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“Why don’t the two of you go upstairs?” That was his mother, firmly guiding them from the cluster of onlookers. “Let us find you some privacy. Let’s go to the nursery.”
“Oh, yes,” said Rosalind, her gaze still bright and tearful. “You have a daughter, darling.”
“A daughter? My God.”
“Her name is Sylvie. She has your features, not mine. I think she looks so much like you.”
His heart pounded as his wife and parents led him to the darkened nursery chamber. The servants exclaimed as they all crowded in, calling for a light.
“Oh, ma’am,” said the nurse to Rosalind, with a questioning look amidst the hubbub.
“This is Sylvie’s father,” she explained. “My husband. He was kidnapped and now he’s returned.”
As she spoke, Rosalind reached into an ivory-curtained crib and produced a very angel wrapped in knit swaddling. The infant blinked awake, allowing him a second’s glance at pale blue eyes before she closed them again and opened her mouth in an adorable yawn.
“I cannot believe it,” he whispered.
“You must hold her, my love. You must cuddle her instantly. Sit down.”
His father brought a chair and his mother gave a little sob as he took the babe. Rosalind had stopped crying, though, and was all smiles. Marlow leaned back into the cushioned armchair, cradling his precious bundle.
“She is so light,” he said, amazed. “So tiny and delicate.”
“She is only a few months old,” his wife explained. “They’re small at that age.”
“My goodness.” He could not look at his child’s face long enough or deeply enough to suit him. His daughter, Sylvie. He stared at her, then realized he was crying without meaning to. He dashed the tears away before he looked up at Rosalind. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you. For her. For her birth.”
“You are here now.”
“Was it very hard?”
She paused a moment, her throat working, then said, “Yes, it was very hard. But you are back with us again. We shall make up for lost time.”
He reached for her hand but couldn’t let go of his daughter yet. His child, his baby. More family was crowding upstairs, along with his friends. He had feared in the darkest depths of his soul he’d never see any of them again. To escape his captors, he’d jumped off a ship and swum through churning waters until his arms nearly failed. Then he’d been trapped in a different way, without an identity or any money to secure passage home. He’d worked as a laborer for months, clearing land, farming, building, saving every meager wage for a return ticket to England.
He had done it for Rosalind. He’d done it for this child he’d not known until now.
“You look so tired,” said Rosalind tenderly, touching his unruly hair, brushing it back from his face. “So exhausted. Would you like to go home? We ought to go home now so you can rest.”
The last thing he wanted to do was rest. He wanted to study his child some more, learn her face so he would never forget it, in case by some curse he was kidnapped again.
No, no more kidnapping. He would not live in fear. Instead, he would live each day with new appreciation for all he had. He would come to know little Sylvie over the next hours and days and months and years. He was sure he could make her smile. Rest? No. He wanted to be alone with his wife so he could kiss her and embrace her and make love to her with all the passion of his longing. How beautiful she was, a miracle beside him.
But first, he must clean up and present himself properly. He must shave and wash, and change his clothes, and catch up on all that had transpired while he was away. He must see to it that Brittingham and his criminal agents were dealt with. Then he must resume his duties as Viscount Marlow, duties he would never take for granted again after the labor he’d performed in the colonies. He must clean the dirt from beneath his fingernails. He must check upon his horses. He must buy those flowers for Rosalind, for she was beautiful as a flower. Soft as rosa damascenas, delicate as rosa gallica.
In fact, the thought of all he had to do hit him like a rusted anchor, and he realized he did feel very, very tired.
“Yes, let’s go home,” he said to Rosalind. “I could do for a bath and some sleep.”
Everyone around him laughed as if he’d said something funny, but he was quite serious. He wanted to sleep in his own bed because he never thought he’d see it again.
He wanted to sleep next to Rosalind…
He wanted to sleep in peace, after so many dark nights of terror and dread.
