Both the children’s eyes lit up, and Ewan could hardly contain his glee at their reaction. He and Charlotte were planning just that as their gift for the holiday. His cousin Matthew would bring the pup today when their family arrived from London. He could hardly wait to see the reaction when they arrived.
Charlotte leaned down and touched his shoulder. “I have a few things to attend to,” she said softly. “I’ll come find you later.”
He nodded. She blew him a kiss as she headed up the hall to continue whatever duty he had interrupted with his insistence that they explore pleasure earlier. He stood, reached out to catch each child’s hand, and together they walked up the hall together to the parlor.
Perhaps other members of the ton would have found this bond he shared with his children to be odd. But he had felt the sting of hate from his family, he was determined that his children only experience the deepest love. Aside from that, he adored the time they spent together, playing and growing closer.
Even now, they sat on the floor in the parlor together, happy as three peas in a fire-warmed pod. The children had been playing here earlier in the day, and the toys that had been left behind were still there to enjoy together. He helped them build a block tower, changed the nappy of one of Abby’s dolls and engaged in a battle with militia on horseback where he was trounced by the other side.
But after a while, Ewan touched each child’s hand to get their attention and signed, “We have serious business to attend to.”
Abigail’s wide eyes, blue as her mother’s were solemn. “What Papa?” she asked, her tone still soft and babylike.
“Two days until Christmas,” he signed. “And we need to figure out what you two are giving to Mama as a gift.”
Jonathon puffed out his chest with pride. “I drew her a picture,” he said, “of you fighting a dragon, Papa.”
Ewan nodded his head slowly. So that was what the scribbles he’d seen a few days before were meant to be. He would be sure to mention it to Charlotte so she could properly identify the gift upon opening it.
“What about you, sweet?” he signed to Abigail. “Miss Foster said you were working on a song.”
“Song!” Abigail repeated, and then proceeded to launch into an off-key and boisterous singsong about a mama who was so pretty. It seemed to go nowhere in particular and there were no verses to speak of, but he was certain Charlotte would know all the words before Christmas day had ended.
He grinned as she finished the rambling performance and clapped his hands before he signed, “Wonderful. Good, that is taken care of. I know she’ll love it all.”
“What are you getting Mama?” Jonathon asked as he turned his attention back briefly to the blocks on the floor.
When he looked up again, Ewan signed, “I have a beautiful ring for Mama, with a stone that is as pretty as her eyes. Do you think she’ll like that?”
“Pretty wing?” Abigail clapped her hands, for she was just becoming interested in dresses and hair ribbons and her mother’s jewelry. “Oh yes, Papa.”
“That’s a secret, though,” Ewan signed. “No telling.”
“Yes, Papa,” the children repeated.
“Mama has a secret,” Jonathon said absently, as he picked at the paint on the block in his hand.
Ewan wrinkled his brow at that idea. Charlotte did not keep secrets, he knew that. Of course, the boy likely meant a secret about her gift for him. She had been looking very sly every time she teased him about it.
“Oh yes, what secret is that?” he signed.
“A baby,” Jonathon said.
Ewan blinked. Jonathon had to be wrong, of course. Not because it wasn’t possible. They made love often and were never careful, but Charlotte had said nothing about being with child again. “What?” he signed.
Jonathon stacked his blocks so slowly that Ewan was tempted to draw his attention. But at last he said, “She was talking to Miss Foster about needing to ready a room for the baby. They were talking about colors and finding the cradle in the attic. Then she said to be sure to be quiet because it was a secret.”
Ewan’s lips parted at his son’s innocent words sank in to his mind and spirit. This seemed like far more than just some misunderstood comment. There was so much detail in Jonathon’s tale.
Could it be true? He racked his mind for the signs he might have missed. And found them. Charlotte had been a little more tired as of late. She slept a bit longer in the morning and started yawning earlier in the night. He’d dismissed it as a reaction to the cold winter up here by the sea. Now it made more sense.
She’d also occasionally felt ill during the last few weeks, especially before she ate in the morning. During her prior pregnancies, both those things had been the signs that she was breeding.
He paced away to the window, staring out at the foggy rain and the swirling sea beyond it. He hardly registered any of it. All he could think about was the fact that Jonathon might be right in what he had overheard. Ewan would be a father again.
Delight was his first reaction, rushing through him from head to toe like the flush of new love.
But it was swiftly followed by another emotion. One that pushed aside the first and made itself more known. Concern. Why would Charlotte tell their nurse about the baby before him? Why would she want this news to be a secret from him?
He glanced over. The children were oblivious to his changed mood as they continued to play on the rug. He moved to the fire. Above it a portrait of him and Charlotte hung. It had been painted just after their marriage five years ago. He could see the lines of worry about his eyes, captured unknowingly by the painter.
And there had been worry for him then. His early childhood before he was taken in by his cousin Matthew’s family had been so miserable. He had still been anxious about his lack of ability to speak that the idea of bringing a child into the world who might share his affliction was almost unbearable. He’d pushed Charlotte away because of it, nearly lost her.
