Chapter Nineteen
Of all things, a baby was not among the things Owen suspected.
He hated himself a little for immediately wondering about the boy’s parentage.
But he’d done the math, and it made sense for Dafydd to have been conceived when Owen and Grace had first arrived in Wales.
Also, the poor boy looked like Owen’s uncle Edmund, so it was hard to deny a family resemblance.
The dark hair, the chin cleft, those were distinct Thomas traits.
And now he had a son. He didn’t think this would ever stop being startling news.
Dafydd Gruffudd Thomas was a fitting Welsh name for a Welsh boy. Technically, he was Baron Conwy, the courtesy title of the eldest son of the Earl of Caernarfon, but Owen would wait to break that news until a time when Grace looked less exhausted.
They had dinner together, and Grace struggled to hold up her end of the conversation, because she couldn’t seem to stay awake.
Owen made a note to ride out tomorrow to speak to the doctor to find out how Grace’s recovery was going, although maybe Grace didn’t want him to do that.
There were a hundred things he wanted to do to adjust to the news, but he didn’t know if any of them were appropriate, and suddenly he found himself at an impasse.
He felt like he’d arrived back at a strange house.
Grace had, of course, made some changes. She’d rearranged the furniture in both bedrooms. She’d taken down old art and put up new. She’d replaced the sofas in the lounge and bought new chairs for the parlor. But that was all cosmetic.
He was a different person. He was a father now. He had this little family that he was responsible for. And he was determined to do right by them. He knew nothing about babies, so he’d have to learn quickly, but he could defer to Grace on that. She seemed to know what to do with Dafydd.
And under all that…he was deeply hurt that she hadn’t told him.
He would have come, had she asked. If she’d told him she was expecting, he would have gotten in a carriage immediately and come to her.
He wished he could have been here for the birth, so he could have been here for Grace when she struggled.
So he could have taken care of his son. Forget Parliament; this was more important.
And she seemed to know that, meaning she’d deliberately withheld this information.
She wrote to him weekly, after all. Had it truly never occurred to her to mention it? That seemed impossible.
He sent Grace to bed when it was clear that she wasn’t so much eating as dozing off. She put up a mild protest, but seemed relieved when he told her to go to sleep.
After dinner, he tracked down Mary. “May I ask you a few questions?”
“Of course, my lord.”
“I’m worried about the countess. She said her labor was difficult. Were you here for it?”
“I was, my lord.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“Well, my lord, I do not know exactly, but there was a lot of blood. Some blood is normal, but this was more than with my own children. The countess was in some distress. Shortly after Master Dafydd was born, she lost consciousness, and it took quite a while to revive her. She was weak. She needed a few stitches.”
“Oh, goodness.”
“She came round, but we were quite worried. The doctor told her to rest as much as possible and for us to make sure she was eating. So I’ve been seeing to her meals. But she rises at all times of the night to comfort the baby, and she seems very tired a lot of the time.”
“She needs some help, would you agree?”
“She’s interviewed five different candidates for nurse and found them all wanting.
But yes, I would say she could use some help.
She gets better each day, and she is putting on a strong face, but she’s still very tired.
” Mary looked up and met Owen’s gaze. “I am glad you are here, my lord. I think she needs you.”
“She did not tell me.”
“Did not tell you what?”
“That we were to have a baby. I did not know until I arrived here. I hope you know, I would have come—”
“I have no doubt, my lord. The countess kept saying she didn’t want to take you away from Parliament business, and I imagine she thought she was doing what she thought was best. Perhaps she did not know how much she would need you until the baby came.
These last three weeks have been difficult, my lord. ”
“I hope they get better, starting now.”
Owen went to the kitchen next and asked the cook for a tray he could bring up to Grace to make sure she ate a little more when she woke up. The sun had barely set, but his journey here had been grueling and he was tired, too.
He found her sound asleep in their bed. And it was their bed.
He placed the tray on the side table and then adjusted the blankets around her.
She looked peaceful and beautiful and his chest hurt when he thought of the pain she must have gone through.
He, of course, knew the mechanics of how babies were born, but he’d never had to think much about it before.
He hadn’t known it would be so difficult on a mother, although looking at how big Dafydd was and Grace’s small frame, he shouldn’t have been surprised that it had been such a struggle.
