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“She is tired, Your Grace, but yes. She is well.”
It was all Elliot needed to hear. He looked back to Grace, who smiled with relief and dabbed her eyes, clearly fighting off the tears that threatened to fall.
“You can go up now, Your Grace,” Mrs Mouser said, gesturing to the landing.
Elliot needed no more encouragement. He sprinted up the stairs, taking them two, sometimes even three steps at a time. On the landing, he nearly fell into the far wall in his effort to turn fast and run down the hallway. At the end of the corridor, he could see two of their maids leaving, both looking tired. One dabbed her brow with a cloth and the other yawned. They jumped out of the way as he reached their side, and one of them pushed open the door for him.
“Doctor, His Grace is here,” she called inside, barely preparing those in the chamber for Elliot’s arrival.
Elliot stumbled to a stop in the doorway, looking back and forth at the sight before him. The chamber was full of so many candles that it was bright, the apricot light dancing back and forth across the cream silks of the bed and the white marble fireplace that had been lit nearby.
Sat up in the bed was Ophelia, her head turned in Elliot’s direction. Her hair hung loose around her ears, damp and stuck to her neck in patches. There were shadows under her eyes and a pallor to her skin.
“Ophelia?” Elliot whispered, hurrying toward her as the door closed behind him. He was so relieved to see her well that he capitulated beside her on the bed, falling to his knees and reaching for her hand.
She smiled at that touch, plainly watching him as he lifted her hand and placed it to his lips.
“Worried you, did I?” she asked, with her usual teasing tone.
“Perhaps a little,” he confessed.
“Did you wear the floorboards thin?”
“No,” he lied, watching as she smirked with humour. The smile was rather weak because of her tiredness.
“Such a fibber,” she said, giggling. “I shall have to ask Grace for the truth.”
Elliot was about to ask more of Ophelia’s health when he heard the sound of a baby’s cry. He jolted at the sound, angling his head round to see the doctor on the other side of the room, with his back to them.
“He’s here,” Ophelia whispered to Elliot.
“He?” Elliot felt choked up, struggling to swallow around a lump in his throat.
It seems I have my heir—the next Duke of Northmore.
“Here you are, Your Grace.” The doctor turned back to face them with a grand smile on his face. In his arms, there was a bundle, wrapped up in tight linens. “He’s as fine a boy as I ever did see. Would you like to hold him?” he addressed Elliot.
Nerves shot through Elliot at once, but Ophelia urged him on, elbowing him. He could picture well enough she’d tease him later for his initial hesitation, but he didn’t mind. He was both elated and apprehensive. He wanted to hold his boy, but with something so delicate, he feared how to hold him right. Fortunately, the doctor passed the boy into Elliot’s hands with extreme care, even giving him tips on how to hold the boy’s head to protect him.
“I’ll give you three some time alone,” the doctor said kindly and retreated from the room. As the door closed behind him, Elliot turned and sat beside Ophelia on the bed, unable to take his eyes off the boy in his hands.
“Are you going to cry?” Ophelia whispered to him. “Do not worry if you wish to. I have cried many times. I cried with pain. Then I cried with happiness when he arrived. Mrs Mouser mopped my tears so many times there cannot be a dry handkerchief in the house!”
“It is just… I did not know this feeling was possible.” Elliot gazed lovingly down at his son, recognising the blue eyes that were so like Ophelia’s own. “This happiness.”
“I know what you mean.” Ophelia rested her head on his shoulder. “I love you, Elliot.”
“I love you, too.” Elliot angled his head, kissing Ophelia quickly on the forehead, before he looked down at his son. “And I love him.”
“Him… we shall have to think of a name, you know.” Ophelia reached past Elliot and laid a finger on the boy’s hand, watching as he twisted his hand round, trying to grab her finger. “What about Oliver?”
“After your father?” Elliot smiled to hear the name. It suited the boy well and it kept the man’s memory alive. “I think it a perfect name, indeed.”
THE END
