While meeting with the solicitors a few weeks earlier, Sophia discovered that, as Harold’s widow, she could freely access her own accounts. She would pay her maid from those funds. The girl she’d hired from a nearby village, Gilly, would be exclusively employed by Sophia. Although she would be expected to give deference to the duchess, there would be no question as to where her loyalties would lie.
In a secretive interview, Sophia had discussed her need for privacy with the girl. And although Gilly was not as refined and educated as Penny, Sophia felt an affinity with her. She would be arriving at the estate to take up her position later this afternoon.
The duchess’ eyes narrowed. “You know, Sophia, that I have always had your best interests at heart in everything I do.” Her tone imparted disappointment and hurt.
Sophia touched her mother-in-law’s hand. “And I have appreciated your care and concern…” She wanted to be honest. She wished to establish a sense of independence with this conversation. But she did not want to build a wall between herself and the duchess. “…I can no longer abide having the most personal details of my life shared with others. It makes me feel… uncomfortable, exposed.” Sophia was determined to have a maid with whom she could trust the most intimate aspects of her life. “You would not tolerate such a lack of privacy, would you?”
The duchess pinched her lips together tightly. “The solicitors prefer a physician confirm your condition,” she persisted.
But on these matters, Sophia was adamant.
Emily, who was so well read as to practically be considered a bluestocking, had once explained to herself, Rhoda, and Cecily, that the difference between a physician and a good midwife could be life or death for the woman and her child. Although the physicians were well educated, they could not understand the woman’s body as a midwife could. Emily had advised her friends, on one particular occasion as they’d sat amongst the other wallflowers, that when they were with child, they ought to find a midwife who’d attended numerous births, and then investigate each of their mortality rates.
Sophia had already asked Dev about this, and he’d taken the task to heart. He’d located a woman from Kent who was highly recommended. She would come and see Sophia later that day.
“The midwife’s opinion will have to be good enough,” Sophia declared. She would hold her ground. “She will be here later today.”
The duchess considered Sophia with pursed lips for a long moment before surprising her by turning and tugging at the bell pull. “Well then…” She seemed to have come to a decision. “…we might as well have some tea.”
Other encouraging aspects materialized that day as well. It seemed that as soon as Sophia decided to take a modicum of control over her life, good things followed.
First, the midwife declared Sophia’s womb to be the size of a woman who had conceived perhaps eight weeks earlier. It was mostly filled with water, she told Sophia, the baby barely the size of a bean. Sophia wondered how a person could know this.
Mrs. Fletcher, the midwife, asked Sophia several questions about how she was feeling and then gave her advice as to how to cope with some of the ailments of her condition. All in all, she announced, Sophia and the baby seemed perfectly healthy.
Gilly had arrived just before the checkup and was taking to her position quite instinctively. She’d a prior acquaintance with the midwife, in fact, and this helped remove some of the awkwardness from the examination. And, although likely not as educated as Penny, Gilly was able to write down Mrs. Fletcher’s instruction and even asked a few questions.
Sophia was pleased, all in all, with the afternoon.
Even more so when she received Cecily’s letter!
Cecily was free of Lord Kensington forever! Even so, she had not stayed a single lady for long. She’d married Mr. Stephen Nottingham, the earl’s cousin, whom Sophia had known Cecily loved. Of course, Cecily had told them adamantly that she did not, but Sophia had not believed a word of it. And now Cecily herself was expecting a baby just a few months earlier than Sophia.
Cecily’s situation had seemed to be a hopeless one, and for Sophia to hear of such news, she could almost believe that anything was possible.
* * *
The solicitors,upon obtaining confirmation of Sophia’s condition, advised Dev that he ought to insist a physician be in attendance, at the least, to witness the birth of his niece or nephew.
They advised him that it would benefit Lady Harold to give birth to a son, and that he knew of one occurrence, anyhow, where an infant boy had been substituted intentionally, so that the title was not transferred to another relative.
Dev assured them that Lady Harold could be trusted implicitly. He did not tell them he intended to attend the birth himself when the time came. It would be unusual, he knew. But he refused to allow her to go through childbirth without him by her side. He would do what he could to comfort her, if she allowed it, that was.
He could not imagine lazing in the library, drinking brandy, listening to her cries of pain from a distance. He wondered how Sophia would react when he told her this.
What with the duchess’ blessing, her desire for Dev to marry Sophia, he relaxed the distance he’d kept from Sophia earlier. In fact, on a daily basis now, he walked with her outside for a half an hour. He often took tea with her and the duchess.
Spending even a small amount of time with Sophia openly, alone, was balm to his soul. They chatted about all the things they’d not had time to discover about one another before. He told her of his childhood, his travels, and some of the trials he was having over the dukedom, and she, in turn, confided stories about her friends, the relationship she had with her mother, and fears she had of childbirth. They were coming to know each other in a much different way than they had before.
Dev was proud of Sophia for hiring a new lady’s maid. She was finding her place — discovering her own strength.
The duchess had been slightly cooler than usual for a few days after that but had warmed up again quickly enough. It went without saying that his aunt was overjoyed at the prospect of a grandchild.
The duchess — and everyone else, of course — believed the child to be Harold’s.
Despite the horrible tragedies they’d endured that summer, hope had crept into the house again, with the expectancy of a new life.
Cooler weather was just around the corner, with a hint of frost covering the landscape in the early mornings now. The leaves turned from green to reds and yellow and before long had all fallen to the ground.