Why hadn’t she told him?
The question burned, and he didn’t know what to do with the pain, because he didn’t want to put it on Grace. She’d suffered enough. But he’d thought they’d grown close enough to be honest with each other, and yet there was a lot that Grace had withheld from him. Her art, the baby—what else?
Owen went to his dressing room, where his valet had already hung all his clothes. He’d changed for dinner, mostly to get out of his traveling clothes, but he’d dismissed his valet because he just wanted to be alone with Grace.
And their son. Owen pulled on a nightshirt and then peeked into Grace’s bedchamber. Dafydd was asleep in the crib. Owen made himself leave so he didn’t wake the boy, but he wanted to just sit and stare at him. He didn’t think he’d ever get enough of looking at his son.
He pulled on a dressing gown and walked into his bedroom. He thought about walking to the library to fetch something to read until he felt asleep, but then Dafydd began to cry.
Grace woke up with a jolt. She looked around and spotted Owen.
“Oh.”
“I was about to follow you to dreamland,” he said. “Do you want me to fetch him?” He gestured toward the other room.
“Oh. Yes, that would be nice. Can you bring him here?”
Owen went back into the other bedchamber and picked up the writhing child. He did seem quite upset.
“This is no way for a gentleman to behave,” Owen said, rocking him gently. “Your poor mother needs her sleep, and little boys should always respect their mothers.”
Owen brought the crying baby to Grace, who held her arms out. While Owen had been in the adjacent room, Grace had undone the buttons of her nightgown. She took the baby now and brought him to her breast.
Owen was fairly certain his own mother had not fed him this way, as most aristocratic women didn’t, but he marveled that Grace was doing it. As she fed Dafydd, he climbed into bed beside her and looked over her shoulder at the baby.
“I brought you some food,” he said softly. “You didn’t eat much at dinner and I thought you might get hungry. Mary said the doctor said you needed to eat in order to recover. It’s not much. Some cured meat, a little cheese, some bread.”
“That sounds lovely. Thank you, Owen.”
“I want to help you. You’ve said these last weeks have been difficult. Please tell me if there is anything I can do.”
“I will,” she said.
“Does that hurt?” He gestured to Dafydd.
“Not much. My skin is a little irritated, but Catrin gave me a salve that helps.” She looked up at Owen. “He’s a healthy boy. He likes to eat. The doctor said he was a large baby, which I suppose explains what happened.”
“I wish it had been less hard on you. Were you sick throughout your confinement? My friend Hugh’s wife felt unwell through much of hers.”
“No. Well, yes, at first. I got dizzy and nauseous. But then it was all right. It was very strange. I could feel him move around in me. I liked that part. And I was not much confined. I walked around the property. I went to the cottage until my belly was too big to reach my pottery wheel.”
Owen kissed her temple. “You astonish me.” It was true. He couldn’t believe the delicate woman he’d married had done all that.
When Grace had finished feeding Dafydd, and he’d drifted back to sleep, Owen carried the boy back to his crib and settled him in. When he returned to the bedroom, Grace was eating the food he’d brought up.
“Thank you for this,” she said.
“I can find somewhere else to sleep if this is too much for you.”
“It is fine. I did miss you, Owen. And having someone to fetch the baby for me is a big help. I’m so tired.”
“No wonder. You made a person.”
She smiled at that. “I am glad to see you, but as soon as I finish this, I am going back to sleep.”
Owen hung his dressing gown on the hook next to the bed and slid under the sheets with her. He wanted to hold her but didn’t want to bother any of her injuries. Instead, he stayed on his side of the bed and watched her.
“If you need something,” Owen said softly, “you’ll tell me, right?”
“I will try,” she said, which wasn’t much of a promise.
*
Grace knew Owen was upset.
And she knew it was her fault.
After the first day of his return, perhaps after the initial euphoria of seeing each other again had passed, Owen had acted cool toward Grace. He was kind and polite, but he hadn’t really touched her or said much.
On the fourth day, Catrin called. Owen was out touring the estate with his man of business and was not in the house when Catrin arrived, so Grace invited her friend to sit in the parlor with her.
“I’ve made a terrible hash of things,” Grace told her after they were served tea.
“Oh, sweetness. What happened?”