Page 17 of Becoming Wanton (Trade Wind 3)

She blinked, and after a brief but genuine smile, she nodded, accepting the box with one hand. He wasn’t offended when she set it aside without so much as opening it, for he, too, knew the true treasure lay in her arms. Sinking back against the pillows tiredly, Bea shook her head in wonder at their child.

Such affection overcame him in this charged moment, he permitted himself liberties he never had before. Stroking Bea’s hair back from her face tenderly, he kissed her cheek, then glanced down at his child feeding.

She swallowed and clutched the babe tighter. “I know I’m not supposed to be doing this.”

He nodded. “You’re overcome by maternal instinct. I—I, too, know a love for this child so powerful, it defies reason.” He shook his head. “Do what you must for a time, and then—“

“You don’t understand. You weren’t here. You didn’t see.”

“What, Bea?”

“She—she was born still attached to me. They placed her on me here”—she waved a hand over her midriff, where the babe was cradled now—“and shepulled herself up! A newborn! She pulled herself up my body and placed herself at my breast.” Tears shot down her cheeks. “I didn’t know what to do—butshe did.And it feels right. This is what I’m supposed to do, William.”

He took in her stance, at once loving and protective, and recognized in Bea a new fierceness.

“I had Mrs. Brown sent out of the room,” she said unapologetically. “I won’t have her near us.”

Touching her cheek, he was grateful when she met his eyes. “She’s going to be on the first train out of London. I’ve already told her.”

“You did?”

“I did. I only wish I’d done it ages ago. You won’t have to worry about her anymore.”

“Oh, thank God. Thankyou, William!” Her gaze dropped once more to their child. “Look at her. She’s waking up. Look at her eyes!”

Unable to tear his gaze away, no matter the impropriety of the moment, William moved closer, wrapping his arm around Bea and holding her, and their daughter, close.

Family.

Hours later, William thought of his own father. William had been born during the first year of his parents’ marriage, before their relationship ruptured. Even so, he doubted his father had been anywhere near him before he was months old, at best.

William and his brother Augustus had known little affection from either of their parents, but they had known great closeness with the passel of nursemaids and then governesses and tutors who raised them. When William was seven and fell out of a tree, he cried for his nurse, not his mother. It was Mr. Spenser, one of his tutors, whom he aimed to please as a young man, not his father.

After knowing his daughter for but a handful of hours, William was forever changed. He knew in his soul he would be devoted to her, and to his wife, in a way that his father had never been to his own family.

For the first time in his life, William pitied his father. Yes, he and Augustus had missed out on a great deal. It was his father, however, who had forfeited the most.

∞∞∞

Before going into labor, Beatrice had hoped that her sister’s and friends’s reports about childbirth were off the mark. After all, much of their advice about marriage and the marriage bed had proven erroneous. She had no doubt Harriet and the others were sharing the truth as they saw it—and thatshewas the odd person out. Perhaps her strangeness would benefit her, for once, and she would have a child in her arms without passing through the rite of agony everyone else described.

Alas, she learned that as eccentric as she was on the inside, she would not be spared the pains of labor. No stork flew through her window to deposit a squirming cherub, nor was the experience quick.

But the stories also proved true in the most important respect; it was all worth it. Between pregnancy and labor, she had given of herself in every way—her blood, her body, her energies, her worries, and her hopes. Holding her newborn, Bea knew she would do it all again. The pain wasn’t erased; her body was a ravaged battlefield. Her heart and spirit, however, had expanded beyond what she could have known was possible, filled with radiant love.

William understands, she thought happily. Sinking back against the pillows, she watched him leave after meeting their daughter. He paused at her chamber door, his square jaw trembling as he smiled.

As soon as he left, the midwife, Mrs. Tewell, and the young nursemaid, Hannah, returned to her bedside. The pristine little white dress, whose collar Bea had embroidered specially, lay draped over Hannah’s arm. Even in her exhaustion, Bea’s eyes flared in horror. With all the to-do after the birth, including the argument with Mrs. Brown over nursing, she had forgotten about the gown and had introduced the Marquess to a child wrapped only in flannel!

Mrs. Tewell, a willowy, calm-eyed woman, peered at the child, still suckling. “I’ll have a look at you, then it’s time for you to rest, my lady.”

The last of her stamina was nearly drained, yet the idea of letting go of her daughter pained her. While the midwife lifted the hem of her gown to examine her, she unfolded the wrap around her daughter and beheld her anew. Staring at the babe against her midriff, she marveled at the miracle; not an hour earlier, this perfect person had lived inside of her, right under where she lay now. As tiny as she was, she also seemed far too big to have been curled up in Bea’s belly.

Perfect. Every single bit of her is perf—

Heart pounding, Beatrice hoped she hadn’t gasped aloud. She glanced at the midwife, who was still busy. Hannah had gone downstairs with soiled linens and left the newborn gown on the bed. Bea picked it up as nonchalantly as she could. Before anyone saw her daughter’s deformity, she needed to cover her with the gown!

Mrs. Tewell laid a gentle hand on Bea’s abdomen. “Any spasms here?”

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