“Christmas without the family would be depressing, Edmund,” she told him. “Besides, Rosemary Morgan will want to be with her daughter at the birth of her first grandchild. Who better could we have to help your wife than her mother, who has birthed so many children herself?”
“Blaze has been a good chatelaine from the beginning,” he replied. “She will want to supervise everything, I know it!”
“She can supervise from her chair in the Great Hall, brother. Cease your fretting! Carrying a child is a condition usual to women. It is not an illness,” Dorothy finished tartly.
Blaze’s eyes twinkled with laughter as her sister-in-law, with whom she was fast friends despite the disparity in their ages, repeated this conversation. “Poor Edmund,” she said. “I do not know who will be more relieved to have this child, he or I.”
“Pah!” came the sharp reply. “Men have no idea what it is like to bear a new life beneath your heart. Only a woman can know that, my dear. I remember the joy I felt each time I carried one of Richard’s children. A man’s relief stems from the eventual delivery of his heir, for that child is his immortality. Men, bless them, are simple creatures, and if you fill their wants, they are usually content. Those needs are very basic. Food, clothing, shelter, women, sons, riches, and power.”
Blaze laughed aloud. “Edmund does not seek power, Doro.”
“Nay, not he, but there are men who do, my dear. Beware them, for they can destroy you.”
“My life is here, Doro, with Edmund. I shall never leave RiversEdge but for little visits to my sisters and my parents. My world is simple, even as I would have it.”
Christmastide was upon them once again, and with the Twelve Days of feasting and merrymaking came the Morgan family and all their offspring. Blythe and her husband, Nicholas Kingsley, lived just a mile upstream and across the River Wye from RiversEdge. Lord Kingsley had caused a comfortable barge to be built so he and his wife might be rowed across the water, thus making their journey an easy one, as young Lady Kingsley was almost as great with child as her elder sister. Bliss, her belly as flat as her twin’s was round, arrived from court with Owen and Anthony. Her clothing was the absolute height of fashion, and she was brimming with delicious gossip that kept all the women of the family enthralled for days.
Lord Morgan and his wife arrived, and Blaze, looking closely at her mother, gasped. “Mama! You are . . .”
“I am having a baby, Blaze, even as you and Blythe. There is nothing unusual about my having a baby.” She smiled at her husband. “Your father and I have made a habit of it, and the house seemed so empty with the three of you gone, and Delight is going to be visiting with Bliss and Owen this winter. I cannot remember when last I felt so very lonely. I know it is foolish of me. I am thirty-four years of age, but I seemed to need just one more baby.”
“Except in your case, Mama,” laughed Bliss, “it is rarely just one, but tell us, when is this sister or brother of ours to be born?”
“Sometime in late March or early April,” replied Lady Rosemary.
“You have stolen my thunder, Mama,” teased Blaze. “Here I, with my child’s birth impending, hoped to be the center of attention this Christmas.”
Rosemary Morgan laughed. “Indeed, Blaze, and you will be, for I can see that your child will not wait much longer to put in an appearance.”
“By Christmas Day,” said Blaze. “I remember praying last year for just such a gift from God.”
Her prayer, however, was not answered. The feast of the Christ Child’s birth came and went, yet Blaze’s child remained firmly rooted within its mother’s womb. The Countess of Langford found herself growing cranky. Gazing at Bliss across the Great Hall, she sighed deeply. How beautiful and slim her sister was. And Delight. There was another surprise. In the eight months since the twins’ wedding Delight had grown taller than her three elder siblings, and had developed a beautiful bosom that even Bliss did not tease her about, being secretly jealous. At almost fifteen years Delight Morgan was promising to be a ravishing beauty within another year or so.
Larke and Linnette were now eleven and a half and Vanora would be nine in February. The elder two were coltish, and had taken to whispering behind their hands and giggling a great deal. Vanora, however, had lost her baby look. There was the hint of a young girl about her, and her boldness had not decreased one whit. She still delighted in baiting Bliss who, despite her months at court, was as yet vulnerable to her little sister’s taunts. As for the youngest Morgans, Gavin and his sister, Glenna, they seemed unchanged at this time.
