Page 71 of The Scottish Duke
No, the Reverend McGill was standing in the corner. She would never have dreamed about him.
If this wasn’t a dream or a figment of her imagination, then she was certain that the rest of the world wasn’t going to be so pleased. Take the Earl of Montrassey, for example. Or Mary Taylor.
Nan, bless her, had attended the hurried ceremony as they clustered around her bed. Toward the end Lorna had been hard-pressed to repeat the words of her vow because her son—their son—was demanding to be born. Thankfully, only the midwife and the duchess were in the room when that event occurred. After she and the baby had been cleaned up and the linen replaced, everyone returned to greet the heir.
Now she wished they’d all leave so she could sleep.
Robbie, however, didn’t appear sleepy. He was squinting up at her and pummeling her with his tiny fists.
She glanced at the duchess, and bless the woman, Louise understood what was needed immediately. In moments she’d shooed everyone from the room except Alex.
Today, Lorna reflected, she’d been naked in front of the duchess and the midwife, and now, in order to breast-feed her child, was revealing herself to Alex. It was the first time since that night nearly a year ago. She would have preferred to be alone, but how did she banish the duchess and her husband?
Husband.One again that word didn’t make any sense. How could that gloriously handsome man be her husband?
The duchess helped Lorna sit up a little, unfasten her nightgown, and put Robbie to her breast. Only then did he stop waving his arms around and settle down.
Glancing up, she saw the duchess’s face contorted with the effort of balancing emotions. The older woman was weeping at the same time her mouth was curving into a smile. Robbie’s birth must have brought back memories of the children she’d lost.
Somehow, she wanted to ease the pain of this moment for the duchess.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “I haven’t missed my mother as much as I thought because you were here.”
To her surprise, the older woman bent over the bed and kissed her cheek. Then she left the room, but not before Lorna saw the tears on her cheeks.
“Was I wrong to say what I did?” she asked, glancing at Alex.
“No,” he said. “It was the best thing you could have said.”
He wasn’t looking at her, but at their son, rooting at her breast. Was he going to argue about her decision to nurse her own child?
She would not change her mind. Although he could turn that brilliant blue green gaze on her and make her thoughts fly away as if they were frightened starlings, she wasn’t going to agree to a wet nurse.
“He’s big,” he said.
She kept her attention on their son. “Your mother said that her babies were all large.”
“He has my hair.”
She nodded. Her imagination had conjured up a shock of black hair, and that’s exactly how Robbie looked.
“And my nose,” Alex said.
She tilted her head slightly and studied her son. He was an infant image of the duke.
“And your chin,” she added. “Plus, I don’t doubt he has a ducal temperament.”
“Exactly what is a ducal temperament?” he asked.
She would have smiled if she weren’t so tired. The effort seemed suddenly beyond her.
Robbie was asleep, and she wanted, very much, to join him.
“Could you put him in the cradle, please?”
She always wanted to remember the expression on Alex’s face: startled bemusement followed by sheer terror. His hands flailed in the air as if she’d asked him to hold a pot of boiling water without a cloth between him and burning hot metal.
“He’s your son,” she pointed out. “Did you never think to hold him?”
