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Thirty-Four

KILMARNOCK ABBEY, EDINBURGH - SEPTEMBER 13, 1816

Xander,

Your concern over my well-being continues to overwhelm me.

Mother was not soothed by your letter, the first you have written directly to her. She has once again returned to the changeling theory. I suggested we wait to see if the changeling is an improvement over the original before taking rash action. She agreed.

If my new niece reminds you of me in temperament, I am certain I shall find her charming. After all, I am the most delightful person you know.

A friend, you say… It is strange. I heard from Lady Grayson that her brother-in-law packed up and left for Scotland with no warning shortly after you left. Your friend would not happen to have long, cricket-like limbs would they?

Best Wishes,

Davina

P.S. You’re still working on repairs? Just how unsuitable was the place?

XANDER

If there was a task in the world more infuriating than hanging wallpaper, I didn’t know it. My hatred was readily apparent, a fact Tom found impossibly amusing. It had been a few weeks since Sorcha was at all helpful in repairs—too uncomfortable to manage—but she was happy to provide commentary. Between the two of them, I was ready to throw something.

“That’s a wee bit crooked,” she commented from the chaise where she enjoyed a glass of lemonade. “A little to the left.”

“To the left? I’m not certain. I think it should go to the right,” Tom added, egging her on from where he splayed across the floor, trying to measure the strips while I battled with the paste.

“It’s perfectly centered. Anyone with the tiniest bit of common sense could see that.”

“Is it?” he questioned, an amused note ringing in his voice.

“If it’s not, it is because it was cut incorrectly. And that would make it your fault.”

“No, the cut looks straight to me,” Sorcha said. “Maybe it’s yer eyes. Do ye need spectacles?”

“I don’t need spectacles,” I insisted at precisely the same moment that Tom said, “You would look handsome with spectacles.”

“Agh, boys. Save yer flirting for later. Yer too sweet. Gives me a toothache.”

“Well, if you don’t want to see it, you could go provide your helpful commentary elsewhere. Perhaps Jamie would enjoy it.”

“I dinnae know what yer talking aboot,” she said with a huff. As though she didn’t duck behind the nearest table or grab the closest cushion every time she saw him. I suspected he wasn’t entirely indifferent to her either, given the flush of his cheeks each time he saw her. Some men preferred the company of both men and women, I knew that, but I didn’t know him well enough to confirm he was one of them.

“He is sure to notice when there’s a babe about. And it’s not as though he’ll believe Xander or I popped it out,” Tom mumbled, one end of the measuring tape between his teeth as he pressed the other end down with a foot.

“‘Popped it oot’? How do ye think bairns come into the world?”

Tom spit out the tape and began to cut. “I’m certain I don’t know the details. And the few that I do know, I wish I didn’t.”

“Men,” she humphed. “Yer mother didnae teach ye?”

“I do my best to forget absolutely everything my mother taught me. It’s in the best interests of myself, everyone around me, and society at large to do so.”

He rose to all fours to roll out another length of the silk paper, a silvery grey damask he’d liked. I took a break to appreciate the view. Unfortunately, the paper I was hanging chose that moment to flop off the wall and onto my head.

I was met with nothing but laughter when I finally freed myself from the sticky prison—with no help from anyone else, I might add.

“Ugh! You fight with it.” I half tossed the paste brush at Tom’s still laughing face.

“That’s what ye get for yer ogling,” Sorcha called as I stomped out of the room to remove the glue from my hair before it caused irrevocable damage of some sort.

Some half an hour later, I returned to the drawing room to find half the panels I had been struggling with hung.

The pattern didn’t line up, and I was certain it would make my eye twitch until the end of time, but the gesture was kind and I didn’t have to be the one to hang it.

There, on the settee, lay Sorcha. Tom knelt on the floor at her side, a hand on her belly with hers overtop. “Does it hurt? The kicking?”

“Just when the lad hits an organ. He likes to aim for my bladder.”

“He?”

“Only a man would cause this much trouble.”

Tom chuckled.

“May I?” I interrupted, and both of them turned to notice me. Sorcha nodded and Tom scooted to one side.

I settled beside her as Tom had and she grabbed my hand and placed it on the curve of her belly. Beneath layers of fabric and skin, I felt it. A tiny thump met my hand. Again and again, the babe made its presence known, thumping away. My heart swelled.

I met Sorcha’s gaze and, though I couldn’t have named it, there was something in her expression.

“Tom, would you give us a moment?” she asked.

He nodded, then climbed off the floor as Sorcha moved to sit upright, offering me half of the settee. The door snicked shut behind Tom, leaving a vacuum.

I settled beside Sorcha, one knee tucked under my leg to face her. She mirrored my position as best she could in her present state.

She swallowed, and her tongue darted between her lips to wet them before she spoke. “I need to ask ye something.”

“Yes?”

