“You must be brave. Aunt Overbrook says the baby will come soon. The midwife is preparing the bedding right now. Isn’t it exciting?”
Josephine threw back her head and shouted, “I want it out of me.”
“Of course you do,” said Minette. “And out it shall come, although it’s taking a terribly long time. You’re right to be frustrated, and I think you ought to cry and scream as loud as you like.”
“They say the first one is the hardest,” said Josephine between pants. “And it’s really, really hard.”
“Perhaps, but you can do it. You’ve always been so strong.”
Josephine went to her knees. “I need to lie down again. I need to lie down.” She looked over at Minette, her pain-hazy eyes snapping to irritated focus for a moment. “Your brother did this to me, and I’ll get back at him for it someday, mark my words. I’ll punch him or something. Plant him a facer right on the nose.”
“I think you ought to. He’s definitely got it coming,” agreed Minette. “I won’t even warn him of your plans. Now take a deep breath, my dear, and rest for a moment on the bed.”
*** *** ***
Warren paced the room with such agitation, August could barely chase him down with the claret.
“Take it,” he said, when Warren tried to refuse him. He put the glass in the man’s hands and led him to a chair. “You’re not doing your wife any favors, you know. Someone’s got to be the calm and steady one.”
“She’s the calm and steady one.” Warren sat heavily, and then jumped back to his feet. “She’s been at this since yesterday with hardly a complaint, only that endless crying and moaning. You can’t understand what it feels like, watching your wife suffer so.”
August bit his lip. He believed he did know what it felt like to watch his wife suffer—since he had caused Minette far too much suffering—but it probably wasn’t a good thing to mention now.
“She’s going to be fine,” he said instead. “She’s an exceptionally strong woman. She grew up in the jungle, you remember, swinging from vines.”
Warren made a strangled sound, downed his drink in one swallow, then sat and put his head in his hands. “I can still hear her, even with the door closed.”
“Arlington will come if anything is wrong.”
“If anything is wrong!” Warren said, looking up again in dismay. “My wife’s been screaming for hours now. Everything is wrong. I’m never, ever bedding her again, I swear it. I’m not touching her. Nothing could make me do it.”
I used to think that about your sister.
Again, words better left unsaid.
August sat in a nearby chair, and rescued Warren’s glass when it almost fell from his fingers. “Say, when did you last sleep?”
“I can’t sleep,” Warren said. “Jesus.” He rubbed his cheek and stared at the fire a moment. “How is my sister, Barrymore? I barely said hello to her.”
“She’s fine. She was anxious to come. She had a feeling that you needed her, that you were not quite well.”
“I’m not well. I’m damned terrified at the moment.”
The words were roughly spoken, as if Warren’s throat couldn’t quite work. August reached to pat his shoulder. He wished he could make everything better for his friend, but sometimes one simply had to live through things. Survive until the bad times improved.
“Thank you for bringing Minette here,” Warren said after a moment. “Josie will like to have her near.”
“She’s excited to be an auntie, and hold the baby.”
Warren looked up at him. “Is everything still...better...between you?”
“Things are too marvelous for words.” August could see some of Warren’s agitation bleed away. A very little bit, but August was glad to give him some measure of relief. “As it turns out, we were always meant to be together. Minette only knew it a good while before me.”
“She’s devilishly clever.” Warren rubbed his forehead, took August’s glass, and drained it too. “All I ever wanted was Minette’s happiness. For her to feel loved and secure in her marriage. I’m sorry if I behaved like an overprotective arse.”
“You’ve always been that way about your sister. It’s nothing to apologize for.”
The men sat in silence for a moment. “Blast and the devil,” Warren burst out. “This is so hard. Waiting is hard. Loving someone is hard. What if the baby dies? What if Josie dies? I’m so afraid of losing her.”
August identified far too well with Warren. He struggled with the same fears, that Minette would come to harm, or somehow leave him. But the truth was, love was stronger than unreasonable fears or regrettable mistakes.
“You won’t lose her,” he assured Warren.
As if on cue, Josephine let out a hair-raising scream. August caught his arm but Warren was already on his feet, tearing out of the parlor and over to the staircase. As August trailed after him, he realized it was all right to be overwrought with love for one’s partner. In fact, it was a wonderful sort of burden, one he’d be honored to shoulder for the rest of his life.
