“I feel a need to see the children. Assure myself of their well-being,” Lorelei said.
Ginny swallowed past a suffocating lump. “Yes. I feel the same for such a bracing antidote,” she said.
Brock’s chest hurt. He poured a second round of brandies and passed them about. Lorelei had sent word for the maid to bring the children. From the corner of his eye, he observed Ginny. She was strong. She’d survived a horrendous marriage, forced by equally horrendous parents. He couldn’t imagine her ever volunteering to leave Irene and Celia. In the deepest reaches of his soul, he knew if something happened to Cecilia or Irene, it would take every ounce of wit and strength to save her from despair. Or, depending on the circumstances, murder.
Sometime in the past week, he’d begun to think of her children as his. He rubbed a hand over his chest to alleviate the load crushing his insides. His gaze met Ginny’s red-rimmed eyes, and he shifted in his chair, resisting the urge to pull her into the protection of his hold. It swamped him with an obsession that refused to dissipate.
The tap at the door came as a relief. Irene walked in holding a fat baby Nathan who looked too big for the thinness of her arms. His head lay on her shoulder, and his arms clasped her neck, his eyes swollen but closed. Cecilia followed but broke into a run when she sighted her mother. “Nathan would only quit crying when Irene picked him up,” she mumbled in Ginny’s shoulder. “We may have to stay the night, Mama, or no one shall get any rest.”
Ginny tugged her onto her lap.
“I can take him now, Lady Irene,” the maid said. But Brock didn’t think she sounded so sure.
“Not yet, Peg,” Irene told her. “He’s only just stopped his blubbering. Has he eaten?”
Peg’s fingers twisted. A blush tinged her cheeks. “Very little. Not that we didn’t try, mind.”
Brock hid a smile behind his brandy as Irene issued another round of orders, her confidence sure and true. “Bring bread and cheese. And milk.”
Brock rose, indicating she take his chair. He didn’t make the mistake of offering his assistance. It was clear to all present that Irene knew how to handle a babe. She’d been the one to teach Lady Kimpton how to change the child’s nappies, after all.
She sat. “I fear Celia has the right of it, Mama. What ails Lady Harlowe, if I may ask?”
Her straightforward question caught Ginny and Lady Kimpton unawares. Both women’s eyes misted.
Sensing the levity of the situation, Brock crouched down and met Irene’s direct gaze with his own. Irene was too intelligent for mincing words. “I’m afraid Lady Harlowe’s ills proved too much for her and have… turned permanent,” he said gently.
Though not a sound penetrated the silence that abounded, the atmosphere grew fraught with underlying tension. He could feel Ginny’s stare knifing him between the blades of his shoulders. He also knew she would realize this was the only possible way to show Irene the respect she deserved.
Irene’s face paled, but her tone remained even. “She’s expired?”
“I fear so, my lady.”
“Mama?” Cecilia’s voice came out tinny and small.
Brock’s heart ached for an easier way to explain. He came up empty. Still crouched, he swiveled, facing Ginny and a scared Cecilia. How small she appeared compared to their safeguarding lessons earlier that day when she’d set her small mouth and squared her tiny shoulders, begging for the chance to fight the fiercest pirate. He pinned Ginny with a leveled gaze.
After her initial fear, Ginny’s hostility faded, and her eyes softened on him as she hugged Cecilia to her body. She turned Celia’s face to hers. “Lord Brockway is correct, darling. Lady Harlowe was unwell. But she has left Nathan in Lord and Lady Kimpton’s excellent and capable hands. Such is the way of life sometimes.”
Cecilia took her mother’s words with a thoughtfulness that rivaled Irene’s maturity. “Like when you almost died last year?”
Ginny’s eyes shut tight, but she wasn’t able to keep the single tear from escaping. “Yes. Like that. We were most fortunate, darling,” she whispered. “Most, most fortunate.”
Peg entered with the small tray laden with bread, cheese, and milk, and set it on a barren tea table, stepping back.
“He’s asleep,” Irene said softly.
“Are you certain you don’t mind staying, Lady Irene?” Lady Kimpton had risen and glided over. With a gentle pat on Nathan’s back, she didn’t attempt to take him from Irene, but Ginny saw the yearning in her eyes.
“Of course not, my lady. I believe he will need all of us.” At times, Irene’s practicality was the perfect balm. Oh, her wonderful, self-possessed, unflappable Irene. She wanted to wrap her up and never let her go.
Instead, Ginny addressed Celia. “What of you, my love. Do you wish to stay?”
“I should be here to help Irene with baby Nathan, Mama. Irene cannot stay up by herself all night.” Celia slid from Ginny’s lap to her feet, then kissed Ginny’s cheek. She looked at Lorelei. “If that is all right with you, Lady Kimpton.”
“It is indeed. Peg, would you accompany the ladies back to the nursery?” Smiling tenderly, Lorelei looked both girls over. “I believe we still have a few items left over from their stay last year that will still fit.”
Peg stepped forward and took Nathan from Irene. Ginny smothered a smile at Irene’s subtle move of getting the blood moving through her limp arms, and she hugged both girls good night.
