by Martha Keyes
To Lydia’s surprise, Diana and Mary soon joined them for breakfast.
“I didn’t wish to sleep away the entire day,” Diana said as she sat down. “It is Christmas, after all. And I thought we would need to be on our way to church soon.”
“You are correct,” said Miles. “It is normally a short journey to church—a few minutes in the carriage—but with the snow and the ice, it will be best if we leave a bit earlier than usual. We will need to get Thomas set with the servants as well.” He glanced at the baby, who was reaching for Lydia’s cup of tea.
“Oh,” she said, pushing the tea out of reach.
Miles looked at her searchingly. “What?”
She tore a small piece from her toast and gave it to Thomas. “I…it’s nothing.” She hadn’t considered the fact that Thomas wouldn’t be accompanying them to church.
“We cannot possibly take him with us,” Miles said.
“Can we not?” Lydia asked.
“If the service is anything like ours at home,” Mary chimed in, “I wouldn’t mind a bit of distraction while the vicar drones on and on.”
Miles didn’t seem to hear Mary’s comment. His eyes were trained on Lydia, and she felt them boring into her, while his wrists rested on the table as though he intended to solve things before applying himself to his food again.
“My dear,” he said, “I don’t particularly wish to spend Christmas explaining to people how we come to suddenly have a six-month-old child.”
“Surely it is none of their business,” Lydia said.
“No, certainly not,” he said. “But when did that ever stop anyone? I can’t imagine you wish to explain it any more than I do. It will draw attention to something we have taken pains to avoid drawing attention to.”
Thomas was playing with her fingers, and she watched his movements rather than meeting Miles’s gaze. She didn’t want to answer all the questions that taking Thomas with them would elicit. They could explain that they had taken in a foundling for a short time, but the questions and assumptions would hardly stop there, and Lydia had no desire to receive the pity and the suggestions that would follow. Those interactions were as tiresome as they were disheartening.
She might have borne the assumptions people made about her and Miles if only people had kept them to themselves. Instead, they insisted on conveying their opinions directly to her. Miles had to bear with but a fraction of the conversations Lydia did, as it was assumed she was the one at fault. Even the vicar had implied in a few of his comments to her that greater dedication to God might garner happy results.
But, even more than all of that, she was bothered by a suspicion that Miles’s reluctance to take Thomas was rooted in his concern about how it would make him appear—taking in the child of another man because his wife couldn’t provide him with their own. Undoubtedly, he didn’t want to give people the reminder of his and Lydia’s failure.
“I suppose you are right,” she said with a swallow. “I shall call for Jane.”
It took time for her to convey the instructions to the maid, and when she finally finished and handed Thomas off to her, it was to turn toward an amused Diana.
“What?” Lydia said, trying not to betray how difficult she found it to leave Thomas with someone else.
“You’ve entirely overwhelmed the poor girl,” Diana responded, linking her arm with Lydia’s. “It will be a miracle if she remembers the half of what you said. But that cannot matter too greatly, as we are not leaving on a month-long holiday, my love. We are only going to church for a bit.”
The snow was coming down more quickly than before, and Miles had been wise to call for the carriage early. Not only were they obliged to stop for the dowager baroness first, the driver had to adopt an inching pace to avoid the horses and the carriage slipping on the pockets of ice that covered their route to the church.
The church building itself was cold on the inside, and no one shed their coats as the group of them made their way to the box pew. Lydia made sure to introduce her sisters to people she thought might interest them. Diana and Mary were both engaging in manners and pleasing in appearance, and people seemed eager to meet them, so it was not until the vicar was ready to begin the service that they finally slipped into the pew.
Lydia’s attention wandered for a time, only to be pulled back by the words of the vicar.
“Who would take in Joseph, Mary, and the Christ child? No one. The very Messiah—the Savior of the world—was left to be born in the most lowly of circumstances. Born in a manger and wrapped in swaddling clothes. And are we not guilty of just such abandonment? Of shutting our hearts and homes to Christ? Of choosing sin and entertainment over He alone who is mighty to save?”
Lydia’s thoughts turned to Thomas, found, just like the Christ child, in a manger, wrapped in nothing but blankets. He had already been a blessing to her. She might never bear a child, but if nothing else, she would care for this one while he needed her. She would not neglect her Christian duty, and she hoped God would bless her for it.
Thomas was asleep when they arrived back at the townhouse, and Lydia smiled down at him in the cradle, grateful for the opportunity to care for such an innocent soul, even if it was only temporarily.
He slept long—all through the time Lydia and her sisters spent helping to package the treats and food in brown paper, tied with string, and he was still not awake by the time they left to deliver everything to the Foundling Hospital. A wagon was loaded with the prepared food, covered, and driven behind the coach.
Upon their arrival, Mr. Moss greeted and showed them into the same building Lydia and Miles had stood in. He expressed gratitude on behalf of the hospital and the children for their kindness. “It is not every day they are given such a treat. I shall just call for some of the staff to unload the wagon.”
