Epilogue
Two years later
“Oh, a baby,” whispered Peter’s mother as he presented his first child to her.
Mama had been exhausted with worry, and seeing that Lucy and the baby fared well would help her rest at last. Her arms trembled at the effort of supporting the bundle, and Peter took the wee thing back when her eyelids drooped.
He needed Mama to see their next six children, too.
“What will you name her?” She was running her finger over the infant’s improbable curl of golden hair and perfect little nose. “She’s so like you when you finally arrived, Peter. What a wonder!”
“Well, Lucy and I were hoping to discuss this with you,” he said, looking at where his wife was sleeping in the next room.
She’d been ferocious, using her knowledge of the body to move about through her labor and delivery — despite the mores of the day that said she should remain in bed on her back.
When the baby emerged with a cry, Lucy had slumped into Peter’s arms, triumphant and exhausted. “But I think I’ll let Her Grace rest.”
Peter knelt beside the chair where his mother sat, wanting to be close to her as he made an important request. He held the baby so they might both look upon her dear face. “I was wondering if you might permit us to name the child after you.”
Mama’s head snapped, her eyes fixed on his, and she looked more alert than she had in years. “What’s that, my son?”
“Would you mind terribly if we called her Amelia? After you?”
When his mother’s eyes filled with happy tears and she fumbled for her handkerchief, Peter knew that their wish would be granted. And that he’d done something very good indeed.
***
“Our baby,” said Lucy upon waking and seeing Peter beside her in their bed, their newborn daughter in his arms.
“Amelia,” he said, emotion slipping into his voice.
“She agreed?” asked Lucy, wiping a tear. Peter’s mother had become a dear companion to her in the two years since their marriage.
“She’s most pleased,” said Peter, sounding gruff as the duke he sometimes played.
“And how fares the baby?” asked Lucy, drawing back Amelia’s blanket so she could see her face.
“She’s been looking for a breast in my waistcoat, I fear,” said Peter, fondness in his voice and love filling his chest. “You may have woken up just in time.”
Lucy lifted the infant from Peter’s arms and tentatively brought Amelia to the opening of her nightgown. She twitched it to one side and watched as the newborn sightlessly scooted towards her nipple.
“So determined,” whispered Lucy. The littlest of the Sidwins was well on her way to getting what she wanted.
“Like her mama,” said Peter, his hand lazily stroking his wife’s hair. “A fact for which I’m thankful daily.”
THE END