Chapter Twelve
“Would you like to meet Henry?”
Lark found the question an odd one—could one truly “meet” a human who was less than a month old?—but Anthony looked at him with such earnest hope that Lark said, “Yes.”
Lark’s mother had sent Lark to Anthony’s house with a hamper of gifts—“I know you are friends, and he must be struggling with a loss like that,” she’d said—so here Lark was.
The hamper had a ham, several bags of sweets, and a great deal of tea.
“The essence of life,” Lark had joked as Anthony opened it.
And now Lark was following Anthony up the stairs to the nursery. When they reached it, Anthony dismissed Mrs. Church, telling her to rest for a bit.
The baby was awake, but quiet. Anthony picked him up and cradled the small boy in his arms. Something in Lark’s chest tightened.
“I did not know my father,” Anthony said.
“He was much older than my mother, so perhaps he was more traditional, but during my childhood, he was just this man who lived in our house but who was generally to be avoided. And then he died when I was seventeen, and…well. Hard to miss a man I’d spoken with maybe a dozen times in my life.
” He looked down at the baby. “I decided, when Henry was born, that I would be a better father than that. That I would get to know him, and be available to him, and that I’d accept him no matter what he grows up to be.
And when Matilda passed, I made a promise. ”
Lark steeled himself and walked behind Anthony so that he could get a better look at the baby.
“It’s just me and him. We’re our family. And I will always be here for him.”
Henry had huge blue eyes and stared at Anthony as if he were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.
Lark knew the feeling. Henry had a bit of wispy hair, with one big curl that looped around his forehead, and he had a scrunched up little baby face.
He had a chin dimple like Anthony’s, and a little button nose, and he really was very cute.
“He looks a bit like you,” Lark said.
“Does he?”
“If you squint.”
Anthony laughed softly.
Henry stretched and yawned, and it was one of the most darling things Lark had ever seen.
“Would you like to hold him?” Anthony asked.
“I’ve never held a baby before.”
“I hadn’t either until he was born. Here, hold out your hands.”
Lark did as he was told.
“Hold his head,” Anthony said as he passed the baby over to Lark. “That’s the most delicate part of him, according to Mrs. Church. Then tuck your arm under… yes, just like that. See? You’re a natural.”
“He’s very small.”
“He’s three weeks old.”
Lark was changed in that moment. He’d never held a baby before and had never wanted to, but this baby was special.
He seemed very small and fragile, but then he yawned again and looked so much like an old man that it made Lark want to laugh.
Then the baby seemed to settle into Lark’s arms and his eyes drifted closed.
This baby was Anthony’s son. He was an important part of Anthony now.
The same Anthony who had told Lark frequently that he didn’t want children.
This little boy existed primarily because Anthony’s mother didn’t want his title passed on to a cousin, and because Lark had ended their relationship a year ago, but holding Henry made Lark feel he’d done the right thing, because had it not been for his actions, this precious child might not exist.
“He seems like a miracle,” said Lark.
“Yes. I think that constantly. And I feel…that is, since his mother is gone, I want to raise him well all the more. I’ll have help, of course, but a child should have his parents. Or at least one of them.”
Lark was impressed by Anthony’s maturity, under the circumstances. Prior to all this, Anthony had been lighthearted; he loved fun and mischief and seemed to have few cares in the world. He’d never seemed especially grounded or responsible. But he’d taken to fatherhood.
“I’m in awe of you,” Lark said.
“How so?”
“It would be easy for you to leave little Henry here in the arms of his nurse and return to your old life, but you’ve embraced being a father to this child. I admire that.”
“Thank you.”
Lark looked down at the baby again. He was fully asleep in Lark’s arms. And some voice Lark’s head whispered that, if he loved Anthony, then he’d have to love this little boy, too.
That if they had a future together, then this child would be Lark’s, in a way.
Maybe he was getting ahead of himself, but he’d need to think about whether this was what he wanted.
“He’s a sweet baby,” Lark said, handing him back to Anthony.
“Not always. Sometimes he screams like the world is ending and nothing will console him. He keeps Mrs. Church up at night. His nappies are among the foulest things I have ever smelled. You’re lucky.
He must have just eaten and his need to nap overcame his fear of strangers.
Or he likes the look of you. Can’t say I blame him.
” Anthony winked and then laid the boy back down in his cradle.
Lark could see the future, somehow. Of Anthony and this boy playing together. Of Anthony teaching him manners or the things he needed to be a man. Of Anthony and Henry having a friendship of a sorts.
Would Lark be a part of that future? Could this little boy be Lark’s, too?
“You’re thinking very hard,” said Anthony.