“Oh,” Diana said, bringing him up short. “Is there any way we might deliver the gifts to them ourselves? There are three great baskets of bread you might give them at dinner, but we wrapped some treats individually and wondered if we might hand each child one.”
Lydia stifled the desire to embrace her sister. Diana could be shockingly forward sometimes, but that wasn’t always a bad thing.
Mr. Moss hesitated then glanced at his pocketwatch. “I suppose so. They are just about to finish the church service, and the children will have the next hour free. Let me go speak with the instructors. I shall return in a moment.”
When he did, it was with happy news. “Perhaps you will regret your request when I tell you this,” Mr. Moss said, “but I think the best way to go about it will be to have you distribute the gifts in the courtyard. It is quite cold, and I shall understand if you change your minds, but given that the wagon is there and that the courtyard has the greatest amount of space required for the type of queue we will have…” He looked a question at them.
Lydia glanced at Miles, intending to ask him what he thought of such an idea. But she might have spared herself.
“Oh, I am sure we do not regard the cold,” Diana said with a dismissive wave of the hand.
And so it was decided. Within a few minutes, the queue of children was forming, each of them wearing a brown dress or short coat beneath a coat more suitable for winter.
Situated right next to the wagon, Lydia and the others took the individually packaged treats and greeted each child. Some met them with grateful smiles and wide, curious eyes, which lingered on the package being offered. A few even wrapped their arms around Lydia, only to be chastised by their instructors. But it was the faces which were serious or even wary that tugged on Lydia’s heart the most.
She glanced at Miles as he greeted a little girl. She was small enough that she must have returned to the hospital recently from her years in the country, and the fear in her eyes touched Lydia’s heart. But Miles was quickly able to elicit a smile and a laugh from the girl, and Lydia felt a gush of appreciation for her husband.
She turned back to address the child in front of her, a boy of abo
ut eight or nine years with dark hair and thick brows which frowned heavily.
“Merry Christmas, my dear,” she said, extending the brown paper package toward him. He refused to meet her gaze, and she reached for his hand, turning it palm up to receive the gift. Her heart stopped at the sight of the lash marks there.
He lowered his eyes, and she reached for his other hand. It was free of marks, and she put the gift in it, forcing down the emotion in her throat.
“That present is just for you,” she said. “I hope you shall like it.”
His eyes flicked toward her, but as their gazes met, he hurriedly turned his away.
“What is your name?” she asked.
He didn’t look at her, and she barely caught what he said. “Matthew.”
Matthew. She pressed her lips together, swallowing down her emotion. “God bless you, Matthew. You are precious to Him. Merry Christmas.”
He met her gaze for a moment then turned away without a word.
“What sweet children,” Mary said in a misty voice as they settled into the carriage a short time later, rubbing their hands together to warm them. She looked through the window where the end of the queue of children disappeared into one of the buildings.
Diana put a hand to her own cheek. “One of the boys kissed me to say thank you.”
Lydia was still trying to reign in her emotions, and she felt Miles’s hand close around hers. She looked up at him, and he sent her a sad smile. He understood.
Diana seemed to notice her sister’s somberness too. “What is it, Lydia?”
Lydia managed a smile and shook her head. “Nothing. I just…I couldn’t help thinking of what the vicar said today each time I looked into the faces of those children. Christ deserved much better than life gave Him, and so do those children.”
Miles squeezed her hand tighter. “Well, they are happier now than they were before we came, surely.”
She nodded. “But it is such a little thing we did. I wish it was more. I wish each one of them had a home.”
“And you would give it to them if you could,” Miles said. “But the hospital is much better than what most of them would face if it didn’t exist. They are more fortunate than others.”
He was right, but it was little consolation to her.
She tried to shake off her melancholy, and the view of Thomas accomplished just that, for his mouth stretched into a smile at the sight of her. She took him from Jane and embraced him tightly, setting a kiss upon his head. “Merry Christmas, Thomas,” she said softly.
The dowager baroness joined them for Christmas Dinner, and Lydia was grateful that she refrained from commenting when her gaze fell upon Thomas. She seemed determined to be pleasant, and Lydia was too.
Dish after dish was brought to the table in a seeming never-ending array of culinary delights, among which were mincemeat pies, roast duck, and a creamy white soup.
“Well,” said the dowager as she was served mincemeat pie, “I must say, your cook has truly outdone herself today.”
“She has,” Lydia said. “Particularly considering how last night we sprang upon her all the bread and tarts we wished her to bake for the foundlings. She certainly deserves a large bonus.” She looked to Miles, and he nodded.
“I do need to arrange all of that,” he said.
There was a brief pause.
“Miles, my dear,” said his mother. “I imagine you saw the Hardales at church today. I spoke with Lady Hardale, and she was pleased to convey the news to me that Sophia is with child again—their third, as I’m sure you know.”
Lydia’s hand clenched her fork, knuckles white, body stiff. She felt her husband’s gaze on her, and she focused on cutting the roast duck on her plate.
“That is happy news indeed,” Miles said, taking a sip from his wine glass.
