Penelope, too, must have sensed something, for she opened her eyes and turned her head.
“A miracle,” she said.
Chapter 28
Penelope knew she was not dead. She was pretty certain of the fact, anyhow.
Most of the time, Hugh was there beside her, and if she could believe what she’d thought she’d seen, both of her babies lived.
She was in her husband’s chamber, lying under the covers on his high, masculine bed.
Rose, Abigail, and Hugh attended her every need. They spoke to her cheerfully about the babies but couldn’t keep the concern from their voices. She knew they feared childbed fever for her.
She feared it herself.
She was a mama. She wanted nothing more than to hold her babies, suckle them, coo at them, and count their tiny fingers and toes.
And she wanted to know that the words Hugh spoke to her had not been a dream.
She slept, was spoon fed broth, swallowed the water pressed against her lips, and then slept again. She did not know for how long she went on this way. Hours, days, weeks?
She gave into the sleep and the ministering hands but would not give into death. There was too much to do! She allowed the nourishment to fill her body and the sleep to restore her energy. Until she awoke and felt an urge to open her eyes and examine her surroundings.
The sun shone through the windows casting a golden light in the room. As though the sun were setting or just about to rise. Hugh reclined on a rocking chair beside her. A bundled baby rested against his chest, and his eyes were closed.
He was snoring softly.
She’d not dreamt that he’d returned. She was not dreaming now.
His hair was even longer than usual and was pulled back into a queue, but that single rogue lock had fallen across his forehead. He’d not been shaved recently. She liked the shadow of a beard covering his jaw and upper lip.
It must be evening.
“Can I hold him?” she tried to speak, but her voice came out a whisper, little more than a croak.
Hugh’s eyes flew open and then a warm, slow smile spread across his face. “Her,” he corrected. “Our little future viscount is currently being spoiled in the nursery.”
After rising to his feet, he lay the baby in a nearby cradle before turning back to her. “Let me get you situated, and I will bring her to you.”
He leaned forward, as though to plump her pillows and sit her up slightly, but then shuddered and with a gasp, buried his face against her neck. His arms wound around her tightly, almost fearfully.
Penelope reached her own arms around him and felt truly alive again. She rubbed her hands along the muscles of his back and soothed away the tension rolling through him.
So right. So perfect.
“I’ve missed you,” she whispered against the side of his face.
Not meeting her gaze, he gathered himself and went about the business of helping her to sit. She could see that his eyes were unnaturally bright as he tugged at the pillows and pulled up the coverlet. Once she was sitting, he turned for the child.
How was such joy possible? Holding the precious bundle in her arms, Penelope felt a surge of warmth creep over her heart. And then the warmth became even more of a physical sensation, moving into her breasts.
“Everyone says she has more of the Chesterton look to her, but the boy has your hair, and I think, he will have your eyes.” He was glowing with pride as he reached down to stroke the baby’s cheek.
“Did you name them?” She really had no idea how long she’d been resting.
Hugh pulled the chair closer to the bed and sat down, unwilling, it seemed, to let either of them out of his sight. “We never discussed names—before—that is. I would not name them without you.”
Penelope gazed down into this tiny creature’s delicate features. “I had thought of naming a baby girl Luella, for your mother.” She’d never known Lady Danbury by her Christian name but had discovered it as she’d gone through the workings of the estate. The woman had been a fine manager in her son’s absence.
