Chapter Thirteen
The baby’s impossibly round eyes gazed up at Felicity as she awkwardly encircled her arms around him and perched him atop her hip in the same way she always saw other ladies do. His head bobbed from side to side, the entire lower half of his face slick with drool—a byproduct of teething, apparently.
“There, there,” Felicity cooed, the warmth of the fireplace at her back. She began bouncing gently and glanced to her new mother and sister as they took eager stances in the middle of the morning room.
“Ah, look here,” said the elder Mr. Wheadon from the writing desk by the window, chuckling and jabbing his pen at his wife and daughter. “Those are scheming faces if ever I saw any!”
“It would appear my two years of living away in Derbyshire have not lessened your memory of me, dear Papa,” replied Arabella in her light, pleasant voice, perfectly complemented by her swinging, golden-brown ringlets.
“That is because he still has me, and you and I are ever so much alike,” Mrs. Wheadon giggled like a conspirator as she linked her arm with her daughter’s.
Felicity had hardly become accustomed to their presence since their arrival yesterday and now they were thrusting this fragile creature at her and scheming. It would be a lengthy visit, indeed. At least Felicity found the young baron and baroness to be perfectly polite, and she had always thought as much of Mr. and Mrs. Wheadon.
Atticus’s amused smile from the chair in the corner, barely visible behind his book, was just enough encouragement for Felicity to remind herself that this was an opportunity. In due time, especially now as a married woman, children would be expected of her…Atticus’s children. Their children.
She was not yet ready to face that thought, not when she had only just begun the process of accepting her love for Atticus and integrating it into her new understanding of herself. Life clearly possessed a sense of humor to throw Felicity so much in the way of babies recently, what with Lydia’s joyful announcement and now a visit from her new nephew. It was as if, now that she had confronted one fear successfully, life saw no reason to delay her confronting the rest.
“Scheming already, though we only just arrived at dinner last night?” asked Lord Hollington over his newspaper, gaze soft as he smiled at his lady.
“Of course the natural inclination is to recuperate amongst homely comforts after a lengthy period of travel, but I have always been of the opinion that doing so stands as much chance of increasing fatigue as relieving it. Better to take advantage of the first opportunity for exercise and society,” countered Arabella smartly.
“And what better way to introduce you all to Bainbridge than the autumn festival in the village?” cheered Mrs. Wheadon, eyes aglow with delight as she clung to her youngest child’s arm.
The scene of familial care stung that tender spot in Felicity’s heart that had always known she would never share such moments with her own mother. In fact, she had not thought it possible for any mother to be so thrilled to see her children once they had fulfilled their highest calling of strengthening the family’s coffers and reputation and securing another generation to inherit it.
Felicity started when the boy reached up toward her face with chubby fingers and grasped at her jawline and cheek, babbling happily to no one in particular.
“You see? My little Algernon has already wisely chosen his companion for the day.”
Felicity started again when she realized the focus of the room had shifted to her. She gave her best approximation of a grateful smile and patted Algernon’s back as he continued to mold her face in his surprisingly strong hands. She should be grateful for the chance to strengthen her woefully underdeveloped skills with children. There had never been a need to put forth the effort since they had never been part of Felicity’s plan. Nor had there been much opportunity, considering how infrequently Felicity saw her other nieces and nephews.
“You do not think it will overly tire the darling fellow so soon after the journey?” the baron asked thoughtfully.
Arabella crossed to the fireplace, her eyes never leaving her son. Brandishing a kerchief Felicity swore had not existed in the room until that moment, the young mother gently—and without a hint of aversion—swiped at the baby’s face.
“Not while he is with his beloved aunt,” Arabella answered, pinching his round, red cheek. “Algernon is quite taken with you already, sister.”
“He is the most even-tempered and agreeable baby I have had the pleasure of meeting,” Felicity answered truthfully as Algernon giggled at his mother’s ministrations.
The younger woman beamed, a smile that was somehow both acceptably demure and fiercely proud. “He is, is he not? If he is already this lovely at just nine months, I can hardly wait to see the fine gentleman he will become.”
“Are we settled, then? A trip to the village festival?” inquired Mr. Wheadon, who had already tucked away his writing materials.
To Felicity’s relief, by the time they had reconvened in the front foyer bundled in coats and pelisses, young Algernon had lost interest in his new relation, preferring his mother’s company once more. Mr. and Mrs. Wheadon had elected to join the young family’s carriage, eager to absorb as much of Arabella’s presence as possible despite spending nearly two months under her roof. That left Felicity and Atticus to the barouche.
