Sebastian got up from where he’d been kneeling on the rug, supervising Tom’s attempt to teach six-month old Aneurin to talk. As much as Madelaine loved her son and knew him to be the best and cleverest baby in the whole world, she couldn’t help but think Tom was wasting his time.
“Book!” Tom enunciated clearly, holding up the item in question, a very tattered copy ofPeter Piper’s PracticalPrinciples of Plain and Perfect Pronunciation.“Horse!” He held up a small wooden toy. Aneurin, propped up in a mound of blankets and cushions, giggled and made a clumsy grab for the toy.
The baby had been named for his grandfather’s Welsh roots. Aneurin Sebastian Charles Thorne. He had tufty, down-soft brown hair, and his eyes had gradually darkened to his father’s black, which made him a striking if unconventional-looking baby.“Thank goodness,”Sebastian had murmured dryly,“that he has his mother’s smile.”
Madelaine didn’t think there was anything at all wrong with her husband’s smile. She’d seen it often enough these last three years to be sure.
Now Sebastian got up, dusted off his knees, and went over to his father. He frowned at the cravat in question, though there was amusement lurking at the corners. Everyone awaited his judgement, his father grimacing.
Sebastian shook his head.
“No good, old man. Back up the stairs with you. Come…” He took his father’s elbow and led him from the room, “No need to call for Daniels. I’ll help you myself.”
Lady Arnon let out a breath then came to sit in the window seat near Madelaine’s table. She caught sight of Madelaine’s smile and gave a defensive puff. “Well! Itisimportant! He has to look the part, you know.”
“Oh, I do know,” Madelaine reassured her aunt, giving the boy and the baby on the rug a quick glance. Aneurin was now gnawing on the horse, gummy and drooling.
“Hoof,” Tom informed the baby. “That’s thehoof.” He said his haitches wonderfully, if somewhat carefully. “Not normally considered a delicacy…”
Madelaine smiled, looking back at her aunt, who was also watching the scene fondly.
“Don’t worry, Aunt, he’ll do a wonderful job. He’s been rehearsing the speech for weeks.”
Madelaine had written it herself, with Sebastian’s help. Today was the day Lord Arnon would speak to defend The Society for Ending Cruelty to Children’s keystone bill in the House of Lords.
They’d had small successes along the way, but this bill was the end of a torturous three years’ worth of canvassing and discussions. It had passed the House of Commons—eventually—in a somewhat reduced form. If it passed the House of Lords, it would become law. It was less than what Madelaine and her aunt had hoped for—the end to all corporal punishment of children—but it would limit the variety and extent of the punishments schools and tutors were allowed to apply.
A small victory. But an important one.
“And Sebastian still means to go with him?” Lady Arnon fretted with the lace of her cuff.
“Yes, Aunt. He will escort him to the House and observe from the gallery.”
Her aunt nodded. Madelaine leaned across and put a hand on her arm.
“He can do it. He is strong.”
The man was—mentally, more than physically. The trials his body had been through had left him weakened. His liver functioned poorly, Doctor Phillips said. His heart was a little weak. But he had gained weight and strength.
Together with Madelaine and Sebastian, he spent much of his time with Lady Arnon at Woodhaven in Kent. Walks and fishing and even the occasional ride had brought healthy colour back to his face. And he doted on Tom and now the baby. Lord and Lady Arnon had officially adopted Tom as their ward.
Madelaine and her aunt were busy on a new project: homes for destitute children.
So, yes, she was busy. Busier than she ever had time for. Living in Kent, she was halfway between her family in Sussex and her friends and work in London. Since Aneurin’s arrival, she had travelled less. It had been an anxious pregnancy, long awaited, her hope almost extinguished by the time it came.
Sebastian had been her strength. Sebastian was the hard rock which anchored her. On the rug, Aneurin got bored and made fretful noises. Tom looked up in panic, and Madelaine abandoned her letter, going to pick up the baby.
A little jiggling and daft talk got him smiling again. She put him on her hip, his solid weight familiar and grounding.
“Are you hungry, Nye?” she asked him. “Or is it Father you want?”
The baby gave a gummy smile at that. He might not be able to say words, but he recognised some.Fatherwas one of his favourites. She quite agreed.
“Shall we go and find him then? It can’t take two grown men so long to tie a neckcloth, now can it?”
Nye dribbled a little, which she took for agreement.
Going up the stairs with her baby on her hip, careful not to trip, mindful of the marble steps and every sharp edge, she couldn’t help but remember the scene that had once taken place here: Major Tait, and Tom in his ruthless grip. He’d thrown the boy down against the stairs… Her heart squeezed in horror at the memory. Ever since having her baby, she found the thought of children suffering even more unbearable. Her emotions were taut and tightened, humming just under the surface. She hitched Aneurin more securely on her hip.
