Epilogue
Justina awoke, feeling David’s arms about her. He gently stroked her belly, which had grown large during these past nine months.
“Perhaps today will be the day,” she said softly. “At least, I hope so.”
His hand moved across her belly, slowly sliding around it, then stopping. “There. I feel the kicking.”
She chuckled. “You have been fascinated by the babe’s kicking.”
He let his fingers dance across her belly, and she could feel the babe chasing them, little kicks and nudges following wherever they went. Then she sucked in a quick breath.
“Another heel?” her husband asked.
“Yes.”
The midwife had told them about the babe dropping, its head moving downward to be close to the birth canal once the birth was imminent. Justina did feel a heaviness in her lower belly, and for several days, it was as if the babe stretched its legs, pushing its heels against the walls of her belly.
David turned her in his arms so that she faced him. “It will be over soon, and then we will have our miracle.” He kissed her gently, and she nuzzled her cheek against his bare chest.
“These are my favorite times,” she told him. “When we are here together. The world on the other side of that door. When I am lying close to you, my heart listening to the beat of yours.” She glanced up. “Have I told you today that I love you?”
“No. But then again, you have only been awake a minute or so.”
They were generous in their affection toward one another, and they spoke words of love daily. She never wanted to take her husband for granted. The months they had been apart, before their marriage, had been difficult. Justina wanted to make certain David knew of her love every day.
“Will you try to paint today?” he asked, his hand smoothing her hair.
“No. The past three weeks, it has been impossible. The smell of the oil paints bothers me too much. I will probably sketch if I feel like it. At least I was able to send some new landscapes to Mr. Layton earlier. I told him I would not be painting for a few months. I simply want time with our babe. And you.”
He kissed the top of her head. “It will only make others seek your paintings more eagerly than before if they cannot get their hands on a J Fulton.”
Justina’s landscapes had become all the rage in Polite Society last spring.
She had already garnered enough attention from the ton, having become the first of her come-out class to become betrothed.
The fact that it happened on the opening night of the Season kept her name on the tips of the gossips’ tongues.
Then Mr. Layton had taken out an advertisement in the London newspapers, which revealed that Lady Justina Fulton was the famous artist J Fulton.
Suddenly, everyone in Polite Society believed their art collection was incomplete unless they had a J Fulton hanging from one of their walls.
Con and Perry had teased her, saying they were going to remove her landscapes from all the cousins’ walls and sell them at a huge profit, but she knew her family was proud of her.
So was her new husband. David was very supportive of her career and made certain that Justina had ample time to paint each day.
At Sheridale, he had a wall knocked down between two rooms on the top floor, turning them into one large one, which became her art studio.
They went out several times a week, either on horseback or in the carriage, looking for places for her to sketch and then paint.
Justina loved her new home. Sheridale was just as beautiful as other places in the Lake District.
Mr. and Mrs. Edwards, their butler and housekeeper, had welcomed her with open arms, as had the other servants and tenants.
Her mother’s lessons of running a household had come in handy, and Sheridale was easy to manage, thanks to her knowledge and a devoted staff.
She had painted some murals on the walls in the nursery.
One large wall was of Noah’s ark, with all kinds of animals standing in pairs on the deck of the ship and descending the ramp leading to the lush, green grass.
All their children would one day see those animals, as would generations of Rochesters to come.
They had already hired a wet nurse and nursemaid. David had insisted the nursemaid be able to converse in both English and French, and he was determined to speak to their babe in his mother’s native tongue, so that their child would be fluent in both languages.
“I am hungry, but I feel lethargic today,” she told him.
“Then I think today should be a day in bed for you. I will be back soon.”
Justina let her mind drift until he returned, bearing a large tray.
“Breakfast for Lady Sheridan,” he said, setting the tray on the bed and removing the covers which had kept the food warm. “Bessie is following with tea.”
Her maid appeared moments later, pouring out for them both and excusing herself. For the next hour, she and David lay in bed, eating and talking. They never seemed to run out of things to discuss with one another.
Then a knock sounded at the door, and he said, “That will be your bath, Lady Sheridan. I ordered one for you. Your orders are to simply sit and soak.”
He rose and let the servants in, and the bathing tub was quickly filled. David helped her into it and excused himself. Bessie kept her company, first washing Justina’s hair, and then helping to bathe her.
An hour later, she stood looking out the window at the gathering storm clouds, wearing her dressing gown, her hair combed and damp. David returned and came to stand behind her, wrapping his arms around her, gently leaning her back into him as he cradled her belly in his large hands.
“The calm before the storm,” he murmured.