Atticus chuckled after several minutes of driving in silence. “Do not fear. I have grown quite accustomed to my parents’ preferential treatment of Arabella during her visits since she married.”
The sound of his laughter traveled through his body and into Felicity’s, lightening her spirit. They sat side by side on the barouche’s seat, pressed snugly against each other for warmth. Her cheerier mood might have lasted a while longer had they not passed the drive toward Huxley Manor at that moment. Against her will, Felicity’s attention fixed on the carriage before them.
“Your parents’ adoration of Arabella is such a stark contrast to my parents’ indifference. They love her so much. They love both of you—even Lord Hollington, it seems. And now Algernon.”
“They love you, too, Felicity.”
Felicity’s heart skipped several beats. She had nearly misheard him. Though they had come very close that day, neither had dared to cross that line, to speak that word, aloud.
“How is that possible?” she mumbled, praying that with Atticus’s focus on driving the barouche and a bonnet fixed firmly atop her head, her blush would go unnoticed.
“You are their daughter now. They need no further reason,” Atticus continued gently.
The unease in Felicity’s mind quieted. It always did, no matter the dilemma, at that sweet tone in her husband’s voice. Instinctively, Felicity let her head tip to the left until her temple came to rest against Atticus’s.
“I know that does not absolve your mother and father or alter your history with them, but I do hope that in time, you will come to know the parental love you have always deserved.”
A snap of cold air made them both wince. Felicity tucked a little deeper against her husband’s side—not entirely because of the temperature. “Thank you, Atticus,” she whispered. “I do greatly appreciate their kindness and…love. I am sure in time, I will come to see it as such.”
“They would like that very much. As would I.”
The remainder of the journey into the village passed in silence. Atticus always sensed when Felicity preferred it, just as Felicity could sense when the words had piled up behind his lips and needed release.
Despite this short time, despite the chasm of differences in their temperaments, they understood each other. Of that much, Felicity was certain. What she was not certain of now was the rest of it.
In perfect timing, Atticus pulled the horses to a stop along the side of the street just outside the village and the door of the other carriage swung open, unleashing a bloodcurdling wail. Lord Hollington emerged first and assisted his wife and crying babe as a footman rushed forward with the pram.
“Poor thing!” Felicity cried, not sure if she spoke more of the baby or his exasperated parents, each speaking over the other with proposed solutions.
Atticus jumped down from the box and in two long strides was at Felicity’s side, helping her down. “This teething business sounds like quite a miserable experience,” he said.
“I never knew little ones endured such suffering in the normal course of early life. My brothers and sisters make it all seem so distant. That is what nannies and governesses are for,” Felicity replied as she accepted Atticus’s arm.
Atticus hummed thoughtfully. “Nannies and governesses are extraordinarily useful, indeed, and my family certainly employed them, but I suppose my parents preferred to take a more direct role in our upbringing. Arabella and Samuel appear to be emulating it wonderfully.” He raised a hand in their direction just as angelic Algernon, his entire face red now, tossed his favorite blanket to the cobbled street.
“They are, even with his nanny at Setherwell taking a much-needed rest,” Felicity agreed, her laugh drowned out by her nephew’s well-timed cries. “Far better than I could manage, I am sure.”
“I am not so sure.”
Felicity’s head whirled around to look up at her husband from beneath her bonnet. Did he truly feel what he’d said? She was a moment too late. As they approached the rest of their party, grandparents now fussing over the baby as well, Atticus wore a hopeful smile, his free hand inching into his pocket.
“We are terribly sorry! Algernon is normally so tranquil,” Arabella, cradling her distressed son in her arms, explained breathlessly, both to Atticus and Felicity as well as the numerous passersby who glanced over on their way to and from the festival. Lord Hollington tenderly brushed the back of Algernon’s head with a palm, smoothing his wayward, brown waves.
“Perhaps this will help?”
To everyone’s surprise, Atticus brandished an unfamiliar instrument with an embossed, metal handle attached to a piece of smooth, reddish-orange stone, formed into a cylindrical shape a couple of inches long. Arabella snatched it and stuck the smooth end into her baby’s mouth.
The sigh of relief amongst their entire group was immediate. Algernon’s miserable sobs quickly subsided into hiccups, which then became satisfied coos as he nestled his exhausted form against his mother’s bosom.
