19. Her Daughter’s Father

HER DAUGHTER'S FATHER

W hen Naomi had first arrived at Galewick Manor, Lady Tempest allotted Naomi one of the guest chambers near the nursery. The countess had confessed that she hadn't the heart to move Arthur's effects out of his chamber. Naomi had been grateful for this at the time but was even more so now.

The day following Arthur's return, Lady Tempest had demanded everyone throw off their blacks and that the black crepe paper be taken down at once.

Whereas before the household had mourned, they now waited anxiously while the prospect of death merely hovered.

Three separate physicians had examined Arthur on different days, all providing a similar prognosis. They would treat the malaria with quinine; his condition would be touch and go, but even if he survived, it would compromise his health for the remainder of his life.

It was not, however, considered to be catching.

No one dared speak of the scabs, although one of the physicians had sent Naomi a warning look. She had nodded in understanding.

Arthur's fevers would come and go, and that was to be expected. Even so, Naomi was surprised when he made an appearance in the nursery.

She had been feeding Amelia, rocking her and singing to her, the gentle motions soothing Naomi as well as she gazed down at that tiny face, eyes wandering from soft brows to closed eyelids to that little button nose. Her daughter gave her comfort she never would have known.

When she glanced up from watching Amelia's chubby little cheeks move as her daughter suckled at her breast, Naomi startled to see the door open and Arthur leaning against the frame, watching her.

Instinctively, she covered herself and the baby with a small blanket.

"I was certain we would have a boy," he commented casually.

He appeared slightly healthier than he had on the day of his arrival, which was to be expected now that he'd begun treatment and had a chance to rest, but his shoulders remained slumped, his breathing slightly labored.

Part of her pitied him, but she was also repulsed, both physically and emotionally. There was a new scab on his cheek, covered with paint.

She could not hate him for the havoc he'd brought into her life, last spring and then after, and now with his return. He'd given her Amelia. For that, she would stand by him.

She could not hate him.

She had lain with him ages ago. She'd given herself to the creature standing before her, and together they'd created a child. She glanced down at the tiny face that was staring up at her with absolute adoration and trust.

"I wouldn't trade her for anything. She is perfect."

Naomi would protect this child with her life.

Arthur moved into the room and dropped into one of the wooden chairs beside her. She resisted the urge to cringe away from him. "Are you in much pain?" she asked. His faithlessness now lacked the ability to torment her.

Bridget hadn't been the only one.

"Pain? What is pain, Mimi?" His expression was oddly reminiscing. "The pain of looking like half a man. The pain of being utterly helpless. I had to stop and rest twice while I was looking for you." She flicked a glance to the sore on his hand, and he immediately covered it with the other.

"Why did you do it? Why did you need other women? Wasn't I enough?" This had bothered her ever since her run-in with Bridget.

"I never intended to settle down." He lifted one shoulder casually. "You were ruined—so I married you. But I didn't think that would mean I'd have to become a monk."

He had ruined her. He'd planted his seed in her belly. No, they both had done that together. She'd take responsibility for what she'd done.

But the truth was somewhat lowering. When Arthur had said he'd love her forever, declared her to be the loveliest lady of his acquaintance, he'd not been courting her for marriage. It had only been flirtation on his part. Knowing this was painful, but it also helped to relieve some of the guilt she'd felt for falling in love with Luke so quickly after Arthur's "death."

"You know I love you though, right, Mimi? And I'll be better in a while. The fevers come and go. I'll take you and the babe back to Milton Cottage and we can start over." He reached across the space between them and dropped his hand on her knee. "Nothing has to change."

Surely, he didn't think—Naomi bolted off the chair, clutching Amelia, and then scurried across the room. Her heart was suddenly racing. She could not allow him to believe she'd ever be a wife to him again. She'd lain with him for the last time—before he'd gone away, back when she'd believed what they had was real.