Even now the idea of that took his breath away.
When she’d told him she was pregnant with Jonathon, he knew his reaction had disappointed her. They had been happily married for months, and yet his old fears had rushed forward and spoiled that happy day. He’d spent the remaining time before his son’s birth apprehensive and afraid. Only Jonathon’s first cries, the ones that proved he would have the voice Ewan never had, freed him from his terror.
When she’d told him about Abigail a little more than a year later, he had tried so hard to be happy, and it had been a little better. But he still hadn’t exactly celebrated as he waited for their child to be born and for the moment to come when he would know if she would one day be able to speak.
And perhaps that was why Charlotte had kept this from him. His heart sank. At Christmas, her favorite holiday thanks to the history this time of year held for them, she didn’t want to face his worry, his fear. She didn’t want to be disappointed by his lack of joy over her pregnancy.
They were happy. And he knew that there were few areas where he failed her. This was obviously one of them.
He turned to look at the children. They were now half-heartedly fighting over who would put the last block on their tower. Their nurse entered the room and smiled at him before she scolded, “There now! You two best not fight, for what will the Christmas spirits think of it?”
That seemed to snap the children back into line and Jonathon handed over the block to allow Abby to finish their tower.
“May I take them, Your Grace?” Miss Foster asked with a smile.
He nodded. Though the nurse didn’t know their family hand language, if she needed more of a response he could bring out the silver notebook Charlotte had given to him years ago and write his responses to her queries. But she seemed to have none. She simply helped the children gather up their toys to be put away.
They waved to him as they were ushered from the room, leaving him alone to ponder the thoughts that now clouded his mind.
If he had let Charlotte
down on this subject in the past, he needed to make it up to her. He needed to do it as soon as possible.
Chapter 3
Charlotte sat on the settee in utter comfort. She had long ago discarded her slippers, and her stockinged feet were tucked beneath her. At present she was being entertained by her husband and two children. The threesome sat on the floor before the fire, making shadow animals on the opposite wall together. From time to time, Ewan would lean over and subtly adjust Abigail’s hands. The effect was to transform her shadows from mere blobs to something more akin to birds. Abby giggled when he did so, and he dropped a playful kiss to her nose every time.
Love swelled up in Charlotte, utterly powerful and infinitely true.
She had always felt that emotion when it came to Ewan. Even when they were children it had been there, innocent and hopeful. Her love for him had moved her to help him create a language all their own, in the hopes that she could find a place in his world. Or at least ease that troubled world a fraction.
As a young woman, she had confessed what she felt to him once, only to be rebuffed and brokenhearted by his response. He hadn’t been ready. She had been almost destroyed.
And yet the love in her heart had survived. She had married another man, but her feelings for Ewan had always been there. They’d grown every time they wrote letters where they pretended to be friends. It had pulsated within her when she saw him or heard his name from the lips of her friends or family. When her husband was gone…
Well, that love inside her had driven her to take a chance. And here they were. The day she married Ewan, Charlotte had thought she couldn’t love him more. Five years proved that belief very wrong. Each day she found something new to love about him. Something bigger and stronger blossomed between them. And these moments with their children also made that love increase, transform and mature.
Soon there would be another child to add to their family. A fact she was very pleased about, though she did worry a little over Ewan’s reaction. He was always concerned that his mutism would be passed to one of his children. Her pregnancies had been only marred by his haunted looks.
The nurse, Miss Foster, stepped into the room quietly. Charlotte knew their family was a little odd. Most in Society didn’t spend each evening in some kind of family activity. She didn’t care. She wanted these beautiful moments with the children, with Ewan. And Miss Foster had long ago stopped looking like it wasn’t normal.
Charlotte smiled at the young woman, nodding slightly before she got to her feet.
“The night is getting long, my lovelies!” she teased, as she often did on these winter nights. “And Miss Foster is here to spirit you both away to dreamland.”
“Awww,” Abigail and Jonathon groaned at once.
“Yes, awwww,” Ewan spelled out with a wink in her direction.
She laughed at his teasing, even as she shook her head. “You must go to bed.”
“Why, Mama? Can’t we stay up just a little longer?” Jonathon asked, giving his best pleading look that she was certain would melt hearts before she knew it.
“Because, my love, tomorrow is an exciting day and you need your rest. Uncle Matthew and Aunt Isabel will be here with Daniel and Grandmother first thing in the morning.” She referred to Ewan’s aunt as grandmother and his cousin as his brother because that was what they were. They had raised him and loved him as that for most of his life.
Abigail’s face lit up like she had forgotten her family was coming and now it was a marvelous surprise. “And da baby, Mama?”
Charlotte smiled at Ewan, but he had turned his face and was now focused on a loose string on the carpet. Abigail was currently very interested in Charlotte’s brother’s family. She saw their new daughter as a dolly, in a way. “Uncle Baldwin and Aunt Helena are coming before luncheon with the new baby and your other grandmother. And then all our other friends before nightfall. You’ll see all the children and this house will be filled to the brim with excitement. So the sooner you sleep, the sooner we wake up and everyone will be here.”
