Chapter Sixteen
March 1829, Arthur Gilcrest’s family home, Galewick Manor, Sussex England
“There you go, sweet girl.” Naomi adjusted the tip of her breast for her daughter to latch onto more affectively. Baby Amelia Augustine Gilcrest was the spitting image of her father. Her dark brown eyes matched Arthur’s perfectly, from the coffee-colored shade to the golden flecks that danced around her pupils. Her hair remained blond, but Naomi thought it might eventually turn darker to match her father’s as well.
Initially, Arthur’s mother had been disappointed that Amelia wasn’t a boy, but when her granddaughter had opened her eyes and gazed up at her, the starchy countess had declared herself quite smitten. As had her uncle.
Lord Tempest was nothing at all like Arthur had been. Where Arthur’s hair had been a soft brown color, Tempest’s was black. And whereas her husband had been quick to laugh, his older brother’s mouth twisted into a permanent scowl.
But after insisting she belonged with them, they had welcomed her into their home.
They had been kind to her. More so now that she was the mother of their only grandchild. And they loved little Amelia—even if she wasn’t a boy.
“One hundred percent the little lady, aren’t you? Luke was right all along.”
Not a day went by without Luke coming to mind. Not an hour, and sometimes, hardly a minute.
Lady Tempest had been cool and distant at first, and although she was considerably reserved, she had warmed to her over time.
“Ladies Lucinda and Lydia are downstairs in the west parlor, Madam.” Gabby, one of the more enthusiastic housemaids, hovered just outside the nursery. Amelia’s nurse rose as though to take Amelia, but Naomi held out a hand to halt her.
“Send them up, Gabby. I’m sure they’re here to see the baby as much as to see me.” She laughed. “Perhaps even more so.”
With Crescent Park neighboring Galewick Manor, Lydia and Lucinda had fast become good friends to her. They reminded Naomi of her own sister, Theodosia and their visits eased some of the loneliness she felt from her own family’s refusal to acknowledge her.
Even Blackheart had visited her on one occasion. He was an enigmatic gentleman. Although his demeanor implied indifference, his actions contradicted such. Had Luke asked him to do that?
Of course, he must have.
Luke’s last afternoon at Milton cottage had been achingly bittersweet. They’d held one another until the last possible moment, only climbing out of her bed when the coach bringing Mrs. Cromwell was nearly upon the house.
Once Mrs. Cromwell had settled in, the three of them had traveled into the village again and visited the mercantile, the small church, and then suffered through a polite but poignant dinner with his family. Luke had escorted both Naomi and Mrs. Cromwell back home. And after her companion disappeared into the house, the two of them had bid farewell to one another in the darkness, neither willing to relinquish the other. She’d not cried though. She hadn’t wanted him to worry about her while he was gone. It was more important that he worry for himself.
She’d kept her tears in check until she was alone and could bury her face in the pillow he’d shared with her, inhaling the remnants of his scent.
He’d slept at the inn that night and departed for Portsmouth at sunup. He’d promised her he would speak with Blackheart about his intentions to sell out. And that he would write to her.
The very afternoon following his departure, the orderly quiet of her life had been upended again when Arthur’s brother and mother as well as a handful of servants arrived and insisted she take up residence in their home as Arthur’s widow.
Perhaps if she’d been stronger, she would have resisted them. She might have asserted her independence and insisted on remaining at Milton Cottage with Ester.
But she’d just bid the man she loved goodbye and she’d promised Luke she wouldn’t take any unnecessary risks with the baby or herself. He’d ordered her not to climb any ladders, not to allow herself to become chilled. He’d told her to be sure to eat well and then begged that she not go into the village alone. Any other time and she wouldn’t have allowed him to be so bossy but he’d needed her reassurance.
Neither had addressed the fact that he would be in almost constant danger. If he could trust that she was safe, they both seemed to understand, he could apply his efforts toward keeping himself from harm.
“Is she sleeping?” Lucinda entered first and tiptoed across the brightly lit room decorated with pink ribbons and silk flowers. Naomi had come to recognize the differences between Luke’s twin sisters most of the time. Lucinda was the bolder of the two and tended to draw reprimands from Mrs. Cromwell more often than Lydia did.
Lydia, although quiet, paid close attention to all that was going on around her. Her figure was the slightest bit rounder than her sister’s, and she had a small white scar at the bottom of her lip.
Naomi’s regard for them had grown along with their acquaintance.
“She’s eating,” Naomi answered in a normal voice. “She keeps trying to fall asleep, and I have to stroke her little chin so she’ll finish.” It had taken her a while to learn this trick. The first few weeks her little one had wanted to nurse almost continuously, taking very small breaks and napping often in between. The nurse hired by Lady Tempest had suggested she try to keep Amelia awake and eating longer, and Naomi was immensely relieved when that had worked.
“She is growing so quickly!” Lucinda pulled a chair over so that it was right beside Naomi while Lydia lowered herself into one halfway across the room.
“We were here two days ago, Luce,” Lydia reminded her sister.
“Oh, that reminds me.” Lucinda opened her reticule and withdrew an envelope from inside. “Another letter arrived.”
