Page 60 of The Trouble with a Dare

Martha’s face hardened, and she batted the tears away with an impatient gesture, shaking her head. “It is. Decades too late. I was too hard on him, and on his father. I was just so afraid, afraid his pa would ruin us like mine had, afraid Sterling would die, and now… now he hates me.”

“No, Martha,” Grace protested, reaching out a hand to take Martha’s and squeeze it tight. “He does not. Sterling doesn’t have it in him to hate you, I know that much. He’s a grown man, but he still needs to hear that you’re proud of him, and that you love him. We all need that, no matter how old we get.”

“Perhaps not hate, then… but he doesn’t like me,” she said, stubborn to the last.

“And what chance have you given him to like you, you obstinate woman?”

Martha bristled for a moment, glaring, and then subsided. “Aye. True enough.”

“Give him the chance to love you and he will, Martha. He’s such a caring man, so full of love and affection. Just… give him something. You must take the first step this time. You’ve pushed him away too many times before.”

“Did he say that?” Martha asked, looking stricken.

Grace shook her head. “He didn’t need to. I’m not a fool, Martha. I knew how it had happened, and I know that Sterling would have tried and tried until he was too afraid to try any more. It’s in his nature to be kind and forgiving, but he’s not fool enough to keep trying when there’s no hope. It’s your turn now, and you must not give up.”

Martha took a deep breath and nodded. “I owe him that much, don’t I? And… And I want to be a part of it, this family. Like you said. Maybe dinner on Sunday? And if you ever need a hand with the babe….”

Grace smiled, overjoyed that this woman, who could have made her life so very difficult, was prepared to change for her son and for their family.

The door opened, and Sterling came in.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it then,” Martha said, hurrying to her feet.

Grace watched her hasten to the door, which Sterling opened for her, and held her breath, hoping. Martha went to walk past him and then hesitated. She turned back to Sterling and reached up on her toes, kissing his cheek.

“I’m… very proud of you son. Of… Of everything,” she said, and then rushed out of the door.

Sterling watched her go in astonishment.

“What—” he began, bewildered.

“She loves you very much, you know,” Grace said quietly.

He snorted at that and closed the door, moving to the bed. She waited until he had settled beside them, his long legs stretched out over the mattress. He gazed down at the baby and smiled, such love in his eyes that her own prickled with tears again. Good Lord, but she was turning into the worst kind of watering pot, but she couldn’t help it.

“Do you know how many times your mother has been pregnant, Sterling? How many babies she lost?”

He looked at her with a frown. “I know I had a brother that died very young.”

“You had more than one,” she said, reaching for his hand. “It broke her heart, over and over, until she was too afraid to love you. You were a sickly babe, and she was certain you would die like all the others. Her heart couldn’t take it, and so she shut you out, but it didn’t stop her loving you. I think, seeing this little one come into the world, she realises her mistake. She thinks it’s too late, and it’s eating her up inside. Give her a chance. I know your heart is big enough to do it. After all, you’ve taken us into it, when we had no right to be there.”

“Grace,” he said, his voice rough, his eyes shining too bright.

She gave him a tremulous smile and then the tears began, and he pulled her to him, holding her and their daughter in his arms.

“You belong here. You belong with me, both of you. Always,” he said fiercely, the words thick with emotion. “Always, Grace. Promise me.”

“Of course. Always,” she said, laughing and crying at once. “I love you, and this little girl loves you too. Always, my dearest love.”

23rd of February 1840, Thistley House Farm, Sussex

“Oh, but she’s so beautiful.”

This was a sentiment that was repeated often and in many forms as Grace’s visitors cooed and murmured over the new arrival.

“Beatrice Jemima Martha Oak,” Martha said proudly, as she generously handed the babe into Grace’s mother’s arms.

Her father looked on, appearing pleased as punch, and Grace told herself sternly that she would not cry. It was very hard though, when everyone was so very kind, and happy for them all. Her eyes could never stray far from her husband, though. He looked so very handsome and hovered protectively about little Betty, as everyone had nicknamed her. She had feared he might feel differently about the baby when it arrived, that for all his reassurances, he might not accept the child as his own. She saw now how stupid that had been. He truly had a generous heart, full of love and honour, and she was so proud of him that she felt as if she would burst. It seemed perhaps she was not the only one.