“Some days prior to their arrival, I read of a character with a young one of her own who used a bit of coral to soothe teething pain. Chewing seems to provide a distracting stimulation,” Atticus explained under his breath to Felicity. He did not appear to notice the wonder with which she stared at him.
“Thank you, brother,” Arabella whispered, chin propped atop Algernon’s head. Though the baby had been the one in anguish, his mother’s relief was greater even than his own.
“This is his second tooth to come through,” added Lord Hollington with a proud smile. “But, as such, we are still determining the most effective methods of assisting our dear boy. Some of the physician’s suggestions have been…a little extreme for our taste. We had hoped—foolishly, it would seem—that the greatest portion of his suffering was behind us in the days prior to our departure. We overestimated ourselves and left his coral necklace at home.”
Tugging her pelisse tighter around her, Felicity shuddered at the seemingly endless and complex considerations made by these poor new parents for the sake of their child. Considerations they chose to make instead of leaving them to physicians and nannies. Her shudder of pity and apprehension dissipated when she saw the complete absence of resentment or anger in the eyes of both mother and father.
“W-Will he require a nap or…something?” Felicity ventured cautiously. Though she felt entirely out of her element in such close proximity to a brand new life, she did not wish to appear disinterested or uncaring, especially after Atticus had so gallantly come to the rescue. They were her family, too, after all.
“He will most likely sleep for a time in his pram,” answered Arabella as she settled the baby into his forward-facing seat and pulled down the shade to protect him even from this cloud-covered sky. Mr. Wheadon, having retrieved and tidied his grandson’s discarded blanket during the commotion, tucked the boy into a warm bundle.
With all right in the world once more—at least as far as anyone but Felicity knew—the Wheadon and Hollington families stepped into the uncommon bustle of the village. They, along with many other residents and visitors, walked slowly down the main street toward the square wearing politely impressed expressions.
Colorful flags strung high across the entire square flapped, skillful musicians played jaunty tunes, and residents and local craftsmen conversed cheerfully from one artisanal stall of wares to the next. The crunch of fallen leaves whispered under their boots as they walked slowly, admiring sewn, woven, carved, and baked items of the finest quality. Lord Hollington even selected for his study a grand wreath, boastful in both size and decoration, festooned as it was with preserved leaves and berries spanning the entire spectrum of autumn color.
All the while, Felicity found herself relaxing into their lighthearted laughter and conversation. She felt almost as if she witnessed something private, something that only existed behind other families’ walls. Yet the more she relaxed, the deeper a pleasant realization sunk in. They were her family, and she was enjoying a scene of domestic felicity on a deliciously crisp, October day.
“Ah, look who stirs from his slumber! And just in time for the pastry stall! Look, he wishes for you to hold him.”
Before Felicity could protest, she once again found herself cradling her nephew, his growing limbs spilling over her arms and flailing about for the sheer experience of it. Algernon beamed up at her and Felicity returned a smile of her own as the others rushed ahead, noses in the aromatic air.
“Sister!”
Felicity whirled around. Mercy strode swiftly toward them from the tall, stone monument in the middle of the square, deftly weaving through onlookers, her cheeks as red from the bracing chill as her twin’s.
“And who might this beauty be?” she asked when she came within earshot, smiling at the unfamiliar baby. His head whipped back and forth between their identical faces.
“Lady Hollington, may I present my sister, Miss Reeve.” Taking one of the boy’s wriggly arms, Felicity held his hand up and waved it. “Mercy, this is my nephew, Master Algernon Hollington, and this is his mother, Lady Arabella Hollington.”
“I did note your resemblance at the wedding, but my, seeing it so close with my own eyes is something of a shock!” said Arabella in wonder as she smiled at the identical sisters. “It seems Algernon agrees,” she added with a chuckle. The baby mimicked his mother’s shock, staring for one long moment at Felicity and then at Mercy and back again, mouth unabashedly ajar.
“Miss Reeve, how wonderful to see you here today.”
Another familiar voice turned Felicity around the other way. Atticus approached, every step measured and carefully chosen, his parents and the baron following. Felicity made a quick introduction between the baron and her twin.
“Would you care to share my tart?” Atticus asked after he and his parents had greeted her sister. The smile he offered Mercy hardly wavered. “If I had known you were near, I would have brought one for you as well.” The once-perpetual tremor in his voice, though not disappeared completely, had become significantly lighter the more time he’d spent with Felicity’s sister and friends.
“Well, what a charming group we have here.”
Felicity froze. This time, she did not turn. She had never enjoyed answering that voice. It had never told her anything she’d longed to hear.
