Lydia, although quiet, paid close attention to all that was going on around her. Her figure was the slightest bit rounder than her sister’s, and she had a small white scar at the bottom of her lip.
Naomi’s regard for them had grown along with their acquaintance.
“She’s eating,” Naomi answered in a normal voice. “She keeps trying to fall asleep, and I have to stroke her little chin so she’ll finish.” It had taken her a while to learn this trick. The first few weeks her little one had wanted to nurse almost continuously, taking very small breaks and napping often in between. The nurse hired by Lady Tempest had suggested she try to keep Amelia awake and eating longer, and Naomi was immensely relieved when that had worked.
“She is growing so quickly!” Lucinda pulled a chair over so that it was right beside Naomi while Lydia lowered herself into one halfway across the room.
“We were here two days ago, Luce,” Lydia reminded her sister.
“Oh, that reminds me.” Lucinda opened her reticule and withdrew an envelope from inside. “Another letter arrived.”
Naomi’s heart raced to see the familiar handwriting. Once Luke had learned she was residing at Galewick Manor rather than Milton Cottage, he’d directed his correspondence to Crescent Park, and then the girls couriered it to her privately. The Duke of Blackheart wasn’t nearly the stickler he was rumored to be.
Naomi tucked it into the sleeve of her gown to read later and to keep it hidden in case Lady Tempest decided to join them.
It would be unseemly for Luke to send letters to her here, at the home of her dead husband’s family. Six months remained in her mourning period.
“He doesn’t know when he’ll be returning yet,” Lydia offered gently. “Likely if it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t hear from him at all. Luke’s never been much for writing.”
But he was safe. Or he had been up until he’d posted his letters and that must be enough to calm Naomi’s worries.
“Wouldn’t it be divine if Luke’s regiment could return for the Season this year? I was positively mad with impatience when we couldn’t come out then.”
The glamour and sophistication of a London ball seemed worlds away. Naomi’s entire life had flipped upside down since she’d concerned herself with parties and fashionable gowns and flirting and dancing. Theodosia was expected to make her come-out this spring and Naomi would not be there to encourage her.
“When is Blackheart taking you to London?”
“We’ll leave two weeks before Easter. That will allow us plenty of time to have any necessary alterations made to our gowns and also to accustom ourselves to the city. Oh, I do wish you could be there.” Lucinda frowned.
Lydia, always the practical one, grimaced. She, of course, realized that even if Lady Tempest wasn’t adamant that they all wear blacks for an entire year, it would be considered unseemly for Naomi to attend any ton events.
That aside, she wasn’t prepared to leave Amelia alone quite yet and, truth be told, Naomi wasn’t prepared to face the world again, even if they deigned to receive her. She’d been involved in the very worst type of scandal. Her parents had made it clear that she would not have their support, and Naomi doubted she’d have the support of people she’d once considered friends.
“Our come-out ball is scheduled for the twenty-third of April. Lady Ravensdale is sponsoring us, and she already consulted with the Willoughbys to ensure we don’t have similar themes, or colors.”
The Willoughbys’ Ball was always the first of the Season. It was where she’d first met Arthur and Luke. How innocent they had all been.
Naomi smiled tightly, pushing the memory away.
“The Countess will make for an excellent sponsor.” It was on the tip of Naomi’s tongue to advise the two young women to stay close to their chaperones and to avoid being lured into dark follies alone with handsome rakes. It was the same advice she’d been given…
Amelia made a cooing sound, one of satisfaction, and Naomi glanced down just in time to see her daughter pop off her breast and smack her tiny lips. “Such a good girl,” Naomi praised her daughter at the same time she dabbed her nipple with the small receiving blanket. It was a relief whenever her breasts emptied, especially after that first uncomfortable month.
Lady Tempest had considered Naomi foolish to nurse Amelia herself, but Naomi had been adamant. Despite experiencing difficulties early on, she believed that providing the natural nourishment her body produced as a mama, she was developing an unbreakable bond with this tiny creature she’d given birth to. And until Luke returned, her baby was the only person who was truly hers.
Nearly three months had passed since she’d seen him. Would he regret what they’d done before he left? What if his affection for her diminished?
It wasn’t until each of her two visitors had taken a turn burping and holding Little Amelia and then the nurse had taken her to rock and put down for a nap that Naomi was able to slip quietly into her personal chamber and break the seal on his letter.
She slid the foolscap out and inhaled before unfolding it. She could almost imagine where his fingers had touched it. It smelled woodsy, a little smoky, and … anything else was likely her imagination.
She opened it up and savored every word… And then read through the letter again and again before folding it carefully and inserting it into the back of her journal.
To my dear sweet Naomi,
A girl! I smiled the entire day after reading your letter. And must I remind you that you now have yet another reason to bow to my great wisdom upon my return?
I yearn to be home with you. This autumn I will take you to Grainger Hall, my estate. I haven’t been there in ages but am grateful now knowing we will have a place we can make our own—make our home.
Until then, I express with all my heart that I am overjoyed to hear that both you and little Amelia are healthy and well. Is she as beautiful as you? Of course, she is. I am imagining her now, with golden-blond hair and eyes the color of the sky on a summer day… In England. In the country.
Are her eyes the color of the sky like yours?
I’d forgotten how heavy the air hovers here. The sun burns hot without fail but the worst is the endless humidity. Not a cool and fresh quality like the English countryside but a hot, sticky atmosphere that never evaporates on one’s skin and keeps your sheets damp during the night. (Not a genteel topic but neither is this letter).
Even worse than the weather is the distance between us. Your letters provide me with manna that I read over and over again. At night I lay in bed and relive our time together. I picture you as you must look, with your babe at your breast, safe, content, and… waiting for me.
And as midnight turns to early morning, I picture you as you were the last day at Milton Cottage. I remember the feel of your most sensitive flesh… your taste. I doubt you can ever imagine how beautiful you are. All of you. In the time we spent together, you captured my heart and added purpose to my life.
I have two motivations right now: Accomplish this damn mission so that I can journey back to you. And second: Stay alive for the exact same reason. Well, perhaps not in that order. Nonetheless, everything I do is so that I can return to you.
Yours forever,
Luke