The children exchanged a look, like they were contemplating if this was a good enough reason not to argue for more time.
Ewan arched a brow toward them. “Listen to Mama,” he signed with just enough sternness in his expression. “Say goodnight.”
They knew the look. Both knew it brooked no refusal. That seemed to put an end to any attempt at arguing. The children sighed before they got up to tackle Ewan just as they had earlier in the hallway, all but smothering their father with goodnight kisses.
When they were finished with him, Charlotte dropped to her knees as they flew at her, gathering them into her arms. She loved the warmth of their little bodies, the sweet smell of their skin that still retained some of that baby perfection. She whispered words of love and good night to them before she let them go, turned them and gave them a gentle push toward Miss Foster.
“Race you!” Jonathon shouted as he took off past their nurse.
“No fair, Jonny!” Abigail wailed as she followed him.
Miss Foster inclined her head with a laugh. “Good night, Your Graces.”
“Good luck, Miss Foster,” Ewan signed, and Charlotte translated with a chuckle that their servant echoed as she followed her rambunctious charges.
When she was gone, Charlotte got up and moved to close the door. She faced Ewan, who was still reclining on the floor. He was watching her closely, though not with a look that said seduction. Like he was reading her.
He could do that so easily. She wasn’t even shocked by it anymore when he read her mind by examining some turn of her lips or cock of her head.
“They’re excited for the holiday,” she said with a heavy sigh. “But I think we must talk to Jonathon about beginning to practice some calm. When he goes wild like that, he is a bad influence on Abby.”
Ewan shrugged, though he was clearly not dismissing her concern. “When the new year starts, I will begin to work on it,” he signed. “Although he’s three. It is an age.”
She laughed. “It is that. Great God.”
He stretched his back. “I’m sure most of this behavior he’ll grow out of naturally.”
“I know,” she said, watching as he slowly pushed to his feet.
It was funny, but even after all this time, she still wondered at the muscular unfolding of his long limbs, the way his chest flexed against his shirt. When he caught her looking at him, he arched a brow, his expression telling her she’d been caught ogling him.
“What?” she teased. “I like ogling you. I will never stop.”
He smiled as he shook his head and reached out a hand to her. She took it, letting him lead her to the settee where he sat, drawing her down into his lap. She rested her head against his with a contented sigh. For a little while they let the silence hang between them.
“I’m almost ready for our guests,” she said at last. “I finished the menus this afternoon.”
He caught her hands between his and held them there before he began to sign around them. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
She pondered the question, knowing she was lucky have a husband who took such a great deal of the load from her shoulders. “Well, all the dukes will want to hole up and play billiards together. I don’t mind, of course. I don’t think any of the duchesses do, for you don’t all end up in the same room nearly enough.”
He nodded. “Now that everyone is married and having children, we do see each other less. Perhaps we should arrange for some kind of 1797 Club gathering, just the gentlemen. Next year at the hunting lodge in Scotland?”
“I love that idea,” she said. “We’ll talk to them about it this week. However, if you want to help during the visit, be certain to encourage them to be social with the rest of us.”
He shook his head. “You know none of them can be apart from their brides very long. I’m certain it will take no convincing whatsoever. But I will be mindful of the time.”
She leaned in and kissed his temple, fel
t him shift beneath her as he turned his mouth up for her. She claimed it, kissing him gently before she cuddled a bit closer.
He cupped her hands between his again, staring as her fingers disappeared within the cocoon of his. Then he let out a long breath.
“I’m sorry,” he signed.
She jolted at the way he signed those two words. Slowly, regretfully. His expression as he glanced at her was a little dark, a little sad.
“Why?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
He stared into her face for a moment, his mouth still a deep frown. “I love our life, you know,” he signed, his fingers slashing the words as they always did when he was frustrated or upset. She rarely saw that kind of movement from him anymore. She had no idea why he would exhibit it now.
“Of course you do,” she reassured him. “I know that.”
“Do you?” he asked. “Do you truly know? Do you truly understand how much waking up beside you means to me? That I sometimes just stare at you while you sleep and wonder if this is all some long, wonderful dream. That when I hold our children, it’s like a part of me I never knew existed is brought to life?”
Tears swelled in her eyes at those lovely words. At his expression when he said them. They meant the world to her. “What’s brought this on?” she asked, wiping at the tears that had begun to fall. “Not that I am complaining. If you want to wax poetic about our life together, you may do so at any time—it’s very romantic.”
He shifted, turning his face away a little. “I’ve just been thinking of how things were back when you came here five years ago, filled with spitfire determination to seduce me and force me to see what our future could be like.”
“This time of year always makes me think of those days, too,” she admitted. “I was so terrified you’d turn me away when I made the first attempt to seduce you.”
He frowned. “You shouldn’t have had to be. I loved you, I’d always loved you. I should have been strong enough to let that happen without forcing you to fight so hard for what we both wanted.”
'Tis the Season: Regency Yuletide Short Stories Page 29
