One glance at Michael had told her the truth, and from then on it had been blazingly obvious to her. His striking, large green eyes were the same eyes baby James had, lucky boy.

Lady Darlington wasn’t his mother either. Therese was sure of that. A woman her age having a baby! It strained credibility. It was clear enough that Maggie was the one who loved Michael.

Maggie was James’s mother.

Any fool could see it!

And yet… No one seemed to be aware of it—not even Michael! During their walk this morning, she kept thinking he would make the connection. It was the reason she had invited him to stroll with her again! She kept waiting and waiting, but it never happened.

Therese had to admit, it was admirable of Lady Darlington to keep the baby. The usual thing would have been for Maggie and her mother to go abroad, have the baby in some convent or home for unwed mothers, and then give the baby up for adoption.

How Maggie must have fought to keep James. It was the only explanation. Yet she was so disinterested in him now. It was probably the only way she could be sure no one would guess. If it came out that she’d had a baby out of wedlock—and the father was the stable groom—she would be ruined. There would be no marrying her off to a duke or anyone else, in that case.

Therese was an illegitimate child herself, so the thought that Maggie had fought for her baby made her warm toward the girl. How different Therese’s life would have been if her father had fought to keep her instead of letting her mother raise her alone.

Steps in the hall broke into Therese’s thoughts. Nora came to the door, leaning against the doorjamb. “You and I have to have a chat,” Nora insisted, and her expression was not friendly.

“Of course,” Therese agreed. “You seem upset.”

“I’ll get right to the point,” Nora said. “I believe you are the one writing these awful satires about the Darlingtons.”

“Why do you think that?” Therese asked. “I thought you suspected Miss Fitzhugh?”

“I still don’t like that snooty Miss Fitzhugh, but it just doesn’t make sense that she would go through the trouble. And your trying to pin it on me and my tearoom makes me suspicious of you. I think you came all the way from France hoping that the Darlingtons would offer you a lavish life with hardly any work involved. That hasn’t turned out to be the case, and now you’re trying to get some fast cash to return to France.”

“What about you?” Therese countered. “You told me you have hopes to leave service.”

“But I’ll earn the money by sewing. You have no other skills to offer.”

“I could teach French,” Therese argued.

“How would you manage it in your spare time?” Nora insisted. “No, your only chance was to write these wicked satires. You admitted to me that you don’t like the Darlingtons.”

“Maybe it wasn’t nice to say what I said about them, but they haven’t been so nice to me, either.”

“Why? What have you got against them?” Nora challenged.

“For one thing, Lord Darlington unjustly despises me,” Therese spit out. “He wants me sent back to France.”

Nora looked suddenly pale. “How do you know that?”

“How do you know it?” Therese shot back. It was clear that this news had come as no surprise to Nora.

“I heard them talking.”

“So did I,” Therese told her. “When Lord Darlington gets agitated, he forgets to keep his voice down. The entire staff probably knows how he feels by now.”

“That still doesn’t give you the right to destroy good people,” Nora said, but her voice was calmer. “I knew from the start you weren’t to be trusted,” Nora added.

Nora’s dart hit its spot in Therese’s heart. She liked Nora and didn’t want her to think ill of her. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” she said sincerely, feeling very misunderstood and more alone than ever. “Just because I don’t like the Darlingtons doesn’t mean I wrote those satires.”

From his crib, James fussed. Getting up, Therese went to the crib and stroked his belly, trying to soothe him back to sleep, but his eyes opened. “Once his eyes open, he’s done sleeping,” Therese told Nora. “I need to feed him now.”

“I should get back to work too,” Nora said, ducking out of the room.

“Oui,” Therese said, unbuttoning James’s romper to check his diaper.

Once she had changed the baby, Therese brought him to his high chair in the empty dining room. She found a dish of warmed peas set on the chair’s tray along with James’s tiny silver spoon.

Therese sat beside James, feeding him, her mind replaying the events of the day, especially her concerns about whether or not to tell Michael of what she was certain was the truth. She was so lost in thought that when Mrs. Howard spoke to her, she startled, dropping the spoon.