“Felicity, will you not introduce us?”
She could avoid it no longer. Felicity faced her mother for the first time since the week of her wedding.
“Good afternoon,” she said to both her parents as they paused beside Mercy. Almost in the same breath, she hurried through the remainder of the introductions.
“Such a fine young gentleman you have there, Lord and Lady Hollington. He will do you proud as your heir,” the viscountess remarked as she offered an empty smile to the baby, refusing to look up just a few more inches and meet Felicity’s eye.
“He truly is a delight,” Mrs. Wheadon added, unable to resist the opportunity to praise her grandchild, a hand pressed over her heart.
Arabella reached out and cupped her son’s cheek in one hand, thumb brushing over his smooth skin. “Most of the time.” She chuckled fondly. “Both Atticus and Felicity have been instrumental in producing the current contentment you see here. You would hardly believe it now, but he was overcome by the most dreadful fit of teething pain in the carriage on our way here.”
As if to corroborate his mother’s point, Algernon cheered and shuffled himself in Felicity’s grasp until she realized he wanted to be brought higher. He threw his arms around his aunt’s neck and laughed for no apparent reason directly into her ear.
“Is that so?” asked Lady Eldmar with a raised brow. “I suppose I would be none the wiser. The moment any of my babies showed the first sign of crying, I summoned Nanny. It would seem my older children inherited that inclination as well.”
Felicity fought her grimace and instead leaned into Algernon’s slobbery kisses, thankful for the excuse to distract herself with the noble cause of delighting a young mind. She felt Atticus’s steady presence at her back, so close, she could almost feel his chest brushing against her with every breath, a sign of silent support.
“There are others who do not make it seem quite so difficult to interact with one’s own children.”
Felicity spoke quietly enough that none of the other Bainbridge residents wandering past them might hear. Her new family certainly did, however. Respectfully, they looked away, finding the sky above or ground below utterly fascinating. Mercy stood at Felicity’s side as the two always stood when confronting their mother.
The viscountess narrowed her eyes. The faintest hint of color graced her cheeks, jaw pulsing. “In my experience, with seven sons and daughters grown, children are best enjoyed in small doses. As they say, time apart increases the heart’s affection.”
“Does it?” Felicity snipped. “You must miss me terribly, considering you are always conveniently absent when I visit Huxley and otherwise so engaged you have not had an opportunity to call on me since my wedding.”
“Stop this. Can you not see how inappropriate you are being?” Lady Eldmar hissed, glancing nervously to the Wheadons and Hollingtons who, as a testament to their good breeding and sense, had walked a few paces away and conversed with each other and the viscount out of earshot.
Only Atticus, Algernon, and Mercy remained, but it was enough.
Felicity smirked. “They are my family now. They have never made me feel ashamed of my opinions or thoughts or my mere presence. I hold true value to them.”
At that, Felicity felt the strong stability of Atticus’s hand on her shoulder and Mercy’s hand on the small of her back. All the while, the baby entertained himself with pulling on Felicity’s curls to see them spring back into shape, giggling without a care in the world.
Felicity prayed the cares of the world would leave this innocent soul untouched for as long as possible. She prayed he would never know the hurt and bitterness that had caused her heart to rot…until Atticus had unearthed it, taken hold of it tenderly, and planted it in the soft, sweet, loving foundation Felicity had always needed.
Pursing her lips, the viscountess tossed her head in the air. “You see? I was right all along to arrange this,” she huffed, though she looked far from pleased.
“Indeed, as it turns out, you did me quite the favor.”
Mercy’s fingers drummed against Felicity’s wool pelisse, a warning. They were still very much in public. If either contentious party pushed much further, the whole of Bainbridge from gentry to stablehand would hear of it before the day’s end.
To her credit, Lady Eldmar seemed to also sense that she and her daughter were approaching dangerous ground. She smoothed her expression and took a step back, looking down her nose at Algernon.
“I would still advise a nanny. Apparently, since you have had no proper example from which to learn, I can hardly fathom how you will manage all…that.” She waved a hand at the lively child in Felicity’s arms, his round face slick with spittle once more.
Calling to her husband, Lady Eldmar bid her farewells to the two other couples and pretended to notice some dazzling item in a distant stall that required her immediate admiration. Neither of them appeared to realize they had left their youngest child behind.
The tension that had wound Felicity’s muscles into a painful tightness relaxed as her parents disappeared from view. Her arms tightened around Algernon instinctively and she rested her cheek atop his head.
