I waddled off the sofa and almost knocked one of the mud-colored vases off the table. With a shake of my head, I focused. The boy’s wails startled me again. I fought to get to him.
Enna was sound asleep, but not the babe. I scooped him up and held him. He soothed and my heart started again.
“Come, Noah. Let’s let Enna sleep.”
I lit a candle and then dried his wet bottom. Wrapping him in a fresh napkin seemed to make him coo. “Does that make you well pleased?”
The boy burped. That must mean yes.
In the quiet of the room, I snuggled Noah on the sofa and pulled my blanket about us. “Hope you don’t mind my cold hands. I guess you hated a wet bottom worse.”
He didn’t burp again, but the new quiet was fine with me. My new commission at the Drury Lane had my mind turning almost as much as the letter waiting for me there this morning.
Felton had discovered I worked there and left a wax-sealed note for me.
My husband had never written me anything. Though he sent word by Watson, no notes to dismiss his tardiness were given to me. No love notes either. I had nothing to dispel my worries or to soothe his precious daughters.
The rustle of the letter in my hand disquieted my soul. Noah went back to sleep on my stomach.
Prying at the wax seal, the folds of the foolscap opened.
Unfolded, it exposed Felton’s script.
It was awful.
Sloppy and uneven. No one would ever call it a beautiful hand.
Not quite what I expected.
Was that why I’d never been sent the slightest missive?
Dear Cecilia,
I want one chance to tell you in person what your greatest desire is. I will visit in a few weeks.
Just one chance.
F
Succinct.
Nonthreatening.
Not very specific, with no date or time.
Definitely no promises of forever or anything.
Noah awoke again. The boy cried and waved his hands. His gaze had the wettest blue-black eyes I’d ever seen.
“You must be upset. It will be alright . . . son.”
Wishing he’d garnered Helena’s golden eyes, I rocked Noah, and he yawned.
Being easy wasn’t a Lance family trait. That was all Helena. It might even be my mother, the way she was with Papa.
Mama loved my father, didn’t she? I wondered sometimes. She was free and stayed with him many years before they married. Could she have left him if she wanted?
Or was it to her best advantage to stay? I didn’t know anymore. Those definitions of love and commitment floated about me, covering my heart.
