Page 3 of The Widow’s Christmas Surprise

“Beggin’ your pardon, my lady.” Mrs. Middleton wrung her hands. “It’s just that’s always been my advice to new mothers, so it just popped out. I’m that sorry to upset you.”

Though Jane looked daggers at the woman, she nodded. “That will do, Mrs. Middleton. I believe I can carry on with Lady Kersey from here.”

Taking a deep breath, Maria nodded as well and steered the baby’s mouth back to her breast. “Thank you for your help, Mrs. Middleton.”

The midwife dipped a curtsey and turned toward the door.

“What shall you name him, Maria?” Jane bent down and ran a gentle finger over the wrinkled brow of the sucking child. “Have you decided?”

“I haven’t fixed on a name yet.” She hadn’t wanted to admit it, but secretly she wanted to name the child for Alan. Jane would object, with good reason, and Maria suspected that such a reminder of her husband would haunt her for the rest of her life. Still, this was Alan’s son. If he couldn’t have the raising of him, at least the child could share something of his father.

“One more thing, my lady.” At the doorway, the midwife had turned back toward her.

“Yes, Mrs. Middleton?” Maria looked up expectantly. Some additional piece of advice for newborns was likely on the woman’s mind.

The midwife clenched her hands. “About the baby.”

Fear shot through Maria, making her clutch the child closer to her. Was there something wrong with her son?

“What about the child, Mrs. Middleton?” Jane’s voice cut the sudden silence like a reaper’s scythe.

“It’s a girl.” The midwife nodded her head toward the baby rooting happily at Maria’s breast. “You have a daughter, Lady Kersey.”

* * *

Several hours later, after some much needed sleep, Maria awakened to the clatter of silverware on a tray. A maid had set a tray on the bedside table and Jane was now directing her to pull the dark wall hangings back, allowing the afternoon sun to blaze into the chamber.

“What time is it?” Maria sat up in bed, then winced. “Owww.” The child. Her gaze darted around the room, but there was no cradle to be seen. Panic flared in her muddled mind, adding urgency to her voice. “Where’s the baby?”

“Ah, good.” Jane turned toward her, smiling despite the dark circles under her eyes. She’d been up half the night with Maria, never leaving her side throughout the excruciating ordeal. “You’re awake. You need to keep up your strength. I’ve had Cook fix some broth, tea, and toast, and later, if you can manage it, you can have some blancmange.”

“The baby, Jane. Where is she?” A sudden premonition that Jane was hiding horrible news and was trying to distract her with food made Maria’s mouth dry as cotton.

“In the nursery with her nursemaid.” Her cousin came forward and adjusted the pillows before pulling up a chair. “You would have been of no use to her after you fell asleep, so I had Nurse fetch her.” She picked up the cup of broth. “Once you’ve eaten, I’ll have her brought back to you if you like.”

Slumping back onto the pillows, Maria burst into tears. “I thought she had died.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Jane returned the cup to the tray, then patted Maria’s hand. “It’s all right. New mothers get these notions.” She blotted the tears with a handkerchief. “I remember with Robert, my first, I was convinced the wet nurse was starving him. I changed the women three times before Tark put his foot down. He said all the different women were upsetting the baby and I suspect he was correct.” Her cousin smiled at the memory. “Once I gave the woman a chance, Robert settled down and put on so much weight he looked six months old at three months.”

Maria rubbed her eyes, trying to stem the tide of tears. So much had happened in the past six weeks. A lifetime of sorrow compressed into such a small space of time. “So many bad things have happened to me, Jane, I can only think my wretched luck will continue. As though I am cursed.”

“You are not cursed, my dear. Far from it.” Jane picked up the broth again and held it to Maria’s lips. “Here, take a sip of this.”

Obediently, Maria took a tiny sip. The rich chicken broth exploded on her tongue and her stomach growled.

“I believe you can manage this by yourself.” Jane relinquished the cup.

Maria took a larger mouthful. Now she was ravenous. “You said there is toast?”

“Yes, right here. Very good, my dear.”

Too soon the cup was empty, the plate of toast bare. “Can I have more, please? I’m still frightfully hungry.”

“The midwife said not to overdo with food. Let that bit settle and we’ll see what you can manage this evening.”

“I hope Mrs. Middleton does not intend to starve me.” More rumblings from her stomach, despite what she’d just eaten, attested to Maria’s fear. Advice she’d been sent from the other of her formerly widowed friends, had spoken of keeping to a bland diet until she’d been churched, some six weeks from now. When she’d read that, she’d supposed it was because new mothers had no appetite. Apparently that was far from the truth, at least for her.

“Well, my dear, you were the one who insisted upon a midwife rather than an accoucheur.” Jane’s rueful words were said with a pucker of the mouth as she settled onto the side of the bed. “I could easily have had Dr. Gilliam come attend you instead. Hopefully he would not have made such an inappropriate suggestion.”