"Are you insane?" she finally managed in a whisper, careful not to upset her daughter. "I'm not fool enough to not know what those lesions are. I would have been loyal to you forever. Do you realize that? Speaking those vows meant something to me."

Arthur scoffed. "Men are different, Mimi."

"Don't call me that." It was what he'd called her when she'd thought he loved her. At the time, the shortened version of her name had been special. He had made her feel special.

And then he'd made her feel dirty.

"You're overreacting." He waggled his eyebrows in the manner she'd once considered to be charming. Dear God, she'd found him irresistible. And now she felt nothing but sadness, regret, and revulsion.

"I am not."

"Luke poisoned you against me, didn't he? In that letter he sent." Suddenly, Arthur's expression wasn't so amiable at all. His entire face turned dark with suspicion.

Naomi was shaking her head. "I never got the letter. I didn't realize you were even alive until you arrived and found me in the garden."

"But he's been telling you lies. You think I caught a disease by rutting with some trollop? These are simply sores… from the fever."

She flinched. He'd never spoken to her with such disrespect and callousness before. And that he would lie… that he would put her in danger.

He had changed in so many ways. She wanted to believe he had not been this way before. If he had been, then what did that make her? Because… she had loved him. Not in the way she loved Luke, but she had found contentment and happiness. Yes, she'd found some happiness with him.

Amelia chose that moment to squirm and make a cooing sound.

The darkness fled from Arthur's face and he was once again looking nothing if not amicable. Had she imagined his outburst?

"May I hold her?" His brown eyes warmed into a pleading look.

Naomi never could have imagined the turmoil his return would bring. Arthur was Amelia's father. But he was also ill and unpredictable and a little bit… frightening.

"Please?" For all his misdeeds, she couldn't refuse him this.

Naomi liked to wrap Amelia so she was snug and safe inside her blanket. She was easier to hold this way. Arthur wouldn't drop his daughter. The blankets wouldn't allow any of the scabs to touch her baby soft skin.

For all his ugliness, he seemed to genuinely care for their daughter. It was in his eyes.

Arthur adjusted his posture and reached out to her. As she settled her most precious darling into his arms, a wave of memories washed over her. Of their wedding day, when he'd clasped her fingers in his and solemnly recited vows as instructed by the man at the anvil. Those few weeks had been exciting and fun and filled with new adventure. And then other memories crept in.

The doubt that had niggled at her when he hadn't written to her from the front, when the funds necessary for living hadn't arrived, and then that day when Luke had arrived. Her hands shook while she helped arrange Amelia in his arms.

"Luke's been nothing but kind to me." She took a half step away but hovered anxiously, to take her baby back if need be. "He informed me of the assault in person. When he saw that the house needed repairs, he stayed at the coaching inn at Hull Crossings so he could take care of them." And when we discovered your ultimate betrayal, he protected me.

"She looks just like me, doesn't she?"

Something unraveled from around her heart. "She does." This was a special moment for him. Despite his unfaithfulness, he would always be Amelia's father.

"Hello there, little darling. I'm your father."

Naomi clutched her hands in front of her as Amelia reached a tiny fist up to Arthur's chin. Don't breathe on her. It made her anxious. His sores. The ague.

She could not allow it any longer. "It's time for her nap." Arthur was Amelia's father, but Naomi would protect her child first. Always. It was what mothers did.

Arthur slumped into the chair after Naomi removed the baby from his arms. Such a small thing had tired him. It had been good, though, for him to hold her.

"Once I'm well again, we'll return to Milton Cottage as a family. It will be good again, you'll see." But the whites of his eyes appeared even more yellow today. He was weakening.

It wasn't necessary for her to remind him that they would never be a family.

"You must rest now. Mr. Webbs can assist you back to your chamber." She crossed the room and tugged at the bell pull.

"Mimi?" His voice had her turning back to meet his gaze.

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry."

All she could think to do was nod. Forgiveness would not be easy. Perhaps in time.

She would never love him again. But she had no idea how much longer he was of this earth.

"I am too."