On the last day of the old year Blaze’s child announced its impending arrival. If she had ever been grateful for her family, she was most grateful for them now, for all the old bad memories came racing back to haunt Edmund, and he feared for his young wife. She could not concentrate upon easing his fears right now. All her energies must go to bringing her child safely into the world. She was relieved to learn from Bliss that her father, Anthony, and her two brothers-in-law had taken her husband into the Great Hall and were getting him drunk.
Bliss and Blythe were also sent to the Great Hall to oversee the children, for Blythe, near her own confinement, was deemed in too delicate a condition to help with the birth. Bliss, however, wandered back and forth between the two camps bringing news to each of the others.
“I do not know why Delight cannot take care of the younger ones,” she complained to her mother.
“Bliss, be fair. Delight is desperately attempting to attract Anthony’s eye. Why do you think she begged to come and visit you at court this winter? He has yet to settle upon any female, and Delight is ready for marriage.”
“Her flux has begun?” asked Lady Dorothy.
“A year ago,” came the reply.
“Hmmmmmmmm,” considered the good lady. “Perhaps then we should help things along between those two. If no one at King Henry’s court has caught his eye, and his heart, then Delight is as good a match as any, say I!”
Rosemary Morgan smiled, knowing how Lady Dorothy’s words would please her fourth-born child. Delight had obstinately refused to consider any of the possible matches her parents had proposed over the past year. “We can, of course, speak on it, Doro, but first let us see to Blaze’s safe delivery.”
The young Countess of Langford labored lightly throughout the entire day and evening. Her labor grew harder as the night deepened, until, a few minutes before the midnight hour, she brought forth her child. In the Great Hall they heard the loud and squalling cry of the infant, and Edmund, still sober for all his in-laws’ efforts, leapt to his feet. Bliss dashed from the hall, her skirts held high to prevent her from tripping. They waited, and then as the bells began to toll in the new year of Our Lord, 1523, Dorothy Wyndham appeared in the Great Hall, a swaddled bundle tucked within her arms.
Walking up to her brother, she placed the bundle into his arms, saying as she did, “My lord, your daughter. Blaze has delivered of a fine and healthy girl!”
Edmund looked down at the infant in his arms. Catherine’s babes had been tiny and pale. This child was big and rosy. From her small head sprang a wealth of dark curls, and to his great surprise, he found her blue eyes were focused most distinctly upon his face. She blinked solemnly at him, and he laughed joyously. It was more than obvious that this child would live. What matter that it was a daughter, and not the desired son? They would have other babies, and there would be sons enough among them. He looked up at Doro. “Blaze?”
“Happy, but furious not to have had a boy. You must go and reassure her,” came the reply, and Dorothy took her niece back from her brother’s arms.
He hurried from the hall while behind him the rest of the family crowded about to get a glimpse of the newest member, passing Old Ada on his way, hearing the nursemaid saying as she went, “Bring that baby here to me at once, Lady Dorothy. Just born, and all this excitement!”
Entering his wife’s bedchamber, he saw Blaze, her golden-brown hair plaited neatly into a single braid an
d freshly clothed in a silk nightrail, sitting up in her bed. Rosmary Morgan was just taking from her a silver goblet into which she had mixed some herbs, eggs, and wine into a strengthing posset for the new mother.
“She is gorgeous,” raved Bliss of her niece. “What will you name her?”
“I do not know,” said Blaze. “I had not considered that I would have a daughter. I wanted a son!”
“Her name,” said Edmund, “is Nyssa. My daughter is called Nyssa.”
“Nyssa? What does that mean?” demanded Blaze of her husband.
“Think on your Greek, sweetheart,” he told her.
For a moment Blaze’s brow furrowed in thought, and then she laughed as her mother and sister looked curiously to her. “Nyssa. It means a starting point!”
“Precisely, my sweet, and that is exactly what our daughter is, a starting point. She’ll have brothers and sisters soon enough, my darling. For now, however, I am content. We have a healthy daughter, and you have come through your travail well. How can I be discontent under such circumstances?”
