“Mrs. Metcalfe, I appreciate you coming to see me,” Caroline said to the cheerful gray-haired woman who entered her morning room three weeks after her husband had left for Edinburgh. Tall and robust, the midwife immediately put Caroline at ease with her motherly smile and mannerisms. “You have come highly recommended, and I hope I will soon be in need of your services.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs. Wilson,” the woman replied. Caroline motioned for her to have a seat opposite her on the settee. “I don’t make it up this way often, as most of my patients are in the Lincoln area.”

“Will the distance be an obstacle to having you with me if am—“Caroline felt her cheeks burning, which itself was humiliating because she was, after all a married woman. “—If I am carrying my husband’s child?”

“No. The only thing that might be an issue is if I were to have another client in labor at the same time. And in my nearly thirty years of practicing midwifery, that has only happened a handful of times.”

The soft knock on the door brought a maid with the tea cart which she placed before the fire in the small hearth.

“Thank you, Alice,” Caroline said, “I shall pour.” The maid bobbed a curtsey and silently left the room.

“Mrs. Greaves, my housekeeper, said you were the most-trusted midwife in three counties.” Caroline poured tea for both of them and handed a cup to her guest.

“That’s high praise, indeed, Mrs. Wilson.”

“Every bit deserved, I’m sure.” Caroline took a sip, then set the cup on the tea table in front of her as she faced Mrs. Metcalfe. She first needed to know if she was, indeed, carrying. And, if she was pregnant, she desperately needed to know how to not lose this child.

The midwife did the same, then leaned back in her seat. “How can I help you Mrs. Wilson?”

“I think I might be carrying my husband’s child.” Caroline worried her lower lip and began to twist her handkerchief in her hands.

“Is this a problem, Mrs. Wilson?” Mrs. Metcalfe's voice was sympathetic and kind, putting Caroline at ease.

“No! I am very happy, if this is so.” How could she convey the fear she had that she might not carry the babe the full nine months without sounding like a crepehanger? “Mrs. Metcalfe, I have recently spoken with my mother, to ask her why I was an only child, and… She has explained to me that she had four miscarriages before conceiving me and two after having me. It seems that the relatives in my maternal lineage are not necessarily the most fertile of women.

“That said, in the past year that Captain Wilson and I have been married, there have been three times I thought I might have been…” she struggled to find the word that would explain her hopes and wishes, “blessed… only to discover I wasn’t.”

“Are your cycles regular?”

“Before I married they were. But not since the wedding. There have been times when… I have felt that I might be pregnant, and it turned out I— I wasn’t.”

“I see. Do you believe you lost a child during those times? How far along were you when began to bleed?”

“Oh, not far at all. Five or six weeks. Right now, I am late an entire month, and…” Caroline felt the familiar knot forming in her breast pushing the tears up with it. “Mrs. Metcalfe, this is very difficult for me as I am frightened. If I am pregnant… I want to have this child. I need this child. It would make my parents so happy. Especially my father, who is not well. He adores my husband, and he wants to see me do my duty by him.

"But more than that… I love the captain, and… he and I want children," Caroline said. "As many as possible. We love children. He has many nieces and nephews that…"

A moment of silence came over the two women, while Mrs. Metcalfe sipped more of her tea, and Caroline controlled her tears.

“Mrs. Wilson, may I speak frankly?”

“Of course, Mrs. Metcalfe. Any advice you might give me would be respected.”

“Stop worrying about it. Stop trying to rush something that will come in its own time.” The gentleness in her voice made Caroline want to cry in earnest now. “In my experience, fretting is a bad thing for trying to conceive.”

The midwife sipped her tea, giving Caroline another moment to dry her eyes. “You are a healthy young woman, aren’t you? Have you ever had unexplained illnesses or fevers? Are you plagued with headaches?”

Caroline shook her head, wondering what headaches had to do with childbearing. Could it be that her worrying over getting with child was actually preventing her from getting pregnant?

“Then all will be just fine,” the woman replied.

The midwife began to ask Caroline a series of questions regarding her last menses, if she'd had any nausea in the mornings, and if her breasts were more tender than usual. After Caroline answered the questions, the midwife said she was, in fact, carrying her husband's child.

Caroline's heart sank into her belly at the same time as she wanted to shout for joy. But she feared losing this one as well, and said as much to the Mrs. Metcalfe.

"Stay calm and do not over-exert yourself. While I am not of the opinion you should remain abed, I would not want you to fall and injure yourself."

Mrs. Metcalfe then reached into her bag and handed her a pouch with some herbs. "This should last you one month. I will return to see you before you run out. Steep a pinch of this in a cup of hot water to make a tea. Drink one cup every morning before getting out of bed."

Caroline couldn't wait until her husband returned from Scotland. She wanted to tell him she was indeed far enough along that the midwife declared her with child! She wanted to shout it from the rooftop… She carried her wonderful husband's child!

