Page 2 of The Wolf and the Wildflower
He dropped his forehead to hers and closed his eyes. “I have been a right fool to lay so much pressure on you, my love. My heart is guilty. I am guilty. Forgive me.”
Charles held her tightly for several seconds, and she basked in his reassuring embrace. A few minutes later, the door closed gently on his departure, and she heard his bellow for their servants to fetch the port; there would be a grand celebration tonight. Miranda glanced up, and her smile dimmed, the gladness inside her chest growing cold.
“What is it, Mrs. Garrick?” she asked at the midwife’s unusual somber countenance. “Is all well with the child? Is he well?”
The portly midwife bustled closer. “It all happened before I could say anything, ma’am. The baby cried, and I placed her in your arms, and you were saying you had a beautiful boy, and the door opened, and I was afraid…”
Something heavy and frightful pressed against Miranda’s belly.“Her?”
The midwife sat on the small chair before the bed, her face creased with worry, her dark brown eyes glowing with compassion. “The babe is a girl. A beautiful, healthy babe.”
For a precious moment, Miranda could not speak. Swallowing down the tight, uncertain lump forming in her throat, she carefully parted the blankets with trembling fingers. “A girl,” she whispered. “He’ll be so disappointed.”
Miranda looked up at the midwife, seeing her face through a blur of unshed tears. “He’ll want to try again.”Soon. “I do not think I could bear for it to be so.”
Mrs. Garrick sighed heavily. “You labored for two days, milady. The entire household thought you would have gone on to your rewards and kept vigil with grim visages. You cannot take to the childbed again, ma’am. There are remedies I could suggest, but they might not work for long.”
A raw sob tore from Miranda’s throat, and it felt like her heart broke into pieces. “I cannot do this again. Oh God, what am I to do? How do I reach my husband and let him see reason?”
Mrs. Garrick remained silent for long moments before another heavy but resolute sigh slipped from her. “In my experience, ma’am, even the poorer class husbands do not bathe their children, dress them, or have need to know of their sexes. Not even you will be expected to feed and nurse this child. It is just not done.”
Alarmed confusion jolted through Miranda. “I beg your pardon?”
The midwife lifted her chin. “Mr. Southby needs not to know this child is a girl. No one needs to know. My oldest daughter will be more than happy to be your nursemaid. It would be a secret we would take to our graves.”
“But my husband…surely, he would eventually know,” Miranda said, wondering why she was even indulging in the madness of such talk. “Icannotlie to him and surely I wouldn’t be able to deceive him in such a manner forever.”
“Aye…not forever,” Mrs. Garrick said kindly. “But it will give you some time to recover. I’ve tended to you five times in as little as seven years, ma’am. Yer husband claims to love you, but a boy child is more important than your health.”
Miranda flinched at a truth she had long acknowledged and wept for. Her husband was the second son of a viscount, and they had fallen in love and wed eight years prior. Their romance had been fast and passionate; in Charles, she found a man she admired and trusted with her emotions. She knew he loved her. But it pained her that she did not understand his desperate desire for a male child. He was a second son and was not likely to ever inherit unless a terrible tragedy befell his older brother’s family.
Her husband owned a comfortable estate in Sheffield and an income of two thousand pounds a year, and while it was a tidy fortune that allowed them to live comfortably, this was not an accomplishment that demanded an heir and spare. Yet he continued to insist he needed a male heir to teach his craft and inherit the legacy he was determined to build.
The child fussed in her arms, and Miranda peered down into that small, wrinkled pink face, profound tenderness filling her heart.
“I love you so much already,” she whispered. “So very much.”
“Forgive my boldness, milady, but Mr. Southby will have no cause to ever see this child in the nude. As per your station, a nursemaid will see to this child’s most intimate needs, and my daughter will keep this vow of secrecy for however long you desire. You trim her hair, give her a boy’s name, and most importantly, treat her as a son in every way. Then hope and pray that when you eventually inform Mr. Southby of the truth, you will be strong enough to weather that storm and perhaps the birthing bed again.”
Miranda shook her head in denial. “This is a deception that could ruin my family. I cannot imagine the scandal should it ever come out. My husband’s brother is a viscount, and our family is a part of thehaut ton. Our reputations would be forever lost. I…I would lose the love and trust of my husband.”
“It is a deception that is necessary to save your life. Unless you believe Mr. Southby will stay out of your bed.”
A blush heated Miranda’s cheeks. He would not. Her husband did not only come to her bed to ensure she got pregnant. They had a passion between them that flared at the slightest touch. She could keep him away by stating she was not yet recovered, but his need for a male child had proven to override his good senses. “Perhaps there is a way to prevent…to prevent me from falling with child?”
The midwife grimaced. “Those are not methods fit for a lady, and I fear he would uncover them. Some are also quite grueling to the body, and you are very weak, ma’am. I believe you need at least five years’ rest from the childbed. Perhaps then you could inform your husband of the truth and hope for his forgiveness. Perhaps his affection will not have him beat or banish you.”
The midwife stood and went about her business cleaning the room. Miranda stared down at her child, wondering if she could possibly tell such a terrible falsehood to her husband. He was an emerging physician of the mind, one of the most notable in society. She, too, was a viscount’s daughter, but not much in society, at least not since her come out several years ago.
How would it ever be revealed if it is a tightly guarded secret?
She closed her eyes, tears trailing down her cheeks. Miranda had fallen in love with Charles the minute she had seen him at the midnight ball, and she had never stopped once. How she had prayed that she would finally give him a son.
But even now, she could feel the weakness in her body, and the thought of Charles climbing back into her bed again soon after this birthing ordeal made her want to cast up her accounts. Miranda did not enjoy pregnancy and certainly not childbirth. The constant vomiting, pain in her feet and lower back, the dizziness…and the tearing pain of losing that child before it was ready to come into the world.
However, now that they had a daughter…and a son, their lovely family was complete. Charles would happily give her several months to heal before expecting passion between them, and after, knowing he already had a son, Charles would honor her wish and take the proper precautions to ensure there was no pregnancy. But if there was no male child, he would want to attempt another pregnancy. A fierce determination flowed through her body. Lifting the child to her chest, she kissed the babe’s forehead. “Welcome to the world, my darling Jules.”
Miranda prayed that she had made the right decision.
