Charlotte wondered if her mother would recognize the man she had been married to for so many years. Not that Gareth Lamb had changed so much physically, except to grow a bit grey in his sideburns and a bit paunchier around the middle, but his demeanor was markedly changed. He had been stern—self-righteous even—before this happened, and now was all the more. The whole of his concern revolved around two points: how such a thing would likely ruin his career and how it would ruin Bea's chance at a suitable marriage.

I am dreadfully sorry for it. I am. I suppose Father's anger is right and just. But it does not feel like it. If only you were here to soften him. To accompany me.

But her mother was dead. So Charlotte walked alone.

* * *

A single knock brought to the door a thin, plain-faced woman a few years Charlotte's senior who quickly led her from the entry hall, through a large dining room, and into a small study with the words, "The matron shall be in directly." And, indeed, not two minutes later, a severe but attractive woman in her forties wearing a dark dress and tightly bound hair walked in, her officious air proclaiming her title. The woman's stern appearance brought Charlotte some disquiet, but when she settled her gaze on Charlotte, there was grim kindness in her expression.

"I am Mrs. Moorling, matron of the Manor Home. May I be of assistance?"

Charlotte arose on shaky legs and pressed a letter from the London solicitor and a bank note into the woman's hand. This was her only reply.

Mrs. Moorling slipped the money into her desk drawer without comment or expression, then glanced briefly at the letter the solicitor had written at her uncle's request. "I see. I'm afraid we haven't a private room available at the moment, but you shall have one as soon as possible. In the meantime, you will need to share."

"I understand."

"Your name is—" the woman scanned the letter—"Miss ... Smith?"

"Yes, Smith. Charlotte Smith."

Mrs. Moorling paused only a moment before continuing, again with no change in her expression, though Charlotte had the distinct impression the woman knew she was lying about her name. "Before I can admit you, there are a few questions I need to ask."

Charlotte swallowed.

"Is this your first occasion availing yourself upon such an institution?"

"Yes, of course."

"Not 'of course,' Miss Smith. There are many who do not learn from experience. I must tell you that the Manor Home for Unwed Mothers is a place for deserving unmarried women with their first child. Our goal is to rehabilitate our patients for a morally upright life."

Charlotte looked down, feeling the heat of embarrassment snake up her neck and pulse in her ears. She heard the sound of paper rustling and knew the matron was again reading the letter.

"This letter attests to your character and background, though I haven't the time to verify it at the moment."

"Mrs. Moorling. I assure you. I have never been in such a predicament before ... never conceived myself in such a predicament."