Then the idea of telling him on Saint Valentine's Day, the day for lovers, entered her mind. It would be the perfect gift for her lover, her best friend, the man she was fortunate enough to call husband.

Trey was expected soon, though she didn’t know when. And she wasn’t sure she could hide the herbal tea every morning from her husband, as they slept in the same bed. She may have to lie about her condition for a few days until they could share their annual Valentine’s Day letter.

Before she left, Mrs. Metcalfe made Caroline promise to send for her if anything should happen, namely the start of her monthly courses. If she didn’t hear from her, the midwife would assume all was well, and she would look forward to seeing her in another three or four weeks, whenever it was convenient for Caroline.

When she was again alone she began to think of the note she would write for her husband’s Valentine letter. A child would be a wonderful gift to give Trey. He loved children as much a she. She rested a hand on her lower belly.

She resolved not to worry during her pregnancy. At all. As Mrs. Metcalfe said, it was counter-productive to a safe delivery of a healthy babe. And she wanted this baby more than anything in the world. She wanted a dozen children if she could have them.

Her entire life before marriage had been about pleasing her parents. Now it was about pleasing her husband. Duty was deeply ingrained in who she was. Her wants and desires always came after her husband's.

Except in the one part of her life in which she was learning that her desires came first. In her marriage bed. Her husband was teaching her that her pleasure was as important as his. He’d said he wouldn’t be a good lover if he took pleasure from her, without giving pleasure back to her. Then he showed her how to ask for what she wanted from him sexually.

Outside of bed, he encouraged Caroline to seek the things that made her feel fulfilled as a woman first. Once she gained confidence as a woman in the bedroom, she took that confidence into other areas of her life. He told her often how capable and intelligent she was, encouraging her continued study of economics and finance. She was surely the luckiest bride in the whole world. She had a husband who loved and encouraged her, and she loved and supported him in return.

Caroline took the special paper she purchased just for this letter from her desk, and dipped her quill. This was her second Valentine letter to her husband.

Last year’s letter included all her hopes and dreams that she desired for them as his wife. This year, she could share that one of their greatest desires was, in fact, about to happen.

She began to write—telling Trey how much his love meant to her, how much more she loved him each day they were together, and how much she wanted to share their love of each other with their child, and with every future child they had. She scratched that out, and crumpled it before tossing it into the fire. Then she wrote a shorter, more succinct, and meaningful paragraph.

When she was done she sealed the letter, and addressed it “To My Husband,” then put it under several clean sheets of paper in her desk drawer. She hoped Trey made it home before St. Valentine’s day. It was the feast day for sweethearts, and to give him this present at any other day after wouldn’t hold quite the same meaning to her.

Caroline understood that his business was important to him. But, she was almost in agreement with her mother (A scary thought in itself!) Did he have to go to Edinburgh in January?

* * *

Because of the freezing mist and sleet the following morning, Trey was unable to depart Edinburgh as planned. He, Richards, and Travers, were forced to stay an extra day, possibly even two, until the weather cleared enough that he was able to return home. He thought about sending a letter to Caroline explaining his delay, but not even the mail coaches were running on this dreary day.

Though he shared tea in the hotel’s tavern with an interesting gentleman, a mill owner from Glasgow, Trey chose to have dinner at the tavern where he’d eaten the previous three nights. The food had been decent enough, and except for casting up his accounts over being forced to accept the fact that he’d never be able to sire a child of his own, he liked the place.

The main room of the establishment was filled with patrons and Trey had to satisfy himself with a seat at the counter with his back to the door, rather than the booth where he’d hidden the evening before. In situations like this, he much preferred to sit alone. He wasn’t one for small talk with strangers in pubs, as he usually went with friends he knew. It never failed, though, that whenever he was alone and was pulled into a conversation the subject always turned to the war. And Trey didn’t care to talk about what he went through with strangers.

He’d hated the war, hated that he’d had to lead men to their deaths, hated the fact that he’d survived without the ability to have a child of his own with the woman loved. Better that he had died and never met Caroline. At least he wouldn’t be feeling inadequate as a husband.

The door behind him opened and a wave of frigid air entered along with the newcomers. Two men walked past him and took a seat at a recently vacated table in the center of the dining room to his left. Trey thought he heard his name, and turned his head to see one of the men he’d served with in the war. He had to think a moment to remember his name. The man was in a different regiment that merged with the Royal Dragoons after Sorauren. He was a corporal Trey knew, but damned if he could remember the man’s name. Good with a horse and saber, a chosen man in the regiment, accurate with his musket. He remembered the man as brave and intelligent.

“Captain Wilson, sir,” the smiling man said, “it’s good to see you again. I heard you survived Orthez. We were all thankful for that.”

“As was my family.”

