new post as schoolmaster. Maggie’s high-born mother, banished from her family when she married Sean Delaney, had joyfully accepted the role of a schoolmaster’s wife. Maggie, at nine years old, had merely been grateful for the house provided for them. On that fateful day she’d chosen to remain in the tiny house rather than join her father, mother, and brother on an excursion to Gloucester Cathedral.
A sudden storm capsized their boat and swept them under the cold gray water of the Severn River, the same river that had taken the man she’d thought was her husband.
The carriage jerked and tilted, jolting Maggie back to the present. She blinked her tears away and sniffed as quietly as she could. The baby wiggled in her tired arms, and she feared for a moment she’d awakened him. His little face puckered and reddened, but with a reflexive movement of his mouth, he settled back into sleep.
She’d named him Sean, after her father. Lord and Lady Caufield had raised their eyebrows in unison when she’d announced her choice of a name. Maggie supposed the Irishness of it gave them pause. She could always say the baby’s father had been Irish. She could say anything she liked about the baby’s father. Anything would be preferable to the truth.
She stared into little Sean’s tiny face, eyelids fringed with feathery black lashes, a nose no bigger than a button, but lips as perfectly shaped as an adult’s. He was her family now, and through him flowed the blood of her mother, father, and brother. His father’s blood also flowed through him. Perhaps that would make up for his father’s loss of life, too.
Maggie could not precisely remember what her false husband looked like. His image was fading from her memory. She could easily recall the dark hair, full lips, and steely gray eyes of Captain Grayson, however.
Lord Caufield rode up to her window. “We’ll be changing horses soon. There’s a posting inn up the road. Is Tess sleeping?”
“Yes,” answered Maggie. “Both she and the babe.”
His face softened. “She always sleeps in the carriage. I suppose you’d better wake her.” He trotted off.
By the time they’d reached the inn, Maggie had woken Lady Caufield and helped her straighten her bonnet. Little Sean was in full wail, and their descent from the carriage was accompanied by Lady Caufield calling orders to whoever would listen. The innkeeper hurried them into a private parlor, no doubt to protect the other patrons from the assault of a baby crying with a lung power truly remarkable in such a tiny body. Lord Caufield quickly excused himself, ostensibly to procure them some refreshment, but Maggie suspected it was to avoid the noise and allow her the privacy to nurse. As she’d learned that day in the parlor with Captain Grayson, her breasts ached when the baby cried. She could never tell when the milk might flow unbidden, embarrassing her once more.
Putting the baby to her breast, she remembered the stunned look on the captain’s face when he saw her dress stained with milk. It was the last she’d seen of him.
No, not the last. He’d stood outside the townhouse when she came to the window, holding the baby. He’d stood a long time.
Little Sean was more fussy than hungry, but his little stomach won the war with his need for protest. Maggie held him against her shoulder after nursing him until he emitted a satisfying burp, another sound unexpectedly loud for such a little creature. Maggie placed him in the small cradle Lady Caufield had bought for him. She held her breath lest he wake, and tried to quiet the queasiness in her stomach left over from the constant motion of the carriage.
Soon a serving girl carried in food and drink. Lord Caufield peered in cautiously. Seeing the baby was no longer at her breast, he entered.
“Harry, darling.” His wife raised her hand to her husband as if she’d not seen him in an age. “I declare, I must have slept the whole morning. Did I miss much of the
A sudden storm capsized their boat and swept them under the cold gray water of the Severn River, the same river that had taken the man she’d thought was her husband.
The carriage jerked and tilted, jolting Maggie back to the present. She blinked her tears away and sniffed as quietly as she could. The baby wiggled in her tired arms, and she feared for a moment she’d awakened him. His little face puckered and reddened, but with a reflexive movement of his mouth, he settled back into sleep.
She’d named him Sean, after her father. Lord and Lady Caufield had raised their eyebrows in unison when she’d announced her choice of a name. Maggie supposed the Irishness of it gave them pause. She could always say the baby’s father had been Irish. She could say anything she liked about the baby’s father. Anything would be preferable to the truth.
She stared into little Sean’s tiny face, eyelids fringed with feathery black lashes, a nose no bigger than a button, but lips as perfectly shaped as an adult’s. He was her family now, and through him flowed the blood of her mother, father, and brother. His father’s blood also flowed through him. Perhaps that would make up for his father’s loss of life, too.
Maggie could not precisely remember what her false husband looked like. His image was fading from her memory. She could easily recall the dark hair, full lips, and steely gray eyes of Captain Grayson, however.
Lord Caufield rode up to her window. “We’ll be changing horses soon. There’s a posting inn up the road. Is Tess sleeping?”
“Yes,” answered Maggie. “Both she and the babe.”
His face softened. “She always sleeps in the carriage. I suppose you’d better wake her.” He trotted off.
By the time they’d reached the inn, Maggie had woken Lady Caufield and helped her straighten her bonnet. Little Sean was in full wail, and their descent from the carriage was accompanied by Lady Caufield calling orders to whoever would listen. The innkeeper hurried them into a private parlor, no doubt to protect the other patrons from the assault of a baby crying with a lung power truly remarkable in such a tiny body. Lord Caufield quickly excused himself, ostensibly to procure them some refreshment, but Maggie suspected it was to avoid the noise and allow her the privacy to nurse. As she’d learned that day in the parlor with Captain Grayson, her breasts ached when the baby cried. She could never tell when the milk might flow unbidden, embarrassing her once more.
Putting the baby to her breast, she remembered the stunned look on the captain’s face when he saw her dress stained with milk. It was the last she’d seen of him.
No, not the last. He’d stood outside the townhouse when she came to the window, holding the baby. He’d stood a long time.
Little Sean was more fussy than hungry, but his little stomach won the war with his need for protest. Maggie held him against her shoulder after nursing him until he emitted a satisfying burp, another sound unexpectedly loud for such a little creature. Maggie placed him in the small cradle Lady Caufield had bought for him. She held her breath lest he wake, and tried to quiet the queasiness in her stomach left over from the constant motion of the carriage.
Soon a serving girl carried in food and drink. Lord Caufield peered in cautiously. Seeing the baby was no longer at her breast, he entered.
“Harry, darling.” His wife raised her hand to her husband as if she’d not seen him in an age. “I declare, I must have slept the whole morning. Did I miss much of the
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