“Oh, pray don’t ask my pardon. It is very understandable.” She paused, and then added hesitantly, “You must — you must love her very much, Mr Ruishton.”
“She is my life,” he said simply.
Verena stared, tears gathering in her own eyes. Could a man feel so strongly? And if he did, could he be — she hardly dared to think the word — gentle?
Osmond was rising, coming towards her, his eyes on the infant whose passage into the world had been so very stormy.
“And so this is my daughter?”
Verena made haste to offer the child, holding it out towards him. But Osmond reached out a finger and ran it down the smooth baby cheek, red still and tightly muscled from its recent exertions. Watching his face, Verena saw him smile. Then he turned his finger and the tip just brushed the minute lips.
“How do you do, Miss Ruishton?” he said softly.
“What shall you call her?” Verena asked.
“That will be Unice’s privilege,” he said, his eyes still on the infant’s mouth. Then he drew back, and a great sigh escaped him as he looked up again to Verena’s face. “Will they have finished? Do you think I may go to her now?”
“Yes, of course. At least —” She gave an odd laugh. “I beg your pardon, Mr Ruishton, but I do not know. I think it may be all right.”
“She will need me,” he said. “And, by Jupiter, I have great need of her!” Then he turned, and walked quickly out of the room.
Verena watched him go, feeling utterly confused. For the first time in her life, standing there in a soiled muslin gown — the first that came to hand in her haste — and left for the moment in sole charge of a new-born infant, she wondered if perhapsit might be possible that a man and a woman could enjoy true happiness in marriage.
A vision sprang full-blown into her mind. A vision of an expressive countenance, a teasing light in its eyes of misty blue, and a smile on its lips that turned her knees to water.
Verena sank down onto the sofa, nursing the baby against her breast. Why him? Why his face at such a time? She had not thought of him in weeks. Or at least, she amended, she had tried not to think of him. She had banished him from her mind for ever that day — the day that Unice and she had become a little more than acquaintances.
He had left abruptly, Unice had told her, obviously distressed. Verena had been unable, for the quite unforeseen emotions that she herself was experiencing on hearing of the man’s departure, to respond in any suitable way. For her heart had stilled, and a hollow opened up inside her chest.
Unice had seen it, or had seen some reaction in her face — unguarded for a moment — and remarked upon it. Verena had ended by telling her just what had occurred that night, expressing her regret if any words of hers — stupid words, provoked by some strange emotion she did not herself understand — had been the cause of Mr Hawkeridge’s decision to leave. Unice had been quick to pooh-pooh any such suggestion, saying that Denzell must have had reasons of his own of which neither of them knew anything.
It had been a small opening up on Verena’s part. But it had been enough. Warming to Unice, she had found herself succumbing more and more to the temptation to drop the mask. Only once had Unice spoken of it.
“Dear Verena, I know there is some urge that makes you poker up in public. But pray don’t feel you have to hide your feelings with me. I will ask no questions. Only do not shut me out, Verena. I so much want to be friends.”
Touched, Verena had pressed her hand, and thereafter had resumed her mask only when others were present, including Osmond. They had not discussed Mr Hawkeridge again, although Unice would from time to time let fall an item of news concerning his activities in London.
Verena persuaded herself that she was not interested.Hadso persuaded herself. Then why now, in these truly unusual circumstances, should he thrust himself into her thoughts uninvited?
She looked down again into the new-born features of the little lady in her arms, cradling the infant closer. To be sure, it had been a hideous entry, but it was over now — and the result! Oh, but what joy it must be to be entrusted with a tiny soul such as this. To hold a new life close, to nurture it thus, sweetly at the bosom, giving of oneself even to the provision of its daily food.
Her eyes pricked. This was not for her, could never be. For she had dedicated her life to Mama’s salvation, and sworn never to marry. Never to permit that intimacy — of which, despite her maiden innocence, she knew altogether too much — that might have given her this.
A shadow at the door brought her eyes up. Unice’s maid stood there. She dropped a curtsey. “I’ve come to take the babe up, ma’am.”
She came forward. As of instinct, Verena’s arms tightened about the bundle she held. The oddest feeling of possession engulfed her. She did not want to let the baby go. But the maid was before her, arms held out expectantly.
Verena looked once more into the sleeping face.This is Unice’s baby, not mine,she told herself. She must give it up.
Her clasp loosened. The bundle shifted, and the waiting hands removed it from her arms. A pang shot through her, as she watched the maid walk from the room, taking the baby away. It was as if she took with her a part of Verena’s heart.
Bereft and confused, she sat in a daze. What was the matter with her? How could so little a creature be responsible for so great a sense of loss? The child was not even hers. She had never wished for children — had she? Not if it meant she must marry, put herself into the self-same position in which Mama had suffered so.
But Unice seemed happy, a small voice whispered at the back of her mind. She could almost imagine the scene upstairs. Unice lying with the babe in her arms, and Osmond sitting at her side, looking down upon his wife with the eyes of love. She was hislife. That was what he had said.
Abruptly the vision changed. Verena herself was lying there, the baby hers. And the man who sat beside them wore the face she had sworn she would not remember. Verena found herself shaking.
Movement on the periphery of her vision made her glance up, blinking. In the doorway stood two little night-shirted boys, their young faces pale and uncertain.
