Page 10 of Wit, Wiles and Courtship

“She is a comfortable gel. I should say she would. Still, it would not do to rush into things.”

“No indeed,” Miles replied with such irony that Rowe glanced at him. He laughed.

“It is all well and good for you. You fell for Lady Dorothea almost upon sight. Not all of us are so fortunate.”

Miles looked smug. “I shall leave off troubling you on the matter then, for you are right. It is not easy to settle down to the married state when your heart is not engaged, and you are not so desperate as to need to marry for money.”

“We understand each other then.” Rowe pointed with his cue to the ball he was aiming for, and they turned the conversation to other matters, as though it were a settled thing. But he was far from set upon his course, and the decision of whether to attend the Eubanks’ Christmas party continued to plague him. His mother had said something similar to Miles in her letter. Rowe could not, under any circumstances, accept the invitation and not come up to scratch. Not again. He was coming to be known throughout all of Society as a hardened rake. His past attempts to tell her that her definition of a rake was somewhat faulty had met with no success. She refused to listen.

Rowe was to leave Elmscote before the rest of the party. He was enjoying himself but needed to meet with his steward, who had been in his grandfather’s employ and would soon retire. He wanted to learn as much as he could from him before choosing a replacement.

Tomorrow, they would ride to Hergest Ridge and picnic on its summit, but on this day, everyone was left at liberty. Rowe went to the drawing room where he found Miles and Dorothea, Camilla, and the baby. Sophia and Felix had gone for a walk outdoors, Camilla informed him, adding that for once, Joanna was sitting with Tilly and Miss Cross in the nursery where they had spread out fabric and patterns. They wished to sew outfits for Augusta to grow into after they had left.

“And you are not sewing with them?” Despite the question, he was not unhappy to find her here.

She shook her head and nodded in the direction of Dorothea. “I am keeping my sister company, for Nurse spent a sleepless night and Dorry gave her leave to rest.”

Lady Dorothea, though pale, had been cheerful until the baby decided she was unhappy with some outrage she could not communicate and would not be consoled.

When Dorothea failed to soothe her, Miles tried his luck. He paced the room while Augusta exercised her lungs. Camilla exchanged a look with her sister, her brows pinched.

“It is not a pin sticking into her?”

“It is not. I checked.” Dorothea followed her husband’s movements with a worried look.

Miles peered down at his red-faced daughter, then walked up to Rowe, holding his arms out. “Pembroke, take my daughter for a minute or two, I beg you. Maybe she just needs a different set of arms to hold her.”

Before he could protest, his cousin deposited the baby into his arms, and he blinked in alarm at the dissatisfied creature. Miles positioned Rowe’s hand to cradle the baby’s head, which wobbled alarmingly.

“I don’t think—” he began, then forgot what he would say. Out of instinct—or desperation—he bounced up and down holding her close, then began humming low in his chest as he walked to the window. Camilla hovered nearby, watching him, but Rowe began to grow in confidence that he would not drop the infant. Dorothea watched him complacently and made no move to intervene.

“I am not a hand at babies. I told your mother as much,” he murmured into Augusta’s ear. “You sense my panic, do you not? But you will be kind to me, I hope.” He began a low hum once more as he walked.

Then the oddest thing happened. Augusta took a deep breath, let it out in a shuddering exhale, and fell promptly asleep. Rowe paused in his steps and stared down at her blueish eyelids and parted lips, her soft breath coming in a steady rhythm. For a long moment, he experienced something that—although he was no hand at finer feelings either—felt a little like love. He met his cousin’s look in amazement.

Miles was grinning. “You do yourself a disservice, for you seem adept at handling infants. Camilla, I am going to take my wife for a walk. I trust you can keep an eye on my cousin while he holds Augusta?”

“What?” Rowe exclaimed, alarm leaping into his voice.

“Shh. You’ll wake her,” Miles said.

“Of course.” Camilla looked at Rowe, half in affection, half amused.

“Send a maid to get Nurse if you feel out of your depth,” Dorothea warned her sister as Miles escorted her from the room. Camilla sat on the sofa, apparently deciding she no longer needed to hover.

“What if I drop her?” he asked, worried. He could not think such a thing likely, but with a very tiny and dependent human in one’s arms, one’s imagination conjured up all sorts of frightening possibilities.

“Sit. Then she will not have far to fall,” she said with a glimmer of her typical humor.

He obeyed, then upon finding his posture a bit too rigid, sank back into the sofa with relief and felt the weight of the sleeping baby against his chest. He watched her small torso rise and fall with each breath. He had heretofore regarded babies as foreign creatures, and one a man such as he should stay far from. Now here he was, holding his goddaughter, and she had trusted him enough to fall asleep in his arms.

Camilla stood and went to a blanket that lay draped across a small table and folded it over the sofa, then walked to the window to look out. Her movements were unhurried, and he enjoyed the quiet spell they had been afforded. Perhaps there was something to the married state he had not considered. With the right wife, it might not be so terrible.

She looked over her shoulder, a smile touching her lips. “I would not have guessed that Augusta would take to you in such a way. You look out of character holding a sleeping baby, but I must say it suits you.”

“I am as astonished as you are that she consented to fall asleep in my arms.”

A maid knocked and entered the drawing room, then faltered when she saw only Rowe and Camilla. She curtsied. “Lady Dorothea had asked Cook to make cakes and bring them in with the tea.”