As they neared Josephine’s room, Arlington held the door open with a smile. “You’re a father,” he said. “Congratulations, Warren. Go and have a look.”
The men entered the room, which was now full of beaming faces. The previous hubbub had been replaced with quiet, broken only by an infant’s vigorous wail.
“He takes after Josephine,” Arlington quipped under his breath.
Josephine looked up at her husband from the bed. She appeared pale, tired, and decidedly wrung out, but she still found the energy to smile. “We have a son,” she said. “He’s gorgeous and perfect as can be.”
“A son?” Warren walked toward the bed in a daze. The midwife tried to shoo him away but he wouldn’t be turned off. He peered down at the bundle of his newborn heir, then knelt at his wife’s side.
“Are you all right?” he asked, smoothing back her hair. “How magnificent you are, darling. I’m so proud of you, and so...so thankful.” They put their foreheads together and started whispering to one another as the baby quieted between them, snuggled to his mother’s breast. Love, thought August, was a very powerful and mysterious thing.
His eyes sought Minette’s. She gazed back at him, a sweet smile tilting her lips.
I love you
, he thought.
I want to lie in your arms, and rest my head beside yours, and drink in your smile for the rest of my life.
And if the Lord blessed them with children, he’d be a conscientious father, patient and wise, and kind. He’d nurture his children and protect them from all harm, unlike the father who’d made him. He would be different.
Because of you
, he thought, as he crossed the room to embrace her.
Because you taught me how to love.
Minette snuggled closer beside her husband in Somerton’s main parlor. It was Hallowe’en again, but this year there was no grand house party full of guests, no bobbing for apples on the terrace. This year, it was only the Townsends with their daughter Felicity, and her brother and Josephine with little Georgie, now nearly eight months old. And the Barrymores, of course, her and August and the little baby within her, too small yet to show.
“I say, it’s not the same without Arlington here,” said Townsend, bouncing his daughter on his knee as she drooled on a slice of apple. “I wonder how he’s faring in Wales.”
“Arlington does well at everything,” Josephine pointed out. “So I’m sure he’s charmed Lord Lisburne and his daughter. The lovely Guinevere is doubtless swooning over his sapphire blue eyes and magnificent mane of hair.”
“I never knew you were so enamored of Arlington,” said Warren, pretending to be piqued.
“I am not enamored,” Josephine replied. “He’s entirely the wrong shade of blond to suit my tastes.” Everyone laughed as she ran her fingers through her son’s light-blond hair. Little Georgie was even more tow-headed than his father. When his mother tickled him, his childish laughter set everyone chuckling again.
“I wonder what she’ll be like,” said Minette. “Arlington’s new duchess. I’ve never met anyone Welsh before.”
“Perhaps she’ll be with us next Hallowe’en.” Aurelia rescued a bit of apple from Felicity’s chin. “Speaking of Hallowe’en—”
“We must tell ghost stories,” Warren blurted out.
“No, it’s Barrymore’s birthday,” said Aurelia with a smile. “And we’ve gotten you a gift.”
“We have too,” said Warren and Josephine.
Minette grimaced. She didn’t want Warren giving August any more gifts, since the paddle he’d given him for their wedding—at least a copy of it—was still put to regular use. The past season had provided plenty of opportunities for Minette to try her husband’s patience, resulting in numerous sessions over his lap.
“You’re all too kind,” said her husband as their friends delivered their brightly wrapped packages. Townsend and Aurelia had gotten him a collection of popular music bound in a handsome leather case, while Warren and Josephine had chosen a polished box and some smartly embroidered handkerchiefs with swirly letter B’s. Thank goodness the man was to have some reasonably embroidered accessories. All her attempts still turned out a mess.
Minette handed over her present last. Now that he was a grand marquess, she had bought him a handsome looking glass of tortoiseshell with gold edging. Everyone exclaimed over it as they peered into the mirror together. August kissed her and told her it suited him very well, and that he had wanted such a mirror for some time. She hoped it was true. Even if he didn’t love it, she knew he would pretend to love it because he was ever careful of her feelings.
“My wife is working on another gift for me,” he said as he bundled up the wrappings, and passed a ribbon to little Felicity. “But it won’t be ready until the spring.”
