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Anne foraged in her reticule. “Here, I brought you a little something.” She placed two long ribbons within Isabella’s fingers. “Satin. Griffith’s latest arrival.” She mentioned the emporium the two of them used to visit together in years past, before her friend became naught but her father’s prisoner. “One is a brilliant red. The other a deep blue.”
Isabella laughed. “Excellent. Now we can play.” After enthusiastically finishing off the last of her biscuits, she held up the blue ribbon and ran her thumb and fingers over it for several seconds. “This one is red.”
“Right you are! Here. Again.” Anne took them both in her hand, trying to stifle laughter, and placed the blue one once again in Isabella’s fingers. “And this one?”
“Red again. You thought you could play me false? Hand me the blue one.”
Anne gave over the red ribbon, smiling widely and so very saddened anew that her friend couldn’t see and share in the mirth. “Can you tell any difference?”
“Not one whit. I have every confidence you have just spouted clankers through your teeth.”
“Me?” Anne’s voice conveyed pure innocence. “How could you even think such—”
“Mrs. Wells! Welly! I need help!” A small tornado burst through the door they’d left open, stumbling to an uncertain halt when his young face beheld not the cook he’d expected, but instead the Lady Isabella and her guest.
“Owen?” Isabella surmised. “Is that you?”
“Yessm.” The child sniffed, his brown eyes swimming in tears and redder than the ribbon Anne had just placed on the table. “It’s Mama,” he cried. “But she’s been trying for hours.”
Isabella held out her hand and the boy who looked no older than five came right up to her and climbed on her lap, an occurrence Anne had no doubt would have brought forth harsh and criticizing words had Isabella’s father witnessed.
“Your papa?” Isabella asked in a soothing tone. “Is he at home, helping—”
“Gone. With Lord Spier. To Lunnon. What do we do?” the child asked on a loud snuffle. “Doc Fielding is away.”
Only it came out sounding like, “Docfiedway!” as the child’s sobs intensified.
“How may I help your mother?” Anne asked with every confidence, positive that something could be done to assist this tragically crying child who ripped holes in her heart and made her want to offer up her lap as well.
“She’s breeding,” Isabella shared in an aside, “and from what I hear, bigger than one of Prinny’s carriages.”
Snickering at the image her blind friend painted, ’twas a moment before Owen’s claim sunk in. Any humor at the situation vanished. “Your father took her husband, knowing her time was near?”
Blind but beautiful green eyes rolled toward the ceiling as Isabella gave a light shrug, frowning, and rocked the crying child.
“Lord Sp’ told Papa they’d be back t-today. And sweet L-l-lord…” Owen now sobbed in earnest. “Lord G-grayson…he died.”
“Oh dear.” That news seemed to worry Isabella more than the rest. “It sounds as though your mother could use some support.”
“Lord Grayson?” Anne asked. “Is he recently moved in?” And now… Deceased? So soon? Before she’d even met him? Her heart wept for the unknown gentleman, young Owen’s grief palatable between them.
Isabella gave a slight shake of her head and beckoned Anne closer. In a hushed voice, patting the back of the child, she offered clarification.
“Ah,” Anne said when her friend finished. “That explains much.” Dusting off her fingers, flicking a stray crumb off one of her half gloves, she stood. “Is there a sister, cousin, anyone else we can call on?”
“N-no one!” The child cried harder, his small chest heaving.
“I will go. Be with your mother until your father returns.” Though she could list his faults as many, Lord Spier tended to be punctual; if he claimed he would return Owen’s father today, Anne was confident he would.
“Are you certain?” Isabella placed her hand on Anne’s arm, gripping once she found it. “For Owen is correct; Doc Fielding is on holiday with his family. Let me ask a servant to go in your stead.” Isabella wilted, her arms tightening around the sobbing child. “Who, though…”
Who, indeed. For Anne knew Spiderton (as she preferred to think of the difficult man who had sired her dearest friend) tended to employ either very young or very old servants, paying them only a pittance.
And had she not assisted with several births herself? Granted, most had been of the four-pawed variety, but still. With young Owen here, odds were the mother-to-be knew just what to do and only needed a spot of assistance. “Nay,” Anne assured, giving Isabella’s shoulder a squeeze, encouraging her friend to stay seated. “I have attended the birth of countless animals and two humans.” Did her older cousin having twins count as two? “So consider myself more than up for the task.”
“You’ll come help?” Sniffles and wet eyes couldn’t detract from the youngster’s relief.
“Of course I will.”
