Page 96 of The Ladies Least Likely
“He’s howling mad, innit ’e,” Wenna confirmed. “Goes on and on about his heir. You’d think that’s all he cared about.”
It is all he cared about , Thaker said. He hoisted the boy in one arm and with his free hand set out the things for tea. Amaranthe smiled to see her friend so domesticated. At least things had gone well for Thaker since she left.
What about Eyde ? Thaker asked. He outlined a pregnant belly in front of his waist.
“She’s with me,” Amaranthe signed back. “Married to a Welshman named Davey—no, you’d like him!” she insisted when Thaker shook his head and huffed. “And her child Derwa is nearly six. Healthy and bright as a button.”
“She’s the one I was brought on to replace, then,” Wenna said.
“The baronet didn’t want to keep me when I took up with Thaker, but the lady couldn’t get any other help.
Everyone here knew what himself had done to Eyde.
I told him I had the pox when ee first come at me, and ee let me alone after that. ”
Mal fell into a coughing fit and reached for a dish of tea too. Amaranthe grinned. “I wish I had thought to do that.”
Thaker put down the struggling boy to bring biscuits to the table. The child crawled to Mal, grunting, and pulled himself to a standing position using the cuff of Mal’s boot.
“Da,” he said seriously, regarding his guest.
“I should say so.” Mal nodded in agreement, blowing on his tea.
Amaranthe’s heart melted, watching Mal with the child. She liked the calm, direct manner he had with his siblings, but seeing him interact with the infant made her all soft and whimmy.
She’d never envisioned herself in a warm kitchen with babes crawling about her; her dreams involved vellum folios and inks.
But a sudden, wild notion filled her. A vision of herself in her parlor, the light falling like gold leaf over her page.
Her cleaning her knife and capping her ink as Mal entered with a babe cradled in his arms. Their babe, with his blue eyes and rakish smile and that fearless way he had of confronting the world.
Her vision swam, her ears ringing with a faint, high sound for a moment. She blinked to find Thaker standing before her. He pressed his hands together, then turned them open, watching her with a curious, expectant look.
“A prayer?” Amaranthe pointed to the sky. “Of thanks, that we are together again?” She had taught Thaker the simple prayers, rector’s daughter that she was.
He shook his head, giving his hoarse, high chuckle. He left the room, and Amaranthe turned to Wenna. “What do you think Reuben will do now?”
Wenna set the shawl aside and propped up the baby while she adjusted her bodice. Morvath belched, then looked about with a satisfied smile.
“Hold ’er?” Wenna rose from the chair and handed the infant to Amaranthe. “Me luv forgot the butter. I expect the baronet will marry afore his mourning is done, fixed on having an heir as ee is.”
“Who inherits if Reuben does not have a child?” Mal asked. He watched with interest as Amaranthe tried first one way, then another of holding the squirming infant. Finally, she and Morvath agreed that she would hold the babe upright so she could look about.
“Joseph,” Amaranthe answered. When she drew breath her head filled with the milky scent of child. A sensation she had never experienced, never thought to experience, twinged through her belly. The soft, warm weight on her lap felt lovely.
“Our father was the second son, and entail is on the heirs male,” Amaranthe explained. “So Joseph is the next baronet if Reuben does not sire a boy.”
Her attention fixed on Thaker as he entered the room carrying something wrapped in linen.
Something the size of a book. Her breath stopped when he withdrew the covering and placed a leather-bound parcel on the table before her.
She barely felt it when he lifted Morvath and cradled the baby while Wenna turned from the pantry to regard her curiously.
All Amaranthe heard was the blood in her ears. She recognized the dark leather. With trembling fingers she unwound the long straps and opened the cover.
“My book.” She looked up but saw nothing at first, her eyes blurred with tears. For a moment, the signs she wanted escaped her. “You rescued my book?”
Wenna glanced at her husband and took the lead explaining.
“Me luv went to the gig that day to wash it, seeing it was splashed with mud,” she said.
“And ee saw your book in the well. Didn’t want to wet it, now did ee, so ee set it aside meaning to give to you later.
Only you disappeared that day, miss—and we know now why you did—but ee didna have a chance to return it. ”
“You had it all this time,” Amaranthe breathed. “It’s safe. It’s not damaged at all.” Her eyes filled with tears of joy.
“We’re sorry, miss, that we had to keep it,” Wenna said.
“Watched the mail, we did, to see if we could find your address or direction. But we never saw post from you, and when I asked at the house, it was all surly answers. We wanted to return it to you all this time, but we didn’t know where you were. ”
“It’s all right.” Amaranthe laughed shakily. “In truth, I hardly dared hope I would find it again. I thought Reuben had stolen it and, I don’t know—burned it out of spite.”
She lifted the pages delicately. They were as fresh and beautiful as they’d been six years ago. Her first book, the cornerstone of her collection. The first in her library, back when she meant to become simply an antiquarian bookseller and not also a thief.
“Then we did all right, me luv,” Wenna said softly.
“More than all right,” Amaranthe said, signing to her friend with an expansive gesture. “Thaker, Wenna—thank you. I can’t tell how much this means to me.”
She lifted eyes blurred with tears to find Mal watching her, his expression intent. She closed the pages gently and turned the book, shielded in its leather apron, to show him the list of women’s names on the front flyleaf. “Mal. It’s your mother’s name, isn’t it? She signed it Lady Vernay.”
His gaze riveted on the faded script, his throat working before he could voice the words. “But you said this was valuable. How would she have come by a Book of Hours?”
“You and your aunt both said she loved old things. Perhaps it was a wedding gift. His to her, most like. I expect your aunt sold it with some other things after she died. I wanted to ask her about it, but I had already been so pert.”
She laughed, the sound a bit wild with guilt. “By rights, the book ought to be yours, I suppose. But I have a bill of sale, you see.” And she didn’t want to part with her book again. Not for anything.
“I won’t attempt to take it from you. Only…” Mal lifted a hand and traced a finger over his mother’s name, all he had left of her. “If she wrote anything else in it, I hope you will let me see.”
Amaranthe closed the book and fastened the clasp, then wound the extra length of leather about it once more and bound the whole in the linen scrap. She held the book to her chest more tenderly than she had held the child. Her life had been restored to her, a great wrong made right.
“This is a priceless gift, Thaker. It makes me brave enough to face Reuben, even. I suppose it is time we went to the house.”