“But I prayed so hard that our first child be a son and heir,” Blaze said.
“And I prayed that our first child be a healthy one that would live,” he answered. “I prayed that you would live through the ordeal of childbirth. I could only remember poor Catherine, and all her weak or stillborn babes.”
“Nyssa must have a Christian name or Father Martin will not baptize her,” noted Blaze. “Let that name be Catherine, my lord, in memory of your first wife, if it would please you.”
Rosemary Morgan smiled to herself, thinking that Blaze had always been a wise little creature. She caught Bliss’s eye, her look plainly telling her second-born that she might learn a lesson from her elder sister. Then she signaled silently to Bliss that they should leave the new parents alone, and together mother and daughter slipped from the bedchamber.
Hearing the door close behind them, Edmund Wyndham bent and kissed his wife. “ ’Tis the new year, my sweet, and a wonderful beginning it is indeed!”
“You are truly not disappointed, my lord?” Her eyes worriedly scanned his face.
“Nay, my sweet. I am every bit as pleased with Nyssa as I am with her beautiful mother. You have given me the best New Year’s gift of all, Blaze, and so I shall give you your New Year’s gift. My little manor of Greenhill belongs to you now. I have had papers drawn up transferring ownership into your name. It is yours, in your own right, to do with as you would. It generates a small but comfortable income, and that too is yours, with my thanks for giving me such a beautiful daughter.”
She was astounded by such generosity. “Surely, Edmund,” she said, “you meant that gift in thanks for a son, not a daughter.”
“Nay, Blaze. I meant the gift in thanks for my firstborn child.”
She could not believe it! She was a property owner in her own right! She had monies of her own to do with as she chose. Blaze looked up at her husband. “Thank you, my lord,” she said simply.
He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it passionately. “Nay, my sweet, thank you. Thank you for Nyssa, and thank you for being my love.” He arose from her bedside. “Now I think it is best that you get some rest, my love,” he said, and he left her.
Blaze lay back, and found that she was suddenly filled with an overwhelming contentment. When Old Ada entered the room with the baby, she said to the nursemaid, “Bring my daughter to me, and let me see her again. There was so much fuss at her birth that I did not get a proper look at this miracle I have wrought.”
“She’s a bonny little thing, she is,” approved Old Ada. “What will you name her?”
“Her father has named her. Her first name is Nyssa. My daughter is Lady Nyssa Catherine Wyndham.” Blaze gazed down on the baby that Old Ada had just placed in her arms, and then she laughed. “There is nothing of me there at all except perhaps the eyes. She seems to be all Wyndham.” The baby looked mildly back at her mother, and then she closed her eyes in sleep. Blaze felt an immediate rush of motherlove and protectively tucked the infant’s swaddling blankets more closely about her. “Sleep safe, my little Nyssa,” she said, and bent to place a feathery kiss upon her daughter’s brow. “Who will watch over the cradle when I sleep?” she demanded of Old Ada as she gave her back the child.
“I’ve picked the nursemaid myself, Mistress Blaze, and I’ve been training her in the proper ways of caring for a baby ever since we got here. Her name is Maisie, and she is a good girl. I’ll watch tonight, however. I watched over you the first night you was born, and I’ll watch over little Lady Nyssa. Tomorrow is time enough for Maisie and her assistant, Polly, to take over their duties. You go to sleep now, Mistress Blaze. Sleep is what you need, and ’tis the best healer.” Old Ada placed the baby carefully in its cradle, and then hobbling across the room, fluffed Blaze’s pillows, and tucked the covers in about her. Returning to her place by the fire she sat down.
Blaze realized that she was indeed very tired. Her mother assured her it had not been a hard birth, but still she was tired. With a sigh of contentment she closed her eyes, and fell into an immediate sleep.
Chapter 8
Lady Nyssa Wyndham flourished and grew beneath the doting eyes of her parents. She spoke early and she walked as well, tottering about the Great Hall on her fat little legs until one day she was no longer unsteady. She had as frequent companions her uncles Henry and Thomas Morgan, who had been born three months after her birth. Blaze’s twin brothers had arrived on April first, which gave the family cause to joke that God had had the last laugh on Lord Morgan, presenting him with twin sons after so many twin daughters. The child destined to be Nyssa’s best friend, however, was Blythe’s little daughter, Mary Rose Kingsley, who had been born nine and a half weeks after Nyssa, on February twenty-sixth.
