The Royal Nanny by Karen Harper

of those for the nursery, right, instead of the children doing their business in ceramic pots and you and Jane having to carry the night soil away. Well, maybe someday.”
    I talked Mary out of wanting to go with me, grabbed my coat,hat, and gloves, and left Martha in charge of the children. I hurried down the side stairs. Out I went into the cold, squinting into the swirling wind toward the iced-over pond, where Chad waited. The mere sight of him, trudging through the snow to meet me, warmed me. I had to admit to myself, if things had only been different . . . I not in service . . . dedicated to the children . . .
    I could tell he wanted to kiss me but he did not. We had been affectionate to each other lately, holding hands, some quick good-bye hugs, but no displays of affection in such a public place as now. Oh, in private we had kissed on the lips, and I had loved that—felt it clear down into the depths of my belly, so that was something amazing and frightening too. After all, marriage or a physical union between us was impossible in our positions, however much I had moments where I wanted to throw caution to the winds. If we petted or kissed, it was in the woods or by the breeding bird pens.
    â€œThought we’d go to the glasshouse with all the flowers today,” he said. “They have to keep it warm in there.”
    â€œSo many important things are happening now the queen is gone,” I told him, letting him take my gloved hand in his as we headed past York Cottage and along the side of the Big House. Through our layers of gloves, I could still feel the heat of him. “Just think,” I rattled on, “she’s been in mourning for years since she lost her Albert, and now, far and wide, the mourning is all for her.”
    â€œI’m sure she would have given anything to have him back—given up the whole kit and caboodle. Best not to waste time when one’s in love, eh?”
    â€œBut I’m not sure she’d have given up her kingdom to have him back,” I argued. “There’s something to be said for loyalty to duty. I’m sure she felt the nation and empire needed her.”
    We stepped into the glasshouse with its warm, moist air. It smelled fresh and heady in here, the soil, things growing and blooming, and how I yearned for spring. I had to admit to myself at least, though it was exciting to visit new places, my favorite was Sandringham, and mostly because of this man. I did care for him deeply—yes, secretly loved him, wanted him as I knew he did me, so I was grateful he’d usually been restrained. I trusted him.
    We stopped in an aisle of flowering bushes by two gardenia plants in pretty porcelain pots that looked ready to be moved indoors. The sweet smell was almost overwhelming. Chad seemed nervous, so unlike him.
    â€œI have something for you,” he told me, taking his knitted gloves off and throwing them amidst the pots.
    â€œBut you gave me these lovely leather gloves for Christmas.”
    â€œIt’s a picture of the fens and the forest all made from bird feathers sewn down on stretched linen,” he told me before he even drew it from behind the pots and showed it to me with a flourish. It was in a narrow oak frame and covered with a piece of glass.
    â€œOh, it’s beautiful. It shimmers in the light. You . . . you didn’t make it, did you?”
    â€œMy gran made it and several others before she died. This one is mine.”
    â€œHow kind . . . how special it is, but I can’t take it from you then.”
    â€œI was thinking we could share it, find a place in common to hang it.” He took it back from me, put it down, pulled my gloves off and seized both my hands. My insides twisted in a knot, and I began to flush. “Charlotte, I know we haven’t talked of this . . . couldn’t really ’til now, but now is our time. You said the royal lads will be moving on to that new Mr. Finch. You’ve