residing in the home of her
deceased father’s mistress.
    “Beatrice was born here,” she answered with a laugh. “Has
Simon told you how they met?”
    “Er, some, I believe.” He wasn’t sure just how much to admit
to knowing.
    He turned to look at Olivia as she sailed into the room
laughing.
    “Mary, don’t embarrass the poor man. And Jack, there are no
secrets here so you’ve no need to guard your words,” she said as she plopped,
really the Countess of Palmerton plopped, into a cushioned rocking chair by the
fire. She let out a small puff of air that lifted the curls resting on her
forehead, making them sway before coming to rest once more.
    Olivia had changed into a dress of soft lavender wool that
hugged her curves and her long elegant arms. A knit shawl as white as snow lay
across her shoulders, the long ends wound around and around her arms. Jack had
never seen such a garment. It was nearly as big as a blanket and looked as soft
as down. On her feet she wore fluffy, white knit slippers.
    “No point in guarding your words in this house,” Tom called
out as he came through the door with Charles in his arms. Molly and Fanny
followed him, a tray of what had to be fresh-baked sugar cookies in the little
girl’s hands.
    “Auntie Mary will have you spilling your secrets in no time,”
Fanny told him with a giggle.
    As Jack watched the inhabitants of Idyllwild Cottage
interact with one another over the next half hour, it became apparent that they
were comfortable together. More than comfortable. They finished each other’s
sentences. They laughed and smiled and talked over one another.
    Jack looked down at his daughter sitting beside him on the
settee. Justine’s eyes were wide, a soft smile upon her lips as she too watched
the family. Jack felt a familiar pang in his chest. He would have liked to have
given Justine such a family. Instead she’d had a mother who rarely acknowledged
her existence, a grandfather too busy to spend time with her, a stepgrandmother
too self-absorbed to do more than pat her on the head awkwardly, and a father
who tried desperately to make up for it all.
    When Mary and Molly left the parlor and disappeared down the
hall, Fanny turned to Justine. “Do you play draughts?”
    And just like that his twelve-year-old daughter was embroiled
in a battle with a girl half her age.
    Tom slept in an overstuffed chair, softly snoring.
    Jack looked at Olivia to find her watching him with a smile.
She slowly rocked back and forth, one slippered foot gently pushing against the
floor. Charles lay curled in her lap, his blond head snuggled against her
breast, her arms holding him close.
    What a picture she made sitting there, every inch of her a
testament to her contentment.
    He rose and joined her by the fire, sitting in a matching
rocking chair. He pushed his booted feet and set the chair slowly moving.
    “How long have you been here?” he asked.
    “Just over a year,” she replied softly, turning her head to
look at him. Jack was struck by her delicate beauty. She’d been a shy little
girl, all skinny arms and