“Yes,” replied his mother. “Not so long ago, I saw their first child—a boy you know—and he is such a taking little thing. He looks set already to step into his father’s shoes as Baron Venton. In any case, I took the liberty of sending your congratulations.”
“Thank you, Mother,” said Miles.
Lydia finally looked up, too desperate to see Miles’s reaction to keep her head down any longer. He was looking down at his plate, and his quiet demeanor and the somber expression on his face cut Lydia deeper than she was prepared for.
She could see it in his face. He regretted his decision to marry her. It might have been Sophia Kirkland sitting here now, with a baby growing in her belly and one already asleep for the night.
Instead, Miles was housing a foundling and married to a barren wife.
Chapter 9
Brighton 1809
Miles conveyed Miss Kirkland to her mother, who smiled benevolently upon him.
“With more of your instruction,” said Lady Hardale, “Sophia will be quite a proficient cricket player, Lord Lynham.”
He glanced down the coastline, where the three young women were making their way up the beach toward the town. He turned back toward Lady Hardale, trying to stifle his restlessness. “I cannot claim any credit, being only passable at the sport myself.”
“You are too modest,” said Miss Kirkland. “We all saw how you managed to catch that ball. And, Mother, you are too generous. I think I shall never be proficient, but I do enjoy it.”
“Why do you not join us for dinner, Lord Lynham,” asked Lady Hardale. “It would be our pleasure to host you.”
He grimaced in apology. “I wish I could, but I’m afraid I have a matter requiring my attention just now.”
“Tomorrow, then,” she replied.
He bowed in acceptance. “I would be delighted.”
Lady Hardale and her daughter took their leave, and he watched them go, waving a hand at Miss Kirkland when, where the sand ended, she turned to look at him. He tipped his head to the side as he waited for them to disappear. She was lovely. Nothing at all about her to give him hesitation—nor reason to spend the last fifteen minutes wondering about the young woman he’d toppled over and whose seashell collection he’d obliterated. There was a sweetness in Miss Donnelly’s face and demeanor that had made Miles reluctant to leave her. He was confident that she had been more hurt than she’d let on.
Once Sophia and her mother disappeared from sight, he turned away, looking for the three young women. But there was no sign of them. He hit his hand against his leg in disappointment and turned back toward the waves.
But early in the afternoon the next day as he sat on the beach, he sighted the sisters again, coming over the crest of the sandy hill that led down toward the water. He felt the pace of his heart increase and wondered if perhaps he was being overly forward. But he wanted to make things right—and he couldn’t resist his curiosity—so he rose from his seated position and made his way over to them.
He came upon Miss Donnely first. She held a basket on her arm.
“I see you’ve taken precautionary measures,” he said.
She looked up at him and blinked quickly in surprise then glanced down at the basket and smiled. “It was silly of us to set them upon the ground, but it was an impromptu activity. We had only come for a walk.” She glanced behind her, where one of her sisters bent down, though it was clear her gaze was trained upon Miles and Lydia.
“I hoped I might find you here today,” he said. “I couldn’t help feeling that you weren’t being fully honest yesterday about not being injured. I can’t imagine that being hurtled into by fifteen stone could leave a person none the worse.”
She laughed softly, a beautiful, melodious sound that made him smile all the wider.
“It only hurt for a bit,” she said with a shrug. “You needn’t worry yourself.”
He twisted his mouth to the side, but he didn’t want to press her, so he held out his hand. “I bring an offering. I know it is but small, and certainly no replacement for what you had collected yesterday, but”—his heart hammered—“I thought it might interest you if you like seashells.”
M
outh open in surprise, she looked at his hand then up at his eyes. “But…but,” she said.
He nodded at her to take it. “It is yours. Consider it an apology.”
It was a beautiful specimen: white and caramel colored, and shaped like a tulip before blooming. He had spent nigh on an hour combing the beach for shells after Lady Hardale and Miss Kirkland’s departure yesterday, and when he had happened upon this one, all his efforts had felt rewarded.
And they were doubly rewarded now with the look of awe in Miss Donnely’s eyes as she picked up the shell, twisting it and turning it in her hands, then smiling at him as though he’d offered her a pearl. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” she said.
“Nor I,” he responded.
“Where did you find it?” she asked. “Here? On this same beach?”
“I can show you, if you’d like,” he said.
A hint of caution entered her eyes, and she hesitated.
“All of you,” he said, nodding at her sisters.
She smiled. “We should like that very much.”
The Present
Miles rummaged through the papers in the folio on his study desk in search of the one that detailed the wages for the servants at the townhouse. It was St. Stephen’s Day, and he had told the servants to present themselves in the kitchen at nine before most of them took the rest of the day off. The ones who remained would have tomorrow off.
He found the correct paper and ran his finger down the column name by name, stopping with each one to calculate and then take the correct amount of coins out of his purse. At Lynham Place, his steward would be doing the same thing, he hoped. He wanted the servants to know they were appreciated, and some extra coins in their pocket would hopefully convey that message, as well as giving them a merry start to a day they could spend with family or friends.