She couldn’t help but laugh. “Are you referring to the weather—or the peace in this bedchamber before the babe’s arrival?”
“Both,” he said, brushing his lips against her nape.
Suddenly, an odd feeling came over Justina. “Something is different,” she said as a gush of water poured from her, splattering the floor. “Oh! It is time. The midwife told me when my water breaks, we must summon her.”
David turned Justina so that she faced him. He pressed a soft kiss against her lips.
“I love you. And I love our babe,” he said simply. “I will fetch the midwife myself.”
He left her, and Bessie hurried into the room. The maid bustled about, ringing for someone to come and clean up the water on the floor. She led Justina to the countess’ bedchamber, a place she only used for dressing.
“Why are we here?” she asked her maid.
Bessie pursed her lips. “Birthing a first babe is long and messy, my lady. I know you cherish your time with Lord Sheridan. You do not need any reminders of giving birth in your marriage bed. Do so here. It will be much better.”
“You are very wise, Bessie,” she told the maid.
David arrived with the midwife, who told him he must leave his wife.
“It will be a long day, my lord,” she said. “Best you go wait in the drawing room or your study.”
“No. I will have a chair brought and be sitting in the corridor outside this room. I wish to be nearby. I expect regular reports on Lady Sheridan’s condition.”
“Yes, my lord,” the midwife replied, walking David to the door and closing it behind him. “Now, let me examine you, my lady, and see what is going on.”
Her labor proved to be long, as Bessie had predicted. It hurt more than she could have imagined. But she knew David was on the other side of the door, waiting for her and their babe. That gave Justina the courage she needed to do everything the midwife instructed.
At eight o’clock that evening, she gave a final push, and the babe slipped from her. Justina fell back against the pillows, breathing hard.
“Is the babe all right?” she asked worriedly, hearing only silence in the bedchamber.
Then a loud wail echoed through the room, and she gave a sigh of relief.
The door burst open, and Bessie quickly covered Justina.
“The babe?” David asked. “And my wife?”
“Both are fine, my lord,” the midwife said. “Give us some time, and then you can return and visit with your wife and son.”
His gaze met Justina’s, and they both smiled at one another. David left the room, shutting the door behind him. The midwife cut the cord, handing the slick babe to Bessie, who carried him to a basin of water and began washing the crying infant.
“Why is he crying so?” she asked.
“Because everything was warm and dark inside you, my lady,” the midwife explained. “Now, it is noisy and bright in his new world. He will get used to things, never you fear.”
The babe quieted as Bessie hummed to him, washing him carefully. The servant swaddled him and brought him to Justina. She reached out a hand, touching his cheek, thinking how very perfect he was.
“Let the babe feed, Bessie,” the midwife instructed. “Lady Sheridan is about to expel the placenta. Then you can help her get ready for her visit from the earl.”
Bessie carried the child to the waiting wet nurse, who took a seat in the corner of the bedchamber.
“Just a few more minutes, my lady,” the midwife assured her. “We must get all of it, or infection will set in.”
In the next few minutes, her body was freed of everything to do with childbirth. Bessie bathed Justina and brushed her hair. She even helped her from the bed as a maid changed the bedclothes, and Bessie removed the sweat-soaked night rail and dressed Justina in a fresh one.
Easing her back into bed, Bessie propped the pillows behind her, helping her to sit up more.
Then the wet nurse brought the new heir apparent to his mother, and she gazed lovingly upon her son.
Bessie fetched David, who hurried into the room.
He sat gingerly on the bed, his arm going about Justina, his finger caressing the babe’s cheek.
Quietly, the others slipped from the room, leaving the new family of three together.
“Those fingers,” David said, awe in his voice. “They are so tiny. Everything is so perfect.” He paused. “We must name him.”
They had not discussed names. Justina had been too superstitious to do so.
“You know my family has a tradition of using the names of Roman and Byzantine emperors,” she began. “Would you mind terribly if we used one of those?”
He laughed softly, his hand cupping the babe’s head. “I have already pulled out books from the library, studying that very thing. I have a suggestion.”
“What is it?”
“Alexios.” He paused. “I was hoping we might call him Alex.”
“That feels right,” she said.
Everything about this moment felt right. Justina was next to the man she loved, holding their first child.
“Welcome to the world, Alexios,” she told the babe. “You will be the oldest sibling of what we hope are many to come.”
The babe’s eyes opened, and he studied his parents.
“I hope we will pass muster,” David murmured. “Is it mad to already love him so incredibly much?”
“I think that is exactly how it should be,” Justina told him.
Her husband kissed Alex’s brow and then brushed his lips softly against hers.
They were a family—and they would live in love.