In the late summer before Nyssa’s second birthday Blaze learned that she was to have another child. The knowledge came as a great relief to her, for in the time since Nyssa’s birth, Blythe had produced not only Mary Rose but also her baby brother, Robert, who had been born just this June past.
“Now you shall have a brother just like Mary Rose,” Blaze told her daughter.
“I want a little sister!” Nyssa said, stamping her tiny foot.
Edmund took his child upon his lap, and Nyssa snuggled against her father, throwing her mother a very proprietary look. “Papa needs a son, Nyssa. There is time enough for Mama to have a little sister for you, but first I would have a lad,” the earl said.
“You have me!” Nyssa said, as if her words solved everything.
“You cannot explain to her.” Blaze smiled. “She isn’t even two yet.”
“I would not fret but that the estate is entailed,” Edmund told her. “I could be quite happy with just Nyssa but for that. When I am gone she will need a brother to defend her and see to her marriage portion.”
“This is a son I carry,” Blaze said firmly. “I could not tell last time. I simply assumed that I would have a boy, but this time I know! I somehow sense it.”
“Pray God,” he answered her, “that you are right, else Tony inherit. Still, ’twould not be such a bad thing, for he is in the direct line, and a Wyndham on both sides.”
“Edmund, you are too young to even consider such a thing,” Blaze chided her husband. “I am young and healthy, and this is a son I carry. Tony will never inherit RiversEdge,” she finished vehemently.
He heard the venom in her voice, and was disturbed. “Why do you dislike Anthony so much, my sweet? What has he done to offend you so?”
“Why will he not marry?” she demanded. “He has been at court over two years now, and he is certainly not a bad catch as gentlemen go. He is Lord Wyndham of Riverside. He has a pleasant estate, and a good income. I cannot believe there have not been opportunities for him to wed. Yet no one suits him. Why does he dally? Does he hope to inherit your title and estates, by chance, making him an even greater catch? Bliss says there have been any number of suitable women, both maidens an
d widows, dangled before him. I do not trust him. He is distressing Doro beyond all. I believe him to be a calculating and totally heartless man!”
“You are prejudiced because of Delight,” Edmund said quietly.
“He broke her heart!” Blaze burst out. “I will never forgive him for it! Never! She tried for months to attract his love. Bliss says in the end her conduct bordered upon the pitiful. My God, Edmund! That my poor little sister should be driven to such conduct, and all over the love of a man not worthy to wipe her shoes! Owen finally sent her home when she shamed herself publicly by cornering Anthony and declaring her love for him. It almost killed her when your nephew rejected her! She has still not recovered from her heartbreak, and she may never recover from it.”
“Be fair to Anthony, Blaze,” Edmund chided his wife. “He never realized that Delight’s passion was a serious one. He believed it the simple adoration of a young and inexperienced girl. He did not repulse her publicly. He spoke to her with kindness in private and in the presence of both Bliss and Owen. Delight is a romantic girl who had allowed herself to imagine a love affair between herself and Tony that did not exist. That was not Tony’s fault. He never encouraged her, but rather thought of her as a little sister.”
“He is a callous man, my lord!” Blaze’s voice was tight with her anger. “Doro and my family attempted to make a match between my sister and Anthony. No others had caught his fancy, but no! My lord Wyndham of Riverside would not have it! Delight would have made him a wonderful wife, and I hate him for breaking her heart!”
“Delight will make someone a wonderful wife,” replied the earl, “but she would have been a terrible wife for Anthony.”
“How can you say that?” cried Blaze.
“Delight’s temperament, for all her amusing wit, is more like Blythe’s. It is too soft a temperament for a man like Tony. Forced to the altar with her, he would have been bored to death within a month. He needs a wife with more spirit. One who will stand up to him even as you stand up to me, my sweet.”
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