“Would you want me to be a part of his life?” Lark asked, gesturing at Henry.
“Yes,” Anthony said without hesitation. “I thought about asking you to be his godfather.”
“Oh. Me?”
“I think it would depend a lot on the nature of our relationship, which is why I haven’t asked, but if you want to be a part of his life, then yes, I’d like for you to be his godfather.”
“If I am a part of your life, then I want to be a part of his, too.”
Anthony smiled. “Good. I’m glad for that. I’ve been so busy with Matilda’s affairs that I haven’t scheduled the christening yet, but I must do that soon, at least according to my mother. I want you to be there for that.”
“I will.”
Mrs. Church returned. Anthony gestured toward the door. “Perhaps we should let him sleep.”
As they walked back downstairs, Lark said, “I admit, all of this is a bit overwhelming and unexpected for me, just a fraction of what I’m sure it has been for you, but it’s not terrifying.”
A huff of laughter burst out of Anthony. “I’m terrified.”
“I just mean, I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want my relationship with you to be in the future, and it’s clear that if we’re part of each other’s lives, then I will get to know Henry.”
“Yes. That is why I wanted you to see him. See how you felt about it.”
“Honestly, my instinct is to gather all of you up and put you in my carriage and drive to Scotland where we can live anonymously on a farm far from other people, where no one would bother us. To the devil with London Society.”
“Believe me, I’ve had the same thought. But this is all new for you. You should take the time to think about what you want.”
“I will, truly.”
“Good.” Anthony led Lark into the sitting room. “Do you have plans tonight?”
“Not tonight. Tomorrow is the Atherton ball.”
“Yes. Lady Atherton sent me a personal note with her invitation, saying she’d very much like to see me. I suppose I shall put on my weeds and attend.”
Lark raised an eyebrow. “A personal note?”
“Her brother and I were school chums. I used to haunt their dinner parties regularly. She claims in her note to find me delightful company. I don’t know if I can live up to that, but I wrote her back that I’d attend.”
“I suppose rejoining society must feel good.”
“It’s a distraction, at least.” Anthony sighed. “The rules of mourning are…difficult. I have no wish to cause a scandal, but I hate wearing black.”
Lark chuckled. “You’ll be back in your colorful waistcoats soon enough. Oh, I forgot, I brought you a gift.”
“Another? Was that ham not enough?”
Lark walked over to the side table, where he’d left the box he’d brought in with the hamper. He handed the box to Anthony.
“What is this for?”
“I saw it at the tailor’s shop and thought of you. Still appropriate for this period in your life, but perhaps not so boring.”
Anthony lifted the lid of the box. Inside was a silk cravat, crisp white with thin black stripes. “This is very fine silk.”
“I thought so, too.”
“This is lovely. Thank you, Lark.”
“It seems to me I missed your birthday during the period we were not speaking.”
“I missed yours, too, but did not get you a gift.”
“I expect nothing.”
Anthony smiled. “Where has all your concern about getting caught and hanged gone? All those reasons you gave for why we should not be together?”
“I find that many of those reasons no longer matter. A year of utter misery has set me right, I suppose. If we should both perish, then so be it. I’d rather have you in my life than go on as I had.”
“If that’s the case, perhaps I should ask Swynford to be Henry’s godfather.”
“I can’t tell if you’re jesting.”
“I can’t tell if you are, either.”
Lark laughed and shook his head. “I do want to be Henry’s godfather, and I promise to take the responsibility seriously, but perhaps I’ve become a bit fatalist. If I’m to be charged with sodomy, then so be it. I couldn’t mount much of a defense.”
“I’d hire you the best solicitor money can buy.”
“I’d do the same for you.”
Anthony reached over and squeezed Lark’s hand. “I hope you don’t think me a tease.”
“I don’t.”
“I feel like I’ve led you on a bit. We have this rapport, and I’m used to flirting with you, but I’m not quite there yet.”
“There’s no rush.”
“The night of the funeral, you said you love me.”
“I do.”
Anthony nodded. “It still feels though a part of me is broken. I’ve hardly felt myself for weeks. My wife has been gone less than a month.”
“I promise, I have no expectations.”
“I do love you, though.”
Lark smiled at that. “If we do this again, I want to get it right. Therefore, there will be no pressure. When you feel ready, speak to me. Until that time comes, I am here as your friend.”
“And I appreciate your friendship.”
“I will help ensure young Henry grows up to be a fine man. Regardless of what happens between us, I want to be a support to him.”
“So soon? You just met him.”
Lark shrugged. “Perhaps I’ve gone soft.”
“Perhaps you have. Perhaps we both have.”