The Foundling Bride. Helen Dickson

the greatest chance of survival with this strange boy who had found her. Taking his finger to her mouth, she sucked on it hard, bringing a smile to Marcus’s mouth.

      ‘So you are hungry, are you, little one? Well, what is to be done with you? I can’t leave you here, now, can I?’

      Retrieving his finger, he was about to get to his feet when, feeling a strong sensation of being watched, he glanced around him. He hoped someone would emerge from the trees and claim the child. When no one did, and beginning to realise that would not happen, he gently picked the child up and carried her to his horse. Mounting with some difficulty, and settling into the saddle, he cradled her in from of him.

      He would take her to Izzy. She would know what to do.

      Izzy Trevanion was the only child of a parson and his wife, and from Somerset. She had been educated by her father, and when she was of age had found employment as a governess to three young girls on an estate bordering Tregarrick, which had been the home of the Carberrys for generations. On her marriage to Colin Trevanion, the head steward at Tregarrick, she had left her employment to look after Colin and raise their family. They lived in a cottage on the Carberry estate.

      Riding up the path towards the cottage, Marcus found the aroma of a tasty stew cooking in Izzy’s oven assailing him. It was plain fare Izzy prepared for her family, unlike the fancy dishes at Tregarrick. But Izzy’s stew was probably mutton with fresh vegetables, to be followed by a tasty suet pudding—well-cooked, nourishing, and mouth-wateringly tasty.

      Having heard the horse, Izzy came out to see her visitor. Marcus knew she had a soft spot for him. He remembered the times when he had found his way to her cottage, when she had lifted him up and folded him to her ample bosom and told him stories which had held him agog. Now, wiping her hands on her apron, she smiled a welcome—but the smile faded when he swung himself out of the saddle with one hand and holding a child with the other.

      Izzy watched the youngest of Lord and Lady Carberry’s two sons approach, waiting with an air of expectancy, her hands on her hips. She gasped, her eyes fixed on the infant. ‘My goodness, what have we here?’

      ‘A baby, Izzy. I found her in the woods.’

      A slight breeze ruffled the child’s curls and the sun shone warmly on her pink cheeks. Izzy stared at her in amazement. ‘Found her? But—you don’t just find a baby. Who was she with?’

      He shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t know. She was quite alone.’

      Carrying the child ahead of Izzy into the house, he was greeted by Hester, the oldest of Izzy’s three daughters. She was kneading dough on a floured board. At eight years old, with a shock of brown curls and bright green eyes, Hester was a pretty girl, and already adept at running the cottage and controlling her younger sister Kenza, who was whisking eggs in a bowl. Annie, the latest addition to the household, was asleep in a basket beside the fire.

      As one, the two girls at the table came to a halt to gape in wonder at the baby. It was a homely scene.

      Marcus loved Izzy’s cottage. There was always a welcoming warmth and a place by the fire. There was also a stove, and all manner of kitchen things hanging on the walls. The sunlight shone on copper pans, and the dresser against one wall was crammed with blue and white crockery. A vase of wild flowers sat in the window, and a large black cat stretched out on the rug in front of the stove.

      ‘Poor little mite,’ Izzy said. ‘Someone will be looking for her.’

      ‘How do we know that?’ Marcus said. ‘She didn’t lose herself. Someone put her there on purpose—abandoned her. She must be unwanted by those who did it. Imagine what would have happened to her if I had not come along. It’s too dreadful to contemplate. It’s a crime, Izzy—an act of wickedness. That’s what it is. Who could do that to an innocent babe too young to fend for itself?’

      Izzy shrugged, taking the infant from him. ‘Some poor girl who found herself in trouble and couldn’t cope, I’d say. She wouldn’t be the first to find herself in that unhappy state—no money and the stigma of bearing a child out of wedlock,’ she uttered sympathetically, and instantly offered up a prayer for the mother of this child and her misfortunes.

      ‘Perhaps you’re right. But someone’s been looking after her, and she looks well fed. Until we find out who she is she must have a name. We can’t call her “the girl”, can we? What shall we call her, Izzy?’

      ‘Eh, Master Marcus, I’ve no idea. She must have a name already.

      ‘But we don’t know what it is.’

      ‘Then what do you suggest, Master Marcus? You can choose until we know more about her.’

      Marcus looked at the child, whose steady gaze hadn’t moved from his face since he’d found her. They were the loveliest eyes he had ever seen. He studied her for a moment and suddenly felt his heart stir with warmth towards this tiny scrap of humanity. As she continued to stare at him, with her wide and trusting eyes, he found himself quite enchanted by her, with her mop of deep red hair. Just looking at her sent a wave of tenderness through him.

      The strange feelings hit him with an impact that stunned him, creeping into his heart and arousing a love quite different from the love he bore his adored mother and Juliet, and at the same time made him want to be her protector should she ever need one.

      ‘Lowena,’ he said suddenly. ‘Until we know different we’ll call her Lowena—for joy.’

      Izzy stared at him. ‘Lowena? That’s a nice name, I must say.’

      ‘I think so too,’ Hester remarked, leaving the bread to come and take a look at the child. ‘Lowena is a pretty name.’

      ‘Thank you, Hester,’ Marcus said, smiling warmly at her, which brought a soft flush to her cheeks. ‘I see nothing wrong with it. And you’re right. It’s a pretty name for a pretty girl. I found her among the anemones and bluebells, so I suppose we could call her Bluebell, but I think Lowena is better. Lowena it is.’

      ‘And what are you going to do with her—with Lowena?’ Izzy asked. ‘Will you take her to the house? I don’t suppose Lord Carberry will be too happy about you turning up with a foundling waif.’

      Marcus frowned when he thought of his father, knowing how he would react if he were to turn up with an abandoned child, spoiling the well-ordered running of his home.

      ‘You’re right, Izzy, Father wouldn’t like it one bit. Besides,’ he said, a shadow passing over his eyes, ‘Edward’s home and he wouldn’t like it either. I’ll have to tell Mother, though. She would want to know, and maybe she might learn something of Lowena’s family on her visits to the village. I’ll make some enquiries of my own. Perhaps I will find out who she belongs to.’

      ‘She’s a plump little thing. You are right. She’s not been neglected,’ Izzy remarked, reaching out and fingering the pretty smock the child was wearing. ‘Her clothes are quality, so she obviously belongs to someone well-to-do. And see,’ she said, fingering the elaborately embroidered initial on the blanket she was wrapped in. ‘The letter B. Well, that could be significant, and a start as to discovering her identity. But in the meantime what are you to do with her?’

      Folding her arms across her large bosom, Izzy looked at him hard, knowing perfectly well what the young master was about to ask her.

      Marcus removed his attention from the child and, placing a cajoling arm about Izzy’s waist, smiled infectiously, disarmingly, as though to ask forgiveness for what he would say next—for there really was nothing else he could do. And because Izzy was so fond of him he knew she would not refuse.

      ‘You’ll look after her for me, won’t you, Izzy? You have a brood of your own—one more won’t make any difference.’

      ‘Will it not?’ she said, glancing at Hester and Kenza, their chattering voices filling the kitchen once more. ‘With three mouths and my husband to feed how will I manage?’

      ‘Babies don’t eat much, Izzy, and I’m sure