Minette smiled shyly as a flush spread over her cheeks. Her husband smiled too and patted her waist, an obvious hint about her condition. Aurelia whooped, Townsend applauded, and Josephine rose to give her a hug. Her brother looked flustered for a moment, but then he smiled too.
“What perfectly wonderful news,” said Josephine with a squeeze. “And a perfect birthday present, in my estimation, even if Barrymore must wait to have it for a while.”
“Yes, and there’s so much to do to get ready,” said Aurelia. “The wait will fly by, and before you know it, you’ll be holding your baby in your arms.”
Townsend nodded. “And a couple summers from now, the lot of them will be tearing around the garden after one another, getting into mischief and pulling the roses from their stems.”
“Congratulations, sis,” said Warren, “and congratulations to you too, Barrymore. I hope you’re ready to have a bunch of curly-headed chatterboxes underfoot.”
“Warren!” Minette protested, but she could see the teasing glint in her brother’s eyes. “Who’s to say our children will be chatterboxes? Perhaps they’ll have dark hair, and be quiet and brooding.”
“Is that what you are?” Townsend asked August as Warren laughed. “Quiet and brooding?”
“More likely he can’t get a word in edgewise,” said Warren.
August pulled her closer and grinned at her peevish expression. “Let them laugh. They’re only jealous because they’ve never been able to brood as well as me.”
“Brood, or breed?” asked Townsend, setting everyone off into more laughter. Warren shook his head, and then the two babies began to fuss.
Warren stood to walk about with George, while Aurelia cosseted Felicity, rocking her back and forth to soothe her. Minette was hardly much older when she’d lost her parents. In fact, she knew very little about being a parent, except that one must protect and love the little ones. She noted the way Warren whispered to George to calm him, and the way Aurelia tickled Felicity to make her smile again. She was glad her friends weren’t the sort to banish their children to the nursery, or leave them to grow up primarily in a servant’s care.
“Georgie always wants to walk about and play,” sighed Warren, “only he’s not capable yet, poor fellow.” He set him on Josephine’s lap, where the baby proceeded to kick his stubby little legs. “Say, Barrymore, play something, would you? Something to amuse the children.”
“Oh, yes, do,” pleaded the ladies.
“Of course I will, if Minette will help me. She’s been taking lessons, you know.”
“From who?” asked Townsend.
“From me, of course,” August said. “And she’s come a long way from last year, I’ll tell you.”
“Does that mean you won’t be treating us to
Poggle and Woggle
?” joked Warren in a drawling voice.
“The children might like
Poggle and Woggle
,” Minette pointed out.
“No, I’ve finished something else. A new piece.” Her husband sorted through the music he’d been working on earlier, and propped open the pages. “It’s called
Minette
.”
“Minuet?” She could feel herself blushing again.
“No.” A smile teased the corners of his mouth. “
Minette.
I wrote it for you, dear. I was going to call it Wilhelmina, only...”
Their friends erupted in more laughter as Felicity shrieked and waved her hands. “I believe the young lady wants us to commence with the music,” said Minette. “In fact, she sounds insistent.”
“You take the right hand. I’ll do the left.”
They seated themselves just as they had precisely one year earlier. She couldn’t help thinking how much had changed since then, and how far she had come from
Flowers of August
, and Lady Priscilla’s insults, and heartbroken tears in Josephine’s arms. August didn’t think her a child any longer, and he didn’t dismiss her as a nuisance. He had even written her a song...
As they began to play the notes together, tears misted her eyes. The song was pretty, even merry, but with an underlying tone of wistfulness that saved it from sounding like some reckless jig. It was a song for her, or about her. Goodness, she’d soon become too teary-eyed to read the music.
“I like this song,” she whispered to him.
“I’m glad,” he whispered back.
“It’s much better than
Flowers of August
.”
“Anything is better than
Flowers of August
,” he replied, hitting an especially resonant note.
Behind them, the children had quieted, entranced by the marvelous harmonies her husband was so adept at creating. The song rose to a bright and shimmering peak, a burst of happiness just like the happiness she felt in her heart. Her husband was so talented, and so amazing. She put her head against his shoulder. “Thank you, darling,” she said.