Chapter 25

25

H ow life could turn like a Highland road. Maryn felt at the edge of another cliff, unsure of herself and her destination. Frayed and frightened and out of her depth. A sennight had passed since Nicola's burial. Condolence letters were pouring in from across Berwickshire and beyond though she only cared for one. Orin's came in his striking Copperplate hand. Though terse, she sensed the beat of strong emotion beneath. She kept the note in her pocket as if somehow it could bolster her.

Dearest Maryn,

I have no words to convey the depth of my sorrow for what is another untimely loss. I can only offer you my thoughts, prayers, and assistance for whatever you need should you need such.

Your entire, Orin Hume

Maryn kept to her cabinet, overwhelmed with estate business and communications with her Edinburgh solicitors amid her grief. And today was the day when life as she knew it turned on end all over again.

"Your Grace … " Mrs. Duncan, ever composed, seemed somewhat shaken herself as she stood in the tiled hall at the foot of the staircase. "We're finally ready for the arrival of your wee nieces and nephew. The nursery has been aired, cleaned, and organized, along with the adjoining upstairs rooms needed by the nurses. If you'd like to take a look."

"I trust your preparations completely." Maryn expressed her thanks to the woman who continued to serve them unfailingly. "I admit to being overwhelmed by all this. I never thought to marry nor be a mother."

"Four bairns all at once are a challenge, especially when one is a newborn, though we shall have plenty of help from the new servants."

The wet nurse foremost, Maryn didn't say. How ironic that her wish to spend time with her nieces had come to this. Nicola's will had expressly stated the children be brought up at Lockhart Hall under her care and supervision, a shock that couldn't be second-guessed or denied.

"I do fret so about poor Lord Marchmont." Mrs. Duncan's face grew pinched with concern. "An ill and now grieving widower."

"I worry, too. His doctors have advised him to seek a warmer climate to ease his lung ailment. He's departing to the south of France as soon as the children and staff are settled."

"Wise, mayhap. I do wish him a speedy return to health." Mrs. Duncan looked toward the front door where a footman stood. Did she hear the children's approach? "'Tis not uncommon for wee ones to be reared by servants though I suspect you have in mind a different sort of arrangement."

"I shall try my best to mother them as my dear mother mothered me." Lately all sorts of memories were resurfacing of her own unusual childhood. Though their father had been somewhat distant, even absent as so many aristocrats were, their mother had not. From what Lord Marchmont had told her, Nicola had taken after their father in terms of child-rearing though he wished otherwise.

"A pearl of great price, your mother. God rest her gracious soul." Taking a handkerchief from her pocket, Mrs. Duncan dried her eyes. "And how pleased she would be that you've placed her portrait above the mantel in your cabinet."

"Let it be a reminder to me of her legacy of love and compassion." Maryn would keep her memory alive by telling her nieces about her. "How she would rejoice in her beautiful grandchildren."

Even as she finished the sentence a commotion in the forecourt brought her to her feet. Lord Marchmont's coach had arrived with not one but two baggage wagons while he himself rode a bay horse. Maryn braced herself for the noise and bustle to come.

Lord, I am out of my depth. Yet 'tis You Who have brought me to this moment. And I trust in Your equipping and provision. Amen.

Lord Marchmont appeared first, looking not only wan but blatantly apologetic. "I fear we descend on you like a whirlwind, Your Grace."

"Welcome, whirlwind or not. All is ready. Your own well-being is of paramount importance to me. And you shall have no worries at all on account of your children. I vouchsafe they shall be as happy and healthy as I can make them here at Lockhart Hall."

"I have no concerns in that regard, just profound thanks." He watched as a nurse appeared bearing a bundle. "I must warn you that my heir doesn't seem to sleep nor ken when his appetite is sated."

"Then I'm all the more thankful for the additional help you've provided," Maryn reassured him, moved by his obvious struggle. "We've made every arrangement for everyone's continued comfort here."

"Leave-takings are always my undoing so I will just depart without fuss. I have another stop to make before I reach the coast by nightfall, or so I hope." With a hasty adieu, he bowed as his daughters cleared the front steps, stopping long enough to embrace them.

Into the hall poured Penelope, Charlotte, and Eugenie in a high state of excitement despite their family upheaval, their pup, Nessie, on their heels. Nurse followed after them, a stout, middle-aged Duns woman who seemed wreathed in smiles and impervious to tantrums and tears. She dropped a curtsey as the girls left her side and swarmed round Maryn's colorful chintz petticoats. For now she'd set aside her mourning garments, at least when at home. The children needed no reminder of their recent loss.

"Ah, at last, wee ones." Maryn smiled and started up the stairs, taking the youngest in hand.

Charlotte looked up at her with a tentative smile. "Papa says you are to watch over us now that Mama is in heaven. You will be our mama on earth."

"Your papa is right. I'm blessed indeed. I've always wanted a daughter—and now I have three."

"And a wee lad who likes to howl," Pen said as she scooped up the puppy. "Nessie is better behaved."

"And you, Miss Eugenie?" Maryn looked down at her youngest niece who was taking the stairs slowly. "What do you think of your new brother, Haddon?"

"He's bonny," she echoed shyly, concentrating on her steps.

"Papa says I am to help you all I can while he's away. He said he will be gone for a long time but after a while he will visit us." Charlotte spoke with all the gravity of the eldest, Nicola firmly stamped on her features. "I think we shall like living here with you. I want to see the gardens again."

"I've had the old playhouse of mine and your mother's remade for you near the wood." Maryn had taken a special joy in overseeing that project. "Your father has sent all your play-pretties over to your new rooms here in hopes you'll feel more at home. For now, a milk tea awaits and since I'm rather ravenous I'll sit down with you myself."

"My tummy is growling," Pen said, giggling as Nessie licked her cheek. "I do hope you have tarts. Raspberry tarts are my favorite."

"Raspberry and lemon. We shall have a feast." Maryn welcomed them into the nursery where a table was laid with miniature dishes. "And then we shall go outside for fresh air."

"He's a bit of an armful, Yer Grace," Nurse said as she handed Maryn her nephew later that afternoon. "I'll be in the nursery unpacking the children's belongings should ye need me."

Maryn thanked her, standing in her cabinet, where light illuminated her hefty nephew's every curve and dimple. Clad in a simple linen gown and cap, Haddon slept, looking so like Herschel that Maryn marveled. The dark hair and long-lashed eyes. A braw bairn with tiny features promising a strapping lad in time.

Or would the Lockhart curse continue?

A chill hugged her spine as snugly as her stays. Nay, she did not believe in curses, only blessings. And holding this babe convinced her that there was healing to be had even amid heartache. The wee lamb embroidered on his blanket brought to mind a beloved verse.

He shall feed his flock like a shepherd: he shall gather the lambs with his arm, and carry them in his bosom, and shall gently lead those that are with young.

She would trust in that heavensent promise one moment at a time.