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Chapter 23
Amelia arranged the tiny bundle more securely in her arms and shifted so Georgina’s delicate features were better discernible by the candlelight. Her round, little nose scrunched up as the light fell over her face, wrinkles forming on her forehead.
“Shhh,” Amelia cooed, quickly shifting away from the light once more. The precious darling was nearly a fortnight old now, and though she was decidedly on the smaller side, Andrew was not overly concerned. Mrs. Halpert—or Lydia, as she had recently begged Amelia to call her—had struggled in the beginning days to feed her daughter, but Mrs. Fowler returned to Falbrooke at Amelia’s request and her assistance had proven immensely valuable.
The window on the other side of Lydia’s bedroom slid open and Amelia glanced over her shoulder to where her friend stood, fastening the tie around the drapes to the side of the dark window frame.
“It has cooled down some,” Lydia said, padding back to the bed in thin stockinged feet. She slipped under the blanket and pulled her dressing gown closed. “There is a heavier breeze this evening. You should feel it in a moment.”
“Thank heavens. Georgina and I are quite ready to be rid of this horrid summer heat.” She turned her attention to the sleeping babe, her voice soft as she did her best not to disturb the bundle in her arms.
Lydia settled back in her bed, releasing a soft sigh. In just the two short weeks since giving birth her appetite had grown exponentially, and her face was already looking fuller, a healthy glow suffusing her skin. Amelia wasn’t sure if it was from Lydia’s new diet or Andrew’s extra attention of late, but she imagined the color in her cheeks was partially due to a little of both.
Brushing the back of her knuckles softly over Georgina’s silky cheek, Amelia’s heart constricted with love for the small baby and the miracle which led to her safe arrival and her mother’s restoring health. Amelia’s own wedding was just a few weeks off, and hope blossomed in her chest that she may someday hold a babe of her own, warming her thoroughly.
“You are such a dear,” Lydia said, leaning back against her pillows. “But you needn’t feel as though you must remain with me so often.”
Amelia shook her head. “This is no grand favor. I cannot think of a happier situation to be in than holding a new little one.”
“Mr. Fremont might take issue with that statement,” Lydia said with a chuckle.
Well, she had a point there. Being in Charles’s arms was certainly the happiest situation Amelia had found herself in of late, that was true, rivaling even the preciousness of the baby in her arms. Allowing herself to drop the guard she had secured around her heart and making herself vulnerable to Charles had changed her life. It thrust Charles and herself into the deepest of understandings, and every moment they spent apart was increasingly difficult to bear. She felt as though she had been avoiding the possibility of love for so long that it had all built up in that time and was releasing now in full force.
A knock on the door preceded Andrew’s entrance, and his hand rested on the handle, half of his body lingering in the corridor. He’d clearly grown uncomfortable being inside Lydia’s room in the last fortnight, and though his timidity had been amusing to begin with, it was now simply obnoxious. He must feel something for Lydia, but avoiding the woman was no way to win her over.
“Good evening, Dr. Mason.”
He gave a perfunctory smile. “Mrs. Halpert.” Turning his attention to Amelia, he lifted his eyebrows. “I was hoping to entice you to play a round of chess with me.”
“No, I thank you. As you can see, my hands are more enjoyably occupied at present.”
His gaze dropped to her arms, his smile softening.
An idea formed in Amelia’s mind. “But perhaps Lydia might take an interest in playing—”
“No,” he said, stepping back slightly and shaking his head. “I wouldn’t wish to be a bother.”
“It would be no bother, Dr. Mason,” Lydia said, a measure of hope in her voice.
Amelia glanced to her brother. How could he not see how clearly Lydia Halpert cared for him? And gracious, what was holding him back? Perhaps it was a family trait—a dratted apprehension that ran through their blood. After all, she knew a thing or two about refusing what was clearly in front of her.
For another embarrassing moment, it seemed Andrew intended to put Lydia off, but then he nodded. “I’ll fetch the chessboard and return shortly.”
The door closed behind him, and Lydia let out a soft sigh. “Do you think I have done something to offend your brother? We passed many evenings with chess while I was his patient, but now…”
“You would need to ask him. I’m afraid Andrew does not confide in me about these things. But I do wonder if perhaps he is doing his best to respect you.”
She looked startled at this. “He’s been nothing but respectful.”
“I do not mean in the typical way. I mean that he might not wish to make you feel uncomfortable with his attention while you grieve for your George.”
Understanding lit Lydia’s eyes and they widened. “You believe, then, your brother…that he might care for me in a particular way?”
Amelia knew instant regret. She should not have spoken of something which had not been confirmed to her. “It is merely my own assumptions, of course. Nothing Andrew has said to me has indicated—”
“Indicated what?” he asked, standing in the doorway, confusion creasing lines on his brow.
The room sat in thick, uncomfortable silence until it was broken by Georgina’s muffled sounds.
