Chapter Fifteen #3
Kristina said it as if it was the most amazing event in the world. Suddenly, bodies filled the small bedchamber and Lady Anne came into view. Her handsome face was weary but she smiled sweetly at Carington, running a gentle hand over her forehead.
“Greetings, my lady,” she said softly. “Welcome back.”
Carington was very comforted by the woman’s presence. The physic from Newcastle was standing beside her, his expression critical. He was a little man with a balding head.
“How do you feel, my lady?” he asked.
Carington sighed faintly. “Weak,” she said honestly. “But I think I am hungry.”
Lady Anne murmured a silent prayer of thanks and moved to get Carington some nourishment as the physic sat down beside the bed.
He felt her pulse, put his hand on her head to determine her temperature, and a few other diagnostics.
He pulled back the coverlet and gently pushed on her belly.
As he did so, the milk from her swollen breasts stained her gown.
Her body did not know there was no baby to feed.
After several moments of analyzing his results, he covered her back up and fixed her in the eye.
“I was not sure you would awaken,” he said frankly.
Carington’s eyelids were growing heavy again, as if she had expended all of her energy from simply being awake. “We Scots are stronger than ye know,” she told him, her emerald eyes fixing on him. “But my daughter… was there nothing to be done?”
He shook his head. “She could not breathe, my lady. There was nothing to be done for her. She was born too early.”
The tears were returning but she fought them. “And me?” she whispered. “Will there be more bairns for my husband and I? He did so want a boy.”
The physic patted her arm. “I do not see any reason why there cannot be more children. Your bleeding was caused when the sack that attaches the infant to the womb tore. I had to work to get it out of you before you bled to death.”
She nodded, not particularly wanting to hear the details of the birth. The tears over her daughter’s fate fell softly again. “Then I thank ye for yer skill,” she whispered.
The physic watched her a moment, scratching his head wearily.
He seemed lost in thought. Then he rose stiffly and quit the room just as Lady Anne entered with a bowl of beef broth.
As Kristina stoked the blaze in the hearth to a ridiculous level, Lady Anne fed Carington nearly the entire bowl.
Feeling warm and nourished, Carington realized that she was feeling a little better, a little stronger.
As Lady Anne handed the bowl over to Kristina, the physic suddenly returned with a bundle in his arms.
Carington and Lady Anne looked at him curiously as the physic unwrapped the snow-dusted swaddling.
“This child has no mother,” he said, pulling away the blanket from the little face. “You are producing milk, my lady. It will do both you and the child well if you were to nurse her. I believe it will help heal your womb.”
Carington was shocked as she recognized the blond-headed child of Lady Vivian. Her heart sank. “Good lord,” she murmured. “Did Vivian not survive after all?”
Lady Anne, too, was momentarily shocked by the suggestion but quickly grew to support it. “She did not,” she touched Carington’s shoulder. “Stanton is beside himself with grief and the wetnurse has all she can handle with young Henry. Take the baby, Cari; take her and make her strong.”
Carington was saddened by Vivian’s death and by Stanton’s ensuing grief.
He had been quite proud of his wife and family.
The thought of nursing Stanton’s daughter did not distress her; in fact, it made her feel a little less devastated.
Now, she had a purpose, small as that purpose was.
After a moment’s hesitation, she pulled back the coverlet and extended her arms.
“Give her to me,” she whispered.
The physic laid the baby beside her and Carington found herself gazing into big blue eyes; they were Stanton’s eyes.
Her grief softened just a little more as she pulled back the neck of her shift, exposing a fully engorged left breast. As Lady Anne and the physic hovered over her to see if their little experiment would work, Carington offered her swollen nipple to the baby and was rewarded when the child quickly latched on to her.
She latched on a little strongly, in fact, and Carington winced as the child suckled hungrily.
Lady Anne smiled gently at her, putting her soft hand against Carington’s forehead in a motherly gesture. “Stanton will be so happy,” she said softly. “He has worried greatly for his daughter since Vivian’s passing.”
Carington cradled the baby close, watching the little mouth work furiously. She touched the downy-blond head, imagining that it was her own daughter that she held. Somehow, it helped ease her heartache.
“What is her name?” she asked Lady Anne, still standing over her. “Vivian had not yet decided last I heard.”
Lady Anne’s gaze was soft on the blond haired infant. “As I recall, she liked Emma and Stanton wanted Mary,” she said. “I do not know what they decided.”
Carington looked back at the baby, now gazing up at her with her bottomless blue eyes.
She stroked the blond head. “I like Emma,” she said, lifting a dark eyebrow at Lady Anne.
“Tell Stanton that Vivian and I have named his daughter. If he has issue with that, then he can discuss it with me. But warn him that he’ll not like my response. ”
Lady Anne laughed softly, watching the infant tug at Carington’s breast. “I doubt he will, my lady,” she said. “In fact, I am sure he will unquestionably agree with you.”
With a faint smile, Carington continued to nurse Emma until she fell asleep against her breast. When Lady Anne checked on the pair later that day, she found both Carington and the baby snuggled close in slumber.
The childless mother and the motherless child had found each other.