Page 36 of The Secret Word (Twist Upon a Regency Tale #10)

C hris was home! Clem felt she could take her first deep breath in three days. Her father had been uncharacteristically pleasant when he was staying with them, after his defeat over the doctor. She had been afraid he would find some way to reassert himself that might harm her husband.

But Chris returned safely, swearing to Clem that the children had grown visibly in the few days he had been absent.

Father would be back again in a couple of weeks, for the children’s christening, and so would the other godparents. Others of the Satterthwaites and Thurgoods too, coming to pay their respects once Clem was churched and therefore officially back in Society.

And Billy O’Hara, who would—Chris said—be traveling as William Harrington.

Clem had received a polite note from Mr. Harrington thanking her for her offer of hospitality and saying he would be taking accommodation in the area, which was a relief.

Clem was by no means certain that she was up to being Ramping Billy’s hostess.

Not, at least, at the same time as she was providing hospitality to her father, the Earl and Countess of Crosby, the Earl and Countess of Halton, and Lady Fernvale. Not to mention various cousins.

Father arrived two days before the service, and immediately protested that he had not been asked to be Will’s godfather.

“But Wright,” Chris said, “I thought you were convinced you would not live to see him reach adulthood. Of course, as his grandfather, we hope you will be here to see him grow up, but I am sure you agree with the importance of choosing younger people for the role of godparent.”

Chris always seemed to know how to draw Father’s fangs, and Lord and Lady Crosby arrived at that moment, so they had an excuse to leave him so they could greet the new guests.

Having them all in the house was as difficult as Clem had expected. Not that the other guests were a problem, but Father made everything more difficult than it needed to be, and Chris and Lady Fernvale were hard-pressed to keep him soothed and as content as was ever likely to happen.

It didn’t help that Will had a snuffly nose and was angry about it. Clem found herself counting down hours and days. How many hours until Father would go to bed again. How many days until he left?

Thank goodness she was feeding her own children! It gave her an excellent excuse to leave the company at regular intervals and for up to half an hour at a time—longer, if they refused to feed at the same time.

How grateful she was to the other ladies of the company, who took her disappearances in their stride, and to Chris, who kept thinking of new ways to keep the gentlemen busy.

She was relieved when the Christening Day arrived. She would be churched first, followed by the baptism. Will’s sniffle appeared to have disappeared overnight, and she fed them both just before it was time to leave for church, in the hopes that they’d sleep until it was time to pour water on them.

The churching service was called in the Book of Common Prayer , “The Service of Thanksgiving for Women After Childbirth, commonly called The Churching of Women.” It, and the baptism to follow, were celebrated as part of the usual Sunday morning service, so the house party arrived at the church in several carriages and were met by a crowd of villagers, countryfolk, local gentry, and the crowd from the school, who had walked to church through the woods.

Clem had met many of the locals before she went into confinement, and the gentry wives had visited while she was lying-in, so their way through the crowd was slow, as she and Chris introduced their guests to the local notables and everyone admired what they could see of the twins, who were bundled up in shawls against the chill spring wind.

The churching was done first. Clem left the twins with their nursemaids and knelt to say the prayers and receive the blessing.

Next came the ordinary prayers of the service.

When it was time for the homily, the vicar spoke on the significance of infant baptism, and the important role of godparents in bringing children up to believe in God and to be good Christians.

Then it was time for the baptism. Clem, who was by now holding Bel while Chris had Will in his arms, passed her daughter to Lady Fernvale. Chris, as he left the pew with his darling burden, was met by a man who was a stranger to Clem—a gentleman by his dress, which was neat, but unobtrusive.

There was nothing about the man himself to draw the eye, either. He was of medium size and build, his hair mid-brown in color, his features even and pleasant, with no distinguishing characteristics.

Chris passed Will to the man, who held him with accustomed ease. Then he looked at Clem with familiar hazel eyes and bowed slightly. It was only then that she recognized him as Ramping Billy O’Hara!

Lady Fernvale nudged Clem and she continued on to the baptismal font, where she found herself standing next to one of the most feared denizens of the stews of London while he promised solemnly on Will’s behalf to renounce the devil and all his works, and to keep obediently God’s holy will and commandments.

Will slept through the prayers, readings, exhortations, and vows, but when he had the holy water poured on him, he woke yelling.

Mr. O’Hara did not flinch, but held him steadily until the vicar was finished and moved on to repeat that part of the ceremony for Bel.

Clem was itching to rescue her son, or was it Mr. O’Hara?

But he held the little man with one deft hand while tucking the shawl back into place with the other, then lifted Will against his shoulder and rocked the baby gently, patting him with one hand while murmuring a song in his ear.

It was too quiet for Clem to make out the words, but it worked. Will settled, hiccupped, and went back to sleep.

