16. Time Apart

TIME APART

M arch, Arthur Gilcrest's family home, Galewick Manor, Sussex, England

"There you go, sweet girl." Naomi adjusted the tip of her breast for her daughter to latch onto more effectively. Baby Amelia Augustine Gilcrest was the spitting image of her father. Her dark brown eyes matched Arthur's perfectly, from the coffee-colored shade to the golden flecks that danced around her pupils. Her hair remained blond, but Naomi thought it might eventually turn darker to match her father's as well.

Initially, Arthur's mother had been disappointed that Amelia wasn't a boy, but when her granddaughter had opened her eyes and gazed up at her, the starchy countess had declared herself quite smitten. As had her uncle.

Lord Tempest was nothing at all like Arthur had been. Where Arthur's hair had been a soft brown color, Tempest's was black. And whereas her husband had been quick to laugh, his older brother's mouth twisted into a permanent scowl.

But after insisting she belonged with them, they had welcomed her into their home.

They had been kind to her. More so now that she was the mother of their only grandchild. And they loved little Amelia—even if she wasn't a boy.

"One hundred percent the little lady, aren't you? Luke was right all along."

Not a day went by without Luke coming to mind. Not an hour, and sometimes, hardly a minute.

Lady Tempest had been cool and distant at first, and although she was considerably reserved, she had warmed to her over time.

"Ladies Lucinda and Lydia are downstairs in the west parlor, Madam." Gabby, one of the more enthusiastic housemaids, hovered just outside the nursery. Amelia's nurse rose as though to take Amelia, but Naomi held out a hand to halt her.

"Send them up, Gabby. I'm sure they're here to see the baby as much as they're here to see me." She laughed. "Perhaps even more so."

With Crescent Park neighboring Galewick Manor, Lydia and Lucinda had fast become good friends to her. They reminded Naomi of her own sister, Theodosia, and their visits eased some of the loneliness she felt due to her own family's continued refusal to acknowledge her.

Even Blackheart had visited her on one occasion. He was… an enigmatic gentleman. Although his demeanor implied indifference, his actions spoke of at least some degree of care. Had Luke asked him to look after her?

Of course, he must have.

Luke's last afternoon at Milton Cottage had been achingly bittersweet. They'd held one another until the last possible moment, only climbing out of her bed when the coach bringing Mrs. Cromwell, the companion Blackheart sent over, was nearly upon the house.

Once Mrs. Cromwell had settled in, the three of them had traveled into the village again and visited the mercantile, the small church, and then suffered through a polite but oddly emotional dinner with his family. Luke had then escorted both Naomi and Mrs. Cromwell back home, and after the older woman disappeared into the house, the two of them had bid farewell to one another in the darkness, neither willing to relinquish the other.

She'd not cried, though. She hadn't wanted him to worry about her while he was gone. It was more important that he worry for himself.

She'd kept her tears in check until she was alone and could bury her face in the pillow he'd shared with her, inhaling the remnants of his scent.

He'd slept at the inn that night and departed for Portsmouth at sunup. He'd promised her he would speak with Blackheart about his intentions to sell out and that he would write to her.

The very afternoon following his departure, the orderly quiet of her life had been upended again when Arthur's brother and mother, as well as a handful of servants, arrived and insisted she take up residence in their home as Arthur's widow.

Perhaps if she'd been stronger, she would have resisted them. She might have asserted her independence and insisted on remaining at Milton Cottage with Ester.

But she'd just bid the man she loved goodbye and she'd promised Luke she wouldn't take any unnecessary risks with the baby or herself. He'd ordered her not to climb any ladders, not to allow herself to become chilled. He'd told her to be sure to eat well and then begged that she not go into the village alone. Any other time and she wouldn't have allowed him to be so bossy but he'd needed her reassurance.

Neither had addressed the fact that he would be in almost constant danger. If he could trust that she was safe, they both seemed to understand, he could apply his efforts toward keeping himself from harm.

"Is she sleeping?" The whispered question came from the direction of the doorway, stirring Naomi from her thoughts as she looked up to greet her visitors. Lucinda, the one who had spoken, entered first and tiptoed across the brightly lit room decorated with pink ribbons and silk flowers. Naomi had come to recognize the differences between Luke's twin sisters most of the time. Lucinda was the bolder of the two and tended to draw reprimands from Mrs. Cromwell more often than Lydia did.

Lydia, although quiet, paid close attention to all that was going on around her. Her figure was the slightest bit rounder than her sister's, and she had a small white scar at the bottom of her lip.

Naomi's regard for them had only grown with the length of their acquaintance.

"She's eating," Naomi answered in a normal voice. "She keeps trying to fall asleep, and I have to stroke her little chin so she'll finish." It had taken her a while to learn this trick. The first few weeks, her little one had wanted to nurse almost continuously, taking very small breaks and napping often in between. The nurse hired by Lady Tempest had suggested she try to keep Amelia awake and eating longer, and Naomi was immensely relieved when that had worked.

"She is growing so quickly!" Lucinda pulled a chair over so that it was right beside Naomi while Lydia lowered herself into one halfway across the room.

"We were here two days ago, Luce," Lydia reminded her sister.

