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My baby. A rush of love surged in her chest, swelled her heart. She would love this little boy fiercely until the day she died and then into the hereafter.
She sniffed and let her hand trail off the cot. Checking that her aunt’s door was closed, she moved silently to her own room, its spartan furniture still alien and unwelcoming. Soon that would change because James would bring back other pieces, or order some more furniture to be delivered.
Under the pillow, she withdrew Mary’s two letters and laid the opened one aside. With a deep breath, she sat on her bed and held the unopened one between her palms. Would Mary tell her how to bring up her child? What name to call him? How she was to be remembered to him?
Linley slid a fingernail against the seal of the envelope. It opened easily, as if ready for her. She withdrew the only page inside and took a deep breath.
My dear Miss Seymour …