Aunt Fern was equally capable with Bel, but then Clem had expected that. Nor was she surprised that Aunt Fern refused Bel’s nursemaid’s offer to take the baby. Clem would have taken her, too, but Aunt Fern was absorbed in her newest godchild, and Clem let her be.

More surprising was that Mr. O’Hara did the same with Will, watching the vicar with those calm hazel eyes, while continuing to murmur to the sleeping baby for the remainder of the service.

She noted, however, that he was the only member of the christening party not to go up to communion.

After the service, Chris introduced “Mr. Harrington” to his distinguished relatives, to Father, to the vicar, to the neighbors, and all without anyone showing the least recognition. Father, at least, had met O’Hara before, and so—she was certain—had several of the other men.

“My friend, Mr. Harrington, a gentleman from London,” Chris said, and “Harrington” nodded, smiled, and made polite conversation, all without disturbing Will, who slumbered peacefully on the man’s shoulder.

*

Billy came back to the house, where their kitchen and the school kitchen had combined forces to put on a celebratory feast. He stayed only long enough to give Clem the gifts he had brought for the children—silver mugs engraved with their names and the date of the christening—and a bone teething ring each, one carved with flowers and one with dogs and balls.

“Something as a keepsake, and something that might be useful,” he said, almost apologetically, as Clem opened the boxes in which the gifts were presented. After that, he made his farewells.

Chris walked him with him to the stables, where his carriage was waiting. “Thank you for coming. And thank you for agreeing to stand up for Will.”

“Has Wright mentioned the alterations he’s doing on his house?” Billy asked.

“No, he hasn’t,” Chris replied, his eyes widening, for Wright was not the sort to spend money unless he had to, and prone to boast about his plans when he did spend money. “What sort of alterations?”

“I don’t know yet,” Billy admitted. “He has builders in, and the painters are expected next week. He is redoing a room, or possibly more than one room, on the floor where he has his bedroom.”

“He has said nothing,” Chris said.

“Is that unusual for him?”

“It is.”

“Hmmm.” Billy nodded at his driver. “Straight back to London, Steve.” He then held his hand out to shake Chris’s. “Thank you for asking me, Christopher. Ask Wright about the alterations. I do not trust him.”

Neither did Chris. And he trusted Wright still less when he managed to turn the conversation around to several months ago when he and Clem were preparing the country house for them to live in.

“We’d been advised not to live in the house while the main part of the building was full of builders and painters. Even a room or two can disrupt the whole house, we were told. Have you found that, sir?”

Wright shook his head. “I haven’t had builders working in a house I was occupying. Decorators once, long ago, when I first moved to London and purchased the current townhouse.” He chuckled. “I ended up setting up a cot in my office.”

“I remember that,” Clem commented. “Our whole house smelled of paint for weeks, and my governess had to shout to be heard over the noise. We had terrible headaches.” Which meant Wright had expected his daughter and servants to continue living in the mess and disruption.

No mention of the current work. Either Billy was wrong, or Wright was hiding things. Or, Chris supposed, Billy was lying to cause trouble between Wright and Chris.

“Michael,” Chris asked, when he and his cousin had a moment to talk in relative privacy, “may I ask a favor? Would you call on my father-in-law and try to find out what building work he is having done?”

*

By early afternoon, the neighbors had all gone home, and some of the cousins had also departed. But Lord Crosby and Lord Halton remained. “Might I have a look at the school before I leave for London?” Lord Crosby asked, and Lord Halton nodded. “I would like that, too.”

Chris sent a footman to ask Partridge if it would be convenient. Clem begged off, saying that she would be going upstairs to feed the children, but the remaining relatives and Wright all joined the tour.

It was the first time that Wright had shown an interest—Chris hoped he might be impressed, but if so, he did not show it.

The earls both asked interested questions about the curriculum while their wives seemed impressed by the bedchambers and classrooms. All four commented on the excellent manners and neat appearance of the boys.

Harry, Michael, and some of the other cousins joined in a game of cricket that one of the teachers had organized on the back lawn, while the other gentlemen questioned Partridge about his educational methods and the ladies talked to Mrs. Westbridge about the challenges of housing, feeding, and raising fifteen boys.

On the whole, Chris was pleased. But the best part of the day was when they had all gone home, and he went up to his bedchamber to see what was keeping his wife. She had probably fallen asleep, and so he had told their guests.

Sure enough, there she was, in their bed. He would have loved to have crawled into bed beside her and woken her in the most delightful of ways. But Mrs. Greene had warned him not to press his attentions on her until she had finished healing, and besides, she needed her sleep.

His desire for her, which had only grown over time, would have to wait until she was ready. Until then, he was happy to spend his nights with the comfort of her beside him.

Then she stirred in the bed, opened her eyes, and smiled when she saw him. “How are our guests?” she asked, sleepily.

“All gone home,” he said.

“Good,” she said, sitting up in bed and letting the sheet fall away. She was wearing nothing at all. “Now come here, Chris. For I am well and I have missed you.”