"Oh, that reminds me." Lucinda opened her reticule and withdrew an envelope from inside. "Another letter arrived."

Naomi's heart raced when she saw the familiar handwriting. Once Luke had learned she was residing at Galewick Manor rather than Milton Cottage, he'd directed his correspondence to Crescent Park, and then the girls couriered it to her privately. The Duke of Blackheart wasn't nearly the stickler he was rumored to be.

Naomi tucked it into the sleeve of her gown to read later and to keep it hidden in case Lady Tempest decided to join them.

It would be unseemly for Luke to send letters to her here, at the home of her dead husband's family. Six months remained of her mourning period.

"He doesn't know when he'll be returning yet," Lydia offered gently. "Likely if it weren't for you, we wouldn't hear from him at all. Luke's never been much for writing."

But he was safe. Or he had been up until he'd posted his letters, and that would have to be enough to calm Naomi's worries.

"You know, Lydia, if Luke's regiment is able to return for the Season again this year, you might be able to visit with him then. And, who knows, you may see someone you like this time. All those men in their colors, it's so very exciting, isn't it?" said Lucinda.

Lydia hummed agreeably, but her mild expression didn't change much.

A mischievous twinkle appeared in Lucinda's eye. "I heard…" she continued with faux casualness, "that the Earl of Tempest might be attending this year as well."

Lydia blushed. "Lucy!" she chastised.

The whole exchange had Naomi feeling a touch nostalgic. The glamour and sophistication of a London ball seemed worlds away. Naomi's entire life had flipped upside down since she'd last concerned herself with parties and fashionable gowns and flirting and dancing. Theodosia was expected to make her come-out this spring and Naomi would not be there to encourage her.

"When is Blackheart taking you to London?"

"We'll leave two weeks before Easter. That will allow plenty of time to have any necessary alterations made to my gowns and to explore the city. Oh, I do wish you could be there." Lydia, always the practical one, grimaced. She, of course, realized that even if Lady Tempest wasn't adamant that they all wear blacks for an entire year, it would be considered unseemly for Naomi to attend any ton events.

That aside, she wasn't prepared to leave Amelia alone quite yet and, truth be told, Naomi wasn't prepared to face the world again, even if the world deigned to receive her . She'd been involved in the very worst type of scandal. Her parents had made it clear that she would not have their support, and Naomi doubted she'd have the support of the people she'd once considered friends.

Amelia made a cooing sound, one of satisfaction, and Naomi glanced down just in time to see her daughter pop off her breast and smack her tiny lips. "Such a good girl," Naomi praised her daughter, dabbing her nipple with the small receiving blanket. It was a relief whenever her breasts emptied, especially after that first uncomfortable month.

Lady Tempest had considered Naomi foolish to nurse Amelia herself, but Naomi had been adamant. Despite experiencing difficulties early on, she believed that in providing the natural nourishment her body produced as a mama, she was developing an unbreakable bond with this tiny creature she'd given birth to. And until Luke returned, her baby was the only person who was truly hers.

Nearly three months had passed since she'd seen him. Would he regret what they'd done before he left? What if his affection for her diminished?

It wasn't until each of her two visitors had taken a turn burping and holding little Amelia and the nurse had taken her to rock and put down for a nap that Naomi was able to slip quietly into her personal chamber and break the seal on his letter.

She slid the foolscap out and inhaled deeply before unfolding it. She could almost imagine where his fingers had touched it. It smelled woodsy, a little smoky, and… anything else was likely her imagination.

She opened it up and savored every word and then read through the letter again and again before folding it carefully and inserting it into the back of her journal.

To my dear sweet Naomi,

A girl! I smiled the entire day after reading your letter. And must I remind you that you now have yet another reason to bow to my great wisdom upon my return?

I yearn to be home with you. This autumn, I will take you to Grainger Hall, my estate. I haven't been there in ages but am grateful now knowing we will have a place we can make our own—make our home.

Until then, I express with all my heart that I am overjoyed to hear that both you and little Amelia are healthy and well. Is she as beautiful as you? Of course, she is. I am imagining her now, with golden-blonde hair and eyes the color of the sky on a summer day… In England. In the country.

Are her eyes the color of the sky like yours?

I'd forgotten how heavy the air hovers here. The sun burns hot without fail, but the worst is the endless humidity. Not a cool and fresh quality like the English countryside but a hot, sticky atmosphere that never evaporates on one's skin and keeps your sheets damp during the night. (Not a genteel topic but neither is this letter.)

Even worse than the weather is the distance between us. Your letters provide me with manna, and I am compelled to read them over and over again. At night, I lay in bed and relive our time together. I picture you as you must look, with your babe at your breast, safe, content, and… waiting for me.

As midnight turns to early morning, I picture you as you were the last day at Milton Cottage. I remember the feel of your most sensitive flesh… your taste. I doubt you can ever imagine how beautiful you are. All of you. In the time we spent together, you captured my heart and added purpose to my life.

I have two objectives right now: The first is to accomplish this damn mission so that I can journey back to you, and the second—to stay alive for the exact same reason.

Well, perhaps not in that order. Nonetheless, everything I do is so that I can return to you.

Yours forever,

Luke