“One miracle at a time,” Eliza retorted. “Is it not enough I am not abed but in a chair?”
“Would you care for tea?”
“Tea? Bah! Brandy is what I need.”
“I have none,” Esmée replied. She would not volunteer Henri’s supply.
“Even arrack punch will do.”
The smell of Madeira hung heavily about Eliza. “How will you explain to Captain Lennox your emptying his cellar?” Esmée asked.
This brought a momentary hush. “Spirits help temper my grief.”
Esmée shook her head. “The Almighty is a far better tonic and leaves you with no headache after or any apologizing to do.”
Eliza pulled off both bonnet and veil, revealing a tumbling mass of curls. “Is that Ruenna fussing?”
Esmée had hardly noticed, given their heated exchange. Stifling the urge to reach for Ruenna, she waited. Ruenna’s cries grew moreshrill. Alice appeared from the kitchen, but Esmée stilled her with a slight shake of her head. Casting Esmée a murderous look, Eliza got up and walked stiffly to the cradle.
Esmée held her breath.Lord, be in this moment, please.
“You mean to make a mother of me.” Eliza picked Ruenna up and held her at arm’s length. Alarmingly so.
Esmée had to lace her hands in her lap to keep from taking the babe. “Be at your ease. Ruenna loves to be held, talked to, and sung to.”
Eliza cradled her awkwardly. “I am fresh out of lullabies.”
“Remember the one Mama used to sing? ‘Over the Hills and Far Away’?”
A softening touched Eliza’s ravaged face. Esmée began to hum, focusing her gaze on the lighthouse beyond the window. In seconds Eliza began humming along with her, then gave way to song. Ruenna looked at her mother, quieting at the sound of her singing voice, which had always been lovely.
Spying a single tear coursing down Eliza’s cheek, Esmée, worn to a thread by the morning’s events, was nearly undone. The tear trailed to Eliza’s chin, fell, and spotted the baby’s linen gown.
They moved on to another lullaby, “Cradle Song,” and for a few fleeting moments it seemed their beloved mother drew near.
And then, just as abruptly, Eliza swiped another tear away, the tender moment banished. “Why has Nathaniel Autrey come?”
Esmée took a breath, and the story poured forth.
Eliza, for a few rapt minutes, forgot her own misery. “That odious Wherry? From the almshouse? How fortuitous he was dispatched by the sea chaplain. I shudder to think what Captain Lennox would have done to him.”
“Praise God we are safe.” Esmée moistened dry lips and imagined Henri’s reaction. “Now if the captain would return...”
Ruenna squirmed and gave a little cry, shattering Eliza’s composure. She held the baby out to Esmée with a stony expression that signified she was done. Esmée took her niece, wanting nothing more than to retreat to her bedchamber and sleep till the lighthouse needed tending.
“I do wonder how Father is faring.” Esmée placed Ruenna on her shoulder, patting the baby’s back. In such times she missed Father fiercely.
“I suppose he’ll soon return and want to take me back to the mainland. But I have no desire to return to Williamsburg. Not yet.”
“You are always welcome here.” Weary as Eliza made her, she was her beloved sister, after all. “I shouldn’t want you to return to the townhouse till you and Ruenna are ready.”
Eliza toyed with the bonnet in her lap. “Though I once called your island rustic, I rather like the seclusion. At least in my grief. And I must admit you are handling it quite well, despite having a nurse and two babies thrust upon you, not to mention an ill-tempered sister.”
Wellseemed an overstatement. Esmée withheld a sigh.It is well with my soul, at least.
A light footfall announced Lucy. “Are ye ready for dinner, milady? Miss Shaw?”
Eliza gave a curt nod, meeting Esmée’s eyes with resignation, not refusal.
