Page 6 of A Very Surrey SFS Christmas

Chapter 2

Madeline and Ethan

Two days before Christmas

“More sweets, anyone? You’ve certainly earned all the treats after a full day’s hard work.”

Lady Madeline Dare considered her plate, and the state of her belly, at Lady Portia’s words. After a delicious supper she was rather full, but the candied fruit, sugared almonds, and thick slices of fruit cake with vanilla custard were hard to decline. Besides, nowadays she always seemed to be hungry. No one had informed her that having a baby would leave her exhausted and yet ready to storm the kitchens at any given moment.

“Perhaps a little more candied fruit,” she said, trying not to eye the dish too covetously as it was passed down the dining table. Much like an indoor picnic they dined informally at the manor; although Lady Portia’s servants were extremely discreet, everyone appreciated the ability to talk as freely as they did at a Society meeting.

“Save some for me!” said Lady Susanna Fenton from across the table, and they exchanged a laughingly rueful look.

As two new first time mothers, they had relied on each other heavily to navigate the initial bewildering, alarming, and emotional weeks. Dare had been a tower of strength for her after Jessica’s birth, and she knew Susanna enjoyed equally steadfast support from Lord Fenton and Clayton with baby David, but occasionally conversation with someone going through the same experience was necessary. Someone who could answer the important questions, such as what the bloody hell is my body doing now? And is it really so wrong to fall asleep while playing a pianoforte?

“Do you need a rest, sweetheart?” asked Ethan, curving an arm around her shoulder, and she leaned into him with a sigh. He might be five years younger than her at twenty-four, but no woman could ask for a better husband. Loving, solicitous of her welfare, remarkably intelligent, and deliciously skilled in the bedchamber.

“I think perhaps I do,” she admitted softly, although it pained her to say so. How humbling it had been, to go from a woman who could dance until dawn at a ball, or fuck in a carriage for hours and still be eager for more, to a woman whose current lustiest fantasy involved pillows, quilts, and a full night’s uninterrupted sleep.

“Go, gel,” said Fairfield, almost sympathetically, from the end of the table. “Before you droop face-first into the syllabub, or start rattling the wineglasses with lady snuffles.”

Her gaze narrowed. “I do not lady snuffle.”

Ethan coughed, then spluttered as she lovingly gouged his ribs with her elbow. Her husband hardly had a leg to stand on when it came to snores, he, the sporadic Lord of Gentle Rolling Thunder.

Captain Denham grinned. “What my father meant to say is, by all means excuse yourself. Portia and I are planning to thrash him soundly at whist in the drawing room, so will extract vengeance on your behalf. Anyone is welcome to join us…well, except Mittens of course. I’m quite convinced the knocking of items onto the floor is a ruse to distract from blatant cheating.”

Amelia giggled. “That makes perfect sense, come to think of it. Bea and I will gladly join you, after we’ve sacrificed another ball of yarn to the cause.”

Susanna, Clayton, and Fenton also agreed to play for a round, but when Madeline got to her feet, Ethan joined her. After wishing all a good evening, they departed the dining room for the grand staircase to the left of the entrance hall. The stairs seemed to multiply as she climbed them, and she was glad of Ethan’s arm to assist, but she needed to check on Jessica before a rest.

As soon as they entered the temporary nursery, the experienced older maid Lady Portia had graciously employed for the duration of their stay leaped up and curtsied.

“Good evening, Lord Dare, Lady Dare. The little lamb is fast asleep. She had a brief cry earlier, but when I rocked her she settled again.”

“Thank you,” said Madeline, peering into the wooden cradle at her six-week old daughter, undoubtedly the loveliest baby ever born. At the moment Jessica had a wispy cap of red hair and blue eyes, but nearly every London matron who stopped and cooed had been adamant that would change when she was older.

Ethan stood behind her, reaching around to adjust Jessica’s blanket. “She’s a cherub. It’s hard to believe this little miss can yowl louder than Mittens.”

“Shhhhhh. Do not say such a thing out loud. The cat might consider it a challenge.”

“I’m quite certain that cat considers all things a challenge. Beatrice calls her the empress of destruction, and it’s hard to see anyone or anything usurping the title.”

Madeline smiled. “Oh, I don’t know. Give Jessica a few years…”

He stepped back from the cradle, and after one more fond glance at her tiny rosebud-perfect form, they left the nursery. The other thing matrons often said: let the baby sleep. That advice, she concurred with completely.

Lady Portia had allocated them a truly sumptuous bedchamber next door to the nursery, and at the sight of the four-poster bed with its soft linen sheets and quilts piled high, she almost moaned.

“Never thought my main rival for your affections would be a bed,” said Ethan, his lips twitching.

Good grief. She had actually moaned.

“Do not fret, my lord,” she replied with a saucy wink. “You meet certain needs that bed never will. Reaching items in high places, for example.”

“Anything else?”

“Hmmmm,” Madeline pretended to consider. “Far superior conversationalist. No bed ever told me vivid scholarly tales of faraway lands and ancient cultures.”