Atticus’s hand, still on her shoulder, gently turned Felicity to face him. She read the question in his eyes and offered a tight smile, knowing he did not believe it.
“Do not listen to anything she says. Besides, when did you ever?” Mercy whispered as she rubbed a comforting circle between her twin’s shoulder blades.
“Mercy is correct,” said Atticus, his pain on Felicity’s behalf evident in his melancholy expression. “The viscountess no longer has influence on who you are and who you shall become.”
Aware of the footsteps approaching behind them, Felicity only nodded her thanks to both her sister and her husband and turned to face the rest of their group. She was grateful Atticus knew to leave the subject on vague terms.
They had only just begun to tend the growing affection between them. They could not speak practically yet of children and childrearing. The mere thought still gripped Felicity in that familiar terror and apprehension, though its power was lessened the more she imagined Atticus sharing the role with her.
As if reading her mind, Atticus held up both hands with an expectant smile. Algernon replied first, nearly throwing Felicity off-balance with his eagerness to join his uncle, tiny fists reaching and grasping.
“There we are.” Atticus laughed as the amiable boy danced in his arms.
Felicity’s heart softened. Cool, fresh air flooded her lungs. It felt so right to see Atticus listening intently to his nephew’s babbles as he swayed slowly from side to side. She nearly forgot everything that had just happened.
“He will make an excellent father, and you a loving mother,” Mercy whispered into Felicity’s ear, taking her hand and holding tightly when she felt her twin’s uncomfortable squirm.
“You may not wish to hear it yet with all the other changes you are still accepting, but do not let our mother taint the happiness you now have and will have in the future if you remain open to it,” she finished firmly without removing her earnest gaze from Felicity. “I cannot tell you how much joy it has brought me to see the transformation in you after such despair at the start.”
Felicity squeezed her sister’s hand in unspoken gratitude. “But what if she is right after all, just as she said?” Felicity mumbled with a shaky exhale.
Never had she encountered so many occasions to inspire such self-doubt and confusion within herself. She loathed the feeling. Why could she not allow herself to enjoy this new path and leave behind her old ideas and pains?
“How lovely it was to meet your family, Felicity!” said Arabella with exaggerated cheer as she came to stand beside her brother. “And most especially you, Miss—”
“Miss Reeve!”
The reunited group turned to find a footman scurrying toward them, his coat flapping in the wind. “Miss Reeve, her ladyship requests that you rejoin them immediately.”
“It was my pleasure,” Mercy answered quickly, offering her curtseys. “And it is an even greater pleasure to know that my beloved sister is so well cared for by her new family.”
Mrs. Wheadon turned her fond smile to her daughter-in-law. “The pleasure has been entirely ours! Never have I met with such an articulately and enthusiastically expressed opinion. She has brought such excitement to our home that I must admit to feeling moments of guilt for stealing her from yours.”
“Until next time, sister,” Felicity said as she pulled Mercy into an embrace that both conveyed her sincerest appreciation and obscured the fierce blush that erupted across her face.
“You have nothing to fear, truly,” was Mercy’s only reply before quickly bidding her farewells and hurrying after the footman.
From somewhere behind them, quiet sniffles devolved into pitiful sobs. They whirled around to find Algernon tucked under his concerned uncle’s chin.
“Poor little darling, whatever is the matter?” Arabella stepped closer to the pair and brushed her son’s dark hair away from his forehead.
Algernon’s red eyes landed upon Felicity. “Ahhh!” he cried with glee, sitting up and clumsily clapping.
Felicity started when she felt Mrs. Wheadon’s kind, dainty hand upon her back. “Look at that! Algernon is completely taken with you, Felicity. He must have mistaken Miss Reeve for his aunt and clearly did not approve of her departure.”
A gasp of realization rippled through the group and they began doting on Algernon with increased adoration, if such a thing were possible. It had become increasingly clear in this short time since the Hollingtons’ arrival that the love surrounding this child would only grow as he did. The same would be true of Lydia and Sebastian’s little one. At least, despite her own inner turmoil, Felicity could smile at that.
After attempting to return the young master to his pram and being met with vehement refusal, their party continued about the festival. Algernon remained happily perched in Atticus’s arms. Walking in the back, Felicity chuckled to herself as she watched the boy repeatedly grasp at anything that came within reach while the uncle swept him away, whispering words of caution.
“He is quite devoted, is he not?” came Mrs. Wheadon’s light voice from Felicity’s left.
