“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.”
Naomi’s heart raced when she saw the familiar handwriting. Once Luke had learned she was residing at Galewick Manorrather than Milton Cottage, he’d directed his correspondence to Crescent Park, and then the girls couriered it to her privately. The Duke of Blackheart wasn’t nearly the stickler he was rumored to be.
Naomi tucked it into the sleeve of her gown to read later and to keep it hidden in case Lady Tempest decided to join them.
It would be unseemly for Luke to send letters to her here, at the home of her dead husband’s family. Six months remained of her mourning period.
“He doesn’t know when he’ll be returning yet,” Lydia offered gently. “Likely if it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t hear from him at all. Luke’s never been much for writing.”
But he was safe. Or he had been up until he’d posted his letters, and that would have to be enough to calm Naomi’s worries.
“You know, Lydia, if Luke’s regiment is able to return for the Season again this year, you might be able to visit with him then. And, who knows, you may see someone you like this time. All those men in their colors, it’s so very exciting, isn’t it?” said Lucinda.
Lydia hummed agreeably, but her mild expression didn’t change much.
A mischievous twinkle appeared in Lucinda’s eye. “I heard…” she continued with faux casualness, “that the Earl of Tempest might be attending this year as well.”
Lydia blushed. “Lucy!” she chastised.
The whole exchange had Naomi feeling a touch nostalgic. The glamour and sophistication of a London ball seemed worlds away. Naomi’s entire life had flipped upside down since she’d last concerned herself with parties and fashionable gowns and flirting and dancing. Theodosia was expected to make her come-out this spring and Naomi would not be there to encourage her.
“When is Blackheart taking you to London?”
“We’ll leave two weeks before Easter. That will allow plenty of time to have any necessary alterations made to my gowns and to explore the city. Oh, I do wish you could be there.” Lydia, always the practical one, grimaced. She, of course, realized that even if Lady Tempest wasn’t adamant that they all wear blacks for an entire year, it would be considered unseemly for Naomi to attend anytonevents.
That aside, she wasn’t prepared to leave Amelia alone quite yet and, truth be told, Naomi wasn’t prepared to face the world again, even ifthe worlddeigned to receiveher. She’d been involved in the very worst type of scandal. Her parents had made it clear that she would not have their support, and Naomi doubted she’d have the support of the people she’d once considered friends.
Amelia made a cooing sound, one of satisfaction, and Naomi glanced down just in time to see her daughter pop off her breast and smack her tiny lips. “Such a good girl,” Naomi praised her daughter, dabbing her nipple with the small receiving blanket. It was a relief whenever her breasts emptied, especially after that first uncomfortable month.
Lady Tempest had considered Naomi foolish to nurse Amelia herself, but Naomi had been adamant. Despite experiencing difficulties early on, she believed that in providing the natural nourishment her body produced as a mama, she was developing an unbreakable bond with this tiny creature she’d given birth to. And until Luke returned, her baby was the only person who was truly hers.
Nearly three months had passed since she’d seen him. Would he regret what they’d done before he left? What if his affection for her diminished?
It wasn’t until each of her two visitors had taken a turn burping and holding little Amelia and the nurse had taken her torock and put down for a nap that Naomi was able to slip quietly into her personal chamber and break the seal on his letter.
She slid the foolscap out and inhaled deeply before unfolding it. She could almost imagine where his fingers had touched it. It smelled woodsy, a little smoky, and… anything else was likely her imagination.
She opened it up and savored every word and then read through the letter again and again before folding it carefully and inserting it into the back of her journal.
To my dear sweet Naomi,
A girl! I smiled the entire day after reading your letter. And must I remind you that you now have yet another reason to bow to my great wisdom upon my return?
I yearn to be home with you. This autumn, I will take you to Grainger Hall, my estate. I haven’t been there in ages but am grateful now knowing we will have a place we can make our own—make our home.
Until then, I express with all my heart that I am overjoyed to hear that both you and little Amelia are healthy and well. Is she as beautiful as you? Of course, she is. I am imagining her now, with golden-blonde hair and eyes the color of the sky on a summer day… In England. In the country.
Are her eyes the color of the sky like yours?
I’d forgotten how heavy the air hovers here. The sun burns hot without fail, but the worst is the endless humidity. Not a cool and fresh quality like the English countryside but a hot, sticky atmosphere that never evaporates on one’s skin and keeps your sheets damp during the night. (Not a genteel topic but neither is this letter.)
Even worse than the weather is the distance between us. Your letters provide me with manna, and I am compelled toread them over and over again. At night, I lay in bed and relive our time together. I picture you as you must look, with your babe at your breast, safe, content, and… waiting for me.
As midnight turns to early morning, I picture you as you were the last day at Milton Cottage. I remember the feel of your most sensitive flesh… your taste. I doubt you can ever imagine how beautiful you are. All of you. In the time we spent together, you captured my heart and added purpose to my life.