“You were a thousand miles away, weren’t you, Therese?” the head housekeeper observed. “I’d advise you to keep your mind on your work, especially when tending to a baby.”

“Yes, madame,” Therese answered, stooping to retrieve the spoon and cleaning it on a linen napkin. She had to stifle the urge to defend herself, to say that she did her job very well and she was entitled to think her own thoughts while doing so. But what would be the sense in arguing? It would only make Mrs. Howard dislike her even more than she apparently already did.

“I realized the other day while I was addressing the staff why you look so familiar to me,” Mrs. Howard said, and her voice was mildly accusing. “I knew your mother.”

“You did?” Therese asked. “She worked for Lord Darlington’s sister a long time ago.”

“Nineteen years ago,” Mrs. Howard supplied the exact time frame, her eyes boring into Therese as if searching for something. “That’s how old you are, isn’t it?”

“Oui, Madame,” Therese agreed, getting up to wipe mashed peas from James’s cheeks. She was glad for the reason to turn away from Mrs. Howard’s piercing inspection.

“Why have you come here?” Mrs. Howard demanded sternly.

Therese’s heart banged in her chest. All along, she had been afraid this would happen—that someone might make the connection between her and her mother. Just when she’d begun to relax and trust that her secret was safe, it had happened. What was she to do now?

“I don’t know what you mean,” Therese claimed, lifting James from his chair.

“I believe you do,” Mrs. Howard insisted.

Therese faced her and hoped her expression gave away nothing. “No, I do not,” she said, working to keep her gaze level and her voice even.

The two women faced each other, their eyes locked in a combative stare. James broke the stalemate with a whimper that forced Therese to turn her attention to his food-covered face. “What a messy boy you are,” Therese said with a smile, lifting him from the high chair. “We’d better get you cleaned and changed.”

Although Mrs. Howard was still scrutinizing her, Therese pretended not to notice as she left the room with James in her arms. “Bonjour, Mrs. Howard,” she said in the lightest tone she could muster, as though there were no tension between them.

The tension was real enough, however, she thought as she headed back to the nursery with the baby. It explained the harsh looks Mrs. Howard had been sending her way. When she came to Wentworth Hall, she had worried someone on the staff might recall her mother. Still, it didn’t really mean anything. It could just be a coincidence. Couldn’t it?

“Hey, there!”

Therese turned and saw Wesley hurrying to catch up to her on the staircase. “How’s my new baby brother doing today?” he asked with a bright-eyed smile.

“He’s a little messy after his lunch, I’m afraid,” Therese answered. “I am on my way to clean him up.”

“Might I tag along?” Wesley requested.

“Of course, monsieur,” Therese replied. After her encounter with Mrs. Howard, she welcomed his friendly manner.

“Please, call me Wes.”

“I could not,” she demurred.

“Of course you can—at least when we’re alone.”

Therese’s stomach dropped. Alone? Was he flirting with her? She had the distinct impression that he was. She could never allow that.

“I’ve never been to France, but I’m dying to see it,” Wesley said as he trailed her down the hall toward the nursery. “Are you planning any visits home?”

“I may be going home sooner than I planned,” Therese said evasively.

“Why would that be?” Wesley asked.

“I believe I am under suspicion as the author of those terrible articles about your family,” she admitted, seeing no harm in being frank.

He grew serious. “They’re terrible, aren’t they?”

“Maybe no one really reads them,” Therese said.

“I think you might be right,” Wesley allowed. “At least no one that Mother and Father socialize with. Besides, since I’ve returned, there haven’t been any more printed. I gave the newspaper management a strict talking-to. I hated to use such tactics, but I would do anything to protect my family. And the Darlington name is revered enough to have an effect on people.”

“I’m sure,” Therese replied, with a hint of bitterness that Wesley did not catch.

In the nursery, she laid James on his bassinet and began unbuttoning his little romper while he cooed. “He’s a sweet little guy, isn’t he?” Wesley observed, coming alongside Therese.

Wesley was charming. Of course he would be. She imagined his father had been much the same way when he was younger.

“I apologize, Monsieur Wesley. Can I ask you to leave me to my work? Your mother will not approve of you being in here with me.”

“Oh, she won’t mind,” Wesley disagreed.