Felicity looked from her mother-in-law to her husband, who was now frantically attempting to pry a wooden lion figurine out of Algernon’s mouth. “Indeed he is,” she agreed with a fond sigh as she offered her arm.
The other woman accepted. They settled into an easy pace that fell a little behind the others. For several moments, the only sound that passed between the two Mrs. Wheadons was the soft click of their low heels on the street.
“Felicity…”
“Yes, madam?”
Watching the shorter woman from beneath her bonnet, Felicity’s brows furrowed. She had never seen sweet, gregarious Mrs. Wheadon look so hesitant, her mouth unable to settle into a smile or frown. Had an alarm bell not begun sounding in the back of Felicity’s mind, she might have laughed at the resemblance she was only just now witnessing between mother and son.
“I know, though we now share a name and a home—and love for that handsome young man there…” She paused and nodded toward Atticus. Her hesitation gave way to a loving smile that Felicity’s heart mirrored as they watched him diligently brush Algernon’s wayward hair out of his face.
“What I mean to say is,” Mrs. Wheadon continued, “only time will strengthen our understanding of one another and foster a deeper familial closeness between us, but I hope, if it is not terribly impertinent, that you might begin to call me ‘Mother.’ And Mr. Wheadon would be honored should you choose to call him ‘Father.’ Only if it suits you, my dear. Neither of us would dream of forcing any discomfort upon you—”
Felicity interrupted, fighting another giggle. “I would be delighted…Mother.” Apparently, Atticus and Mrs. Wheadon shared more than one surprising trait. She reached over to pat Mrs. Wheadon’s hand where it rested atop hers.
Her new mother’s bottom lip trembled in a pout. “I must say, I have recently discovered that my creative skills are more deficient than I thought. In all the times I imagined our boy’s future wife in my prayers, I never imagined a lady as perfect as you.”
Felicity’s eyes widened, her heart swelling with an unexpected emotion—a strange mixture of her natural pride, genuine gratitude for Mrs. Wheadon’s kind words, and, strangest of all…guilt. She had not quite become accustomed to the flowery compliments Atticus’s parents lavished upon anyone and anything. Yet this was different. Each word had been chosen with care and infused with the utmost sincerity.
“Th-Thank you, but that is entirely too generous. I am far from perfect,” Felicity answered under her breath.
Mrs. Wheadon gave a knowing chuckle. “We are all far from perfect, child. We are too complex with our individual histories layered upon natural temperaments. On the note of individual histories, if I may risk impertinence once more…”
“There are no impertinences with me,” Felicity offered. Her shoulders went rigid with apprehension.
“I do not pretend to have full knowledge of your life before you became part of ours, other than the little Atticus has shared and, well, that business…”
Felicity fixed her gaze straight ahead at the group of musicians on the corner. She would not lower her head to her mother ever again, even in conversation with another.
“Yes, the business of my family. It is not entirely pleasant, as you seem to have surmised,” Felicity added, giving Mrs. Wheadon a reassuring smile.
“All families have their unique challenges…some more than others,” the older woman admitted in a glum tone. “But I do hope you remember that the challenges that plagued one generation need not be inherited by the next. I assure you with all my heart that I have seen nothing but the strongest of indications of the loving, caring mother you will soon become, because I have seen the depth of your love for Atticus. You are everything he needs and exactly what he deserves.”
Felicity’s stomach twisted. It was the very thing she longed to hear. It terrified her all the same. Her eyes drifted away from the musicians, blissfully unaware that their happy songs clashed with her gloom, to her husband.
As if witnessing a scene from some distant future, Felicity watched as Atticus laughed along with the baby held securely in his strong arms. From this angle, she could not discern Algernon’s features, only the shining, dark hair that matched his uncle’s.
Everything inside Felicity longed to believe Mrs. Wheadon’s endorsement. To believe in herself. It should not have been difficult. When had Felicity ever struggled to believe in herself or encountered a challenge she did not overcome?
But she could not deny the fear that had been building inside her since she had been forced to turn her mind to matters of motherhood with Lydia’s news.
What if Mrs. Wheadon was wrong? What if Felicity failed? What if she truly was not meant for this life?
She would be dooming an innocent child to the same pain she had suffered while simultaneously depriving Atticus of the partner he had always deserved.
That reality sat as heavy as a brick wall on Felicity’s chest, on the fragile happiness she had finally dared let herself feel, a reminder of the truths increasingly demanding her attention. The truths that would not remain in the dark for much longer.