“This babe. I need him to be yers.”

“What?”

“I need ye to claim him, raise him as yer own.”

“But—”

“What my pa did for me… It gave me a life, kept me from shame. I need ye to do that for this babe.”

Comprehension dawned and I felt my hands rise to begin a defense. “Sorcha, I?—”

“A man’s trueborn son or daughter, even if there are raised brows, has a far better life than a bastard with no father.”

I could feel my chest tightening, knotting. “I intended to raise the child as a ward. Would that not suffice?”

“Ye did?”

“Of course I did. What did you think I meant when I suggested you both live here?”

One hand spilled in front of her, splaying out, palm open. The gesture was one of mine that she either came by innately or learned in recent weeks. Though the habit was irritating on myself, it was charming on her. “I didnae know. I thought ye might like to run a halfway house for fallen nieces.”

“Sorcha, if I find a way to claim this child, and I’m not saying it’s even possible, but it would be final. I couldn’t undo it. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, you would be a mere cousin—to your own babe.”

“It’s not as though I wouldnae see the babe. That ye wouldnae let me care for it.”

“And that would be enough? To help raise a child, your child, but never hear them call you mother?”

“Xander, please. I cannae marry him—he was a liar and unkind. But neither can I imagine…” She broke off with a sigh, shaking her head before forging on.

“The greatest gift my ma ever gave me was marrying my pa. I had a name and a home. No one looked down on me or shunned me. And a babe could have a good life as yer ward. I know that. But I cannae give them a father’s name. You could though.”

“You’ve been considering this for quite some time, haven’t you?”

“Once I learned that yer not so wretched. Yes. The babe wouldnae have to inherit anything.” Her eyes were so wide and earnest.

“That’s not the way of things, I’m afraid. Firstborn sons inherit, no loopholes. And any child of mine, son or daughter, would be well cared for.”

“Oh, I see.” Her face fell, gaze finding the floorboards.

“I didn’t mean— I wouldn’t object to a child, your child inheriting. I just meant that it’s not how inheritances are managed.”

“So you would…”

“Consider it,” I finished for her. “I would consider it. Give me time to think?”

“Of course. Anything.”

“Was that all you wished to discuss?”

“Aye.”

“I don’t suppose you would help me finish with the wallpaper?”

“I would, but I’m so tired. I need to rest—the babe, ye see.”

I hummed, unimpressed, before pushing off the settee to my feet. The wallpapering called to me, with its slightly offset pattern. It was going to drive me to insanity. Sorcha’s skirts rustled as she slipped away before I could ask again her for assistance.

The dismay was rising when I felt a warm hand on my lower back. I turned in Tom’s arms and wrapped mine around his neck. “Thank you for working on this.”

His lips tipped into that upside down smile I loved so much. “I’ve done it wrong, haven’t I?”

“No, it’s perfect,” I rushed to assure him.

“Xander,” he growled. “Tell me.”

My head hinged back, eyes squeezing tight to restrain the unreasonable complaints.

Tom squeezed my waist, pressing me, forcing me to meet his gaze.

“All right, yes. It’s wrong. And when things are wrong and I cannot see them or do not know what it looks like when they’re done properly, it’s perfectly fine. But wallpapering should be seamless. I know that and I can see it. And every single seam is visible because the patterns aren’t matched. I know I should be grateful because I’ve already learned how absolutely wretched it is to put up. But it’s wrong, and it makes my brain itch.”

I watched as he bit the seam of his lips before freeing them, swollen and red. “Do you feel better?” He reached up and tucked a piece of damp hair behind my ear with a tender look in his eyes.

For a moment, I simply took stock. Some of the anxious tightness in my chest and head had abated but not all. The rest was entirely occupied with thoughts of Sorcha’s child—possibly my child—and where Tom fit into that entire mess.

“A little. Not entirely. But I’m not ready to discuss it yet.”

“Later?”

“Yes.”

“I can do that. Do you want to direct me while I try to fix it? Or do you want something to eat?”

“Do you suppose Murray can fix it? Or Kenna?”

“You don’t trust me to do it?”

“It’s more that I rather think I will drive you from the house, all the way back to London, never to be seen again if you have to listen to me while you hang it.”

He dipped to press a kiss to my temple. “Impossible. But I appreciate the sentiment. You’re overpaying them, they can hang it.”

“I am?”

“Oh yes.”

I couldn’t bring myself to be too irritated about it. They’d done far more than Tom and I would have managed in several lifetimes.

“Something to eat?” he pressed again.

My stomach answered for me with an angry grumble. Tom’s laugh mingled with my own as I trailed him out of the room and down the hall.

I already knew what answer I would give Sorcha. If she was certain, I would agree to her scheme. But Tom, so young and carefree, hadn’t chased me from London to play at father to an infant. Would that be the thing that was too much? I could only pray it would not be.