Jeremy approached slowly so as not to disturb the sleeping child, the two women watching him as if he were about to grab the baby by the foot and dangle him upside down. Jeremy sank to his knees next to the cradle and sat back on his heels, smiling at the tiny person. He gently caressed the baby’s cheek with his finger. It was velvety and warm, and love welled up in his breast. This was his child, his son, and he would love it regardless of who its mother was.
“Charles,” Jeremy whispered into the silence. “We’ll call you Charles.” Rising to his feet, he tiptoed from the room, leaving Millie to keep her vigil over the baby.
“How does my lady?” Jeremy asked the midwife Marjorie had brought in from Chesterfield to care for her in the final months.
Mistress Neary was a thin, wiry woman with iron-gray hair and warm brown eyes. There was something of the late Mistress Ashcombe in her gaze, and Jeremy hoped Marjorie found her presence reassuring. “She’s tired but pleased, my lord. She’s given ye a fine son.”
“She has,” Jeremy agreed. “May I see her?”
“I’ll see if she’s awake, sir,” Mistress Neary replied.
A few minutes later, Jeremy was permitted to visit his wife. Marjorie lay back on the pillows, her hair neatly braided and her plain nightdress tied primly at the neck. She looked tired, but the room bore no sign of her struggle. Everything had been cleaned, the linens changed, and the blood-soaked rags taken away. Only an unpleasant smell lingered, the reek of blood and stale sweat underlying the scent of rosewater that Marjorie must have used to wash.
Jeremy pulled up a chair and sat down. He didn’t think Marjorie wanted him any closer than strictly necessary.
“Have you seen our son?” Marjorie asked, her expression closed as ever. Not even now, at a moment of great joy, could she permit herself to relent and give him a smile or a word of congratulations.
“He’s beautiful. I’m glad you came through it safely, Marjorie,” Jeremy said, and meant it.
Marjorie gave a slight nod. “Have you settled on a name?”
“Charles. Charles Robert,” Jeremy said. “I hope it’s to your liking.”
“It’s a fine name,” Marjorie replied. “A wetnurse has been engaged and will be here within the hour.”
“Have you no wish to suckle him yourself?” Jeremy asked.
Marjorie looked horrified. “Whatever for?” My part in this is done, her gaze seemed to say.
“I’m sure you know best,” Jeremy replied. “Is there anything I can do?”
Marjorie shrugged. She would remain housebound until the churching, where a blessing would be offered to thank the Lord for her safe delivery and the baby would be presented at church. “I’d like to have Charles baptized as soon as possible,” she said. “If you’re agreeable, of course.”
“Do you fear for him?” Jeremy asked, his heart sinking at the implication. Did Marjorie not think he would live?
“I simply want to know that should anything happen, he will be treated with the respect due a Christian.”
“Of course. I will speak to Reverend Gilchrest and make all the necessary arrangements.”
“Thank you,” Marjorie said formally. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m very tired.”
“I’m sorry to have disturbed you,” Jeremy replied, and stood to leave. This was probably the most civilized conversation he’d had with his wife since meeting her last June. Maybe they could carry on without acrimony and find a way to be good parents to Charlie. Jeremy grinned. Already he thought of the boy as his Charlie. His son.
Jeremy gave Marjorie a slight bow and left the room.
Journal Entry
I weep with Joy. The good Lord has blessed me with a Son. I have not only fulfilled my duty but have secured my own future. Should my Husband leave this world I will have no urgent need to remarry since the estate will pass to Charles and I will act as guardian until he comes of age. Please Lord God, allow my son to live.
Chapter 60
Jeremy
Lifting the baby out of his basket, Jeremy held him close as he moved into the front room of the cottage. Jamie had been fussing all night, his little face scrunched in displeasure. Jeremy looked down at his son, and his heart nearly burst with love. He rarely got to spend time with Charles, but Jamie was truly his, the child of his heart.
“What is it, little man?” Jeremy asked softly. “You’ve a full belly, a dry nappy, a warm blanket, and a mother who’d slay a dragon for you. I’d say you have reason to be content.”
Jamie stared at his father from the folds of the blanket, his gaze stormy. Afraid Jamie was about to start howling, Jeremy began to sing softly, recalling a song his nurse used to sing to him when he was little. Jamie instantly stilled, his gaze fixed on Jeremy’s face.
Ah, you like that, Jeremy thought, pleased with himself.
Jamie listened intently, but by the final verses, his eyelids began to flutter as he finally fell asleep, his little body growing heavier in Jeremy’s arms. Strange that both his sons were still mere babies, but they were as different as night and day, or as their mothers, Jeremy acknowledged as he continued to pace the length of the room.
At nearly four months, Charles was a complacent baby. He didn’t seem to want or need anything other than the elements that ensured his immediate survival. As long as he was full and dry, he was content to lie in his cradle and stare at the ceiling. Jamie, on the other hand, was restless and inquisitive at less than a month old. His gaze
