Page 19 of Heartbreaker of the Ton
“Are you—forgive me—a widow?”
She let out a sigh and turned toward the window, the sunlight illuminating her profile. “Mr. Ward is no more.”
“I am sorry for it.”
“Don’t be.” She leaned against the window frame, her gaze fixed on the view outside.
Yes. She was a survivor.
And she was exhausted. Though she clung to the child with the ferocity of a tigress protecting her young, her body trembled as if her legs could no longer hold her thin frame. Dark rings circled her eyes, in stark contrast to her pale skin.
“Here, let me,” he said, offering his arms. “I can take the child for a moment.”
She opened her eyes and frowned, her gaze unfocused, as if she’d forgotten who he was. Then, as he stepped forward, she gave a nod of resignation and handed the child over.
The boy’s cries increased at first, then, as Andrew held him in a firm grip, he settled, his wails lessening to soft sobs.
His mother frowned and shook her head.
“I can’t understand it,” she said. “He’s not settled since we returned from church—no matter what I’ve tried—yet as soon as you take him, he quietens. Do you perhaps come endowed with the power of the Almighty?”
“I think, perhaps, your son was crying because hecould,” Andrew said.
“He’s hungry,” she said, “and he always cries when he’s hungry. But he won’t…”
Her cheeks flushed and she averted her gaze.
“Won’t what?”
She approached the crib, picked up a shawl, and draped it over her shoulders, her blush deepening. “It matters not.”
Andrew’s own cheeks warmed as the realization hit him—he’d noticed a stain on her gown, just below the neckline.
“Won’t he nurse?” he asked gently.
She shook her head, then closed her eyes and lifted her hand to her mouth, a small sob escaping her lips. “I-I cannot speak of it.”
“Because propriety dictates it? I promise you, Mrs. Ward, a vicar is taken into his parishioners’ confidence as much as, if not more than, a doctor is by his patients.”
“And what does a vicar have to say to a mother who is failing her son?”
“I see no failure, Mrs. Ward.”
“Then what do you see, vicar?” she asked, her eyes bright with tears.
“I see a woman all alone in the world,” he said. “A woman who has overcome adversity with a determination to survive. A woman who understands the meaning of love, who wants to do the best for the child she cherishes above all.”
The tears spilled onto her cheeks. “Do not be kind to me, vicar.”
“Mr. Staines, please.”
“Do not be kind to me, Mr. Staines. I deserve no such consideration.”
“We are all deserving of consideration, Mrs. Ward.”
She shook her head. “Not I. I cannot even give my son what he needs.”
“From what I can see, your son is a perfectly healthy boy, and has everything he needs,” Andrew said. “If he no longer wishes to be”—he hesitated—“nursed, it’s because he’s growing up. I take it he has a healthy appetite?”
