Widow in White

Chapter Two: No Precautions

London, early May

The baby was all wide, stunned blue eyes and slow-blinking black lashes. Laura, gazing into those eyes, felt the strangest mixture of happiness and pain, sickness and pleasure.

"She's grown so big," she said. "She was tiny when I last saw her."

Elizabeth, leaning back on a mound of cushions on the couch, gave a self-satisfied smile. "My children always grow quickly."

Laura grazed the baby's cheek with her finger and elicited a gurgle of contentment. Her heart ached at the sound.

"I couldn't be happier," Elizabeth continued with a sigh. "Unless she were a boy, of course."

A mute anger rose up inside Laura. In her arms, the baby started abruptly to cry, and Elizabeth hastily sat up and reached out to take her back. Almost instantly, the baby quietened, snuggling against her mother's breast and giving a drooly yawn. It was a wonder to Laura that Elizabeth could say what she said, could evidently feel it, and yet the baby was instantly at peace in her arms.

"She's tired," Elizabeth said, an unexpected gentleness to her voice. "Silly bub."

Laura flushed, having the sudden presentiment that she was eavesdropping on an intimate conversation — a ridiculous presentiment, for Lord Farthingdale and Richard were talking politics over by the fire and a nurse was sewing baby's linens by the window.

"And you? Are you tired?" Laura asked, noticing the deep circles under Elizabeth's eyes. The creases between her brows and around her mouth seemed deeper too — and deepened as Laura asked.

"Why do you say that?" she grumbled.

"Well it's hard, isn't it?" Laura said hastily. "Having a baby, I mean."

"Having seven of them now." Elizabeth's brow uncreased slightly and she looked almost thoughtful. She glanced surreptitiously at her husband and lowered her voice. "I have to confess, I hope this is the last."

Laura felt a stab of hurt.

"It is wearying," Elizabeth admitted, her voice sinking lower. "I didn't really want this one, when I found out. Now that she's here, I like her well enough, but I don't want to have to go through it all again."

Laura stared at the sleeping baby in Elizabeth's arms and felt again the mute anger rise up inside her. It wasn't fair. That Richard could not have children. That Elizabeth could and did not want to. Elizabeth was looking expectantly at her, as though awaiting a reply. Laura reminded herself that it wasn't Elizabeth's fault.

"It's hard," Laura said, with as much sympathy as she could muster.

Elizabeth looked down at her baby and then across the room to her husband. Her eyes were narrow and thoughtful.

"He's told me he wants another son," she said, her voice still low, with something of resentment coming into it. "Or else, you know, I might be able to persuade him to stop."

"Stop?"

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows meaningfully.

"Oh." Laura glanced over at Farthingdale, ginger and balding, with long, thick fingers, at the moment sprawling loose in his lap. Laura looked away again quickly, feeling faintly sick. "Oh dear."

"I can't make him see reason," Elizabeth continued, the resentment now clearly in her barely audible voice. "He has no thought for the distress it puts me through."

"I can imagine," Laura said politely, glancing over at Richard and trying to catch his attention. Anything to interrupt the conversation. But he was frowning politely at Farthingdale and nodding, with a look of the sort of intent concentration Laura by now knew meant his thoughts were very far away indeed.