She meant to come back as soon as possible. She couldn’t bear hurting her father by leaving, but neither could she hurt him with her situation. She’d actually considered writing Jerome McKenzie about the child, but their last encounter had been such a whirlwind tempest, so swiftly come and gone that she did, at times, doubt her own sanity. It didn’t matter. He had made it clear, as perhaps she had herself, that they were enemies. England began to look better and better to her. She had close friends in London with whom she’d gone to school, and she could make arrangements for a discreet delivery somewhere in Scotland perhaps. And when the war was over… What then? How would she explain her babe when she went home? And could she wait for the war to end if it dragged on? Her father loved her, and needed her. She supposed she could claim she had adopted a war orphan. But would her father believe her? Could she live with the charade? The conflict within her was great, because she did so adore her father.
