She wore a christening gown of fine white lawn, older than he was, brought out from some cedar chest where generations of Sinclair infants had slept in linen and family expectation. Lace framed her small face. One tiny hand had escaped the sleeve and now gripped his finger with astonishing determination.
Behind him, the family waited.
Emma and Philip stood together, their little daughter Lilian pressed against Philip’s side, trying very hard to behave in church and failing only in small, charming ways. Sophia was already near tears. Lady Keswick had surrendered to emotion before the ceremony had properly begun. Lord Keswick stood stiffly beside her, looking as though he suspected infant baptism to be a solemn military action in which weakness must not be displayed.
And beside him stood Frances.
His wife.
Her hand rested lightly upon his sleeve. No one else would have thought anything of it. A wife touching her husband during a christening was hardly worthy of notice. But Andrew felt that touch as one felt a promise. She had placed it there when the vicar took up the water, just as his breathing had altered.
Once, the question of a child’s name had belonged to ghosts, to a nursery door kept shut, to a baby sister no one had named in his hearing, to the silence of a house that had taught him love was merely grief before it ripened. Now a child lay warm and living in his arms, and Frances stood beside him, steady as sunlight.
He drew in a slow breath.
“Mary Grace,” he announced. “Mary Grace Hill.”
Frances’s fingers tightened softly upon his sleeve. The baby sneezed. A ripple moved through the little company. Lilian giggled before Philip bent his head and murmured something no doubt intended to restore order, though Andrew saw the corner of his friend’s mouth betray him. Sophia pressed a handkerchief to her lips. Lady Keswick made a sound that suggested complete emotional collapse.
The vicar smiled. “Mary Grace.”
The water touched the child’s brow. Mary Grace considered the matter for half a second, then expressed her opinion with a cry sharp enough to startle a rook from the churchyard yew.
“There,” Frances whispered, leaning closer. “You have been baptized.”
Mary Grace remained unconvinced. Andrew looked down at the two of them, at Frances’s dark head bent near the baby’s fair one, and felt the old terror inside him loosen its hold by another degree. It no longer ruled him.
The ceremony continued, prayers spoken over the child, vows given, blessings bestowed. Andrew answered where he was meant to answer. Frances’s voice joined his. When he heard it, something within him settled.
Afterward, they returned to Sinclair House, where the gathering expanded from solemnity into noise with astonishing speed. The drawing room had been opened and filled with flowers. White roses stood in bowls upon the tables, and pale ribbons had beentied along the mantel in honor of Mary Grace, though Frances had declared ribbons frivolous and then selected every one herself.
Tea was served. Cakes appeared. Lilian immediately made it her duty to determine which were superior and offered her conclusions with great seriousness. Mary Grace, having forgiven the sacramental affront, received admiration with the languid dignity of a monarch.
“She has your eyes,” Lady Keswick declared to Andrew, dabbing at her own.
“Impossible,” Frances teased. “She has scarcely decided what color they are.”
“She has your expression,” Emma told Frances.
Frances looked down at the baby, who was at that moment frowning at Lord Keswick with deep suspicion. “Then I pity His Lordship.”
Lord Keswick cleared his throat. “A very fine child.”
Mary Grace continued to stare.
“She does not appear impressed, Father,” Sophia said softly.
“I did not intend to impress an infant,” Lord Keswick replied, though his ears had gone faintly red.
Andrew, standing near the mantel, watched the scene with a quietness no longer born of distance. There had been a time when such gatherings fatigued him beyond measure. Now, though, he found himself oddly content to stand in the middle of it.
Philip came to his side with a cup of tea in hand. “You are smiling.”
Andrew did not look away from Frances. “Am I?”
“It is becoming frequent enough to cause concern.”
“I shall have my physician examine the condition.”