The former corporal held out his hand. Trey shook it and instantly remembered his name. “Corporal Graham. It is good to see you as well, sir. How fares life since we last met?”

“Why don’t you join us?” Graham invited. “Have you had dinner?”

“Not yet. I was just about to order a pint of stout,” Trey said.

“Come, join us,” Graham waved a hand at the table.

Trey decided if he was going to spend time talking to anyone, he’d rather it was someone who knew what they’d gone through during the war, rather than someone who’d never been and thought they wanted to know details. There were things a man needed to forget if possible. Only another man who had gone through it would know this feeling.

Once they were seated at the table, Trey was introduced to Graham’s brother Niall. A few years younger than Trey, he was a teller at a bank in Edinburgh and on his way home after a day of work.

Graham grinned. “I came to town to check the delivery of a shipment of oak barrels that should have been delivered a month ago. Now I’m stranded here for a night or two because of the ice, so I’ll be staying with my brother until I can leave for home.”

“I’m stranded here as well. I was, ah… checking on a potential investment for a client.” It was the cover he’d used with his wife and staff, and the lie rolled off his tongue easily.

“So how goes life after coming home?” Graham asked.

“Well. Very well, in fact. I married a year ago in London.” Trey had always been somewhat of a private person and found small talk difficult. Niall seemed like a nice enough chap, and conversing with Graham had never been difficult in the past, but that was over ten years ago. Trey was a different man today than he had been before his injury.

“Well, congratulations, sir.” Graham motioned for the barmaid to bring them two pints of ale. “I’m married as well, it’s been…” The man mentally calculated the time. “It’s been almost six years now. We have three sons and a fourth babe on the way. Elspeth is wanting a girl now. If this one is another boy, she’s likely to never let me touch her again.”

The men laughed, but for Trey it was a jealous laughter. What he’d give to be able to sire one child, girl or boy. If only he could.

“Where did you settle after returning?” Trey asked. He was truly happy for the man to be fortunate enough to have a family.

“Just north of Stirling. It’s where my wife’s family is from. I joined her father’s distillery.”

“Congratulations on all the good fortune, man,” Trey said. “I mean it. We don’t hear of many veterans returning and settling into their former lives easily.”

“Where’s home for you, Captain?”

“Home is Lincolnshire and London. I’m a partner in an investment firm.”

“Children?” the corporal asked.

The question hit like a blow to the gut and actually made his ten-year-old wound ache. He unconsciously rubbed the scar on his thigh under the cover of the table. “Not yet. It’s only been a year. Mrs. Wilson and I are still getting to know one another.” He didn’t want to say that he wasn’t able. That he’d never be able. It was like admitting he was half of a man.

“Well, take it from me,” Graham said, “it won’t happen if you’re traveling constantly or living under a separate roof. If you’re off gallivanting all the time, how’s it going to happen?”

“I have actually been considering just that. Either stay home with her more, or bring her with me. As we have no children, travel ought to be easier.”

All three men nodded. Trey sipped the dark ale the barmaid brought to the table. They made small talk about their individual professions. As the other two were brothers, they knew each other much better than he knew them or they him. Really, there were few people who really knew him. Caroline knew him unlike any others, Huddleston had been his friend since school. Camden… The man was growing on him. Camden’s politics were more liberal than his.

Their meal arrived and they all concentrated on their food, the way hungry men do. As the evening progressed, Trey grew more comfortable with them and felt less like he was interrupting them—especially when it came to reconnecting with Graham. After coming home, Trey had focused on his recovery, and over time forgot about the men he’d considered friends while in the war.

Before long the trio was finished with their meal and Trey was saying goodbye to Niall Graham, who had an early day tomorrow at work.

“I’ll be along shortly,” Graham said, “and do my best to be quiet as a wee church mouse when I come in.” All three men laughed. “Jes’ leave me a pillow and blanket on the settee,” Niall’s brother went on, “and I’ll stoke the fire and curl up there.”

The barmaid came and cleared the plates, and brought him and Graham another ale. She also informed them that the sleet stopped falling, leaving a nasty freezing fog in its wake.

“If I can’t get out tomorrow morning,” Trey said, “I’ll be back tomorrow evening.”

“Same here,” Graham said. “I don’t have as far to ride, but it’s bloody miserable in this weather.”

“One of the miserable realities of my injury, is that I can’t ride for more than a few miles at a time,” Trey confessed. “The leg…” He explained the location of the injury and how it occurred.

“It’s a miracle yer alive then,” Graham said. “Aye, ye have a leg that pains ye when ye ride or sit for long, but— If he’d hit the artery you’d have died within minutes.” Both men were silent a while. Trey stared into the mug and ran his finger around the top, and reminded himself again, that he was glad to be alive. “Everyone spoke of your bravery that day. They all praised the fact that you went on to fight for hours afterward until you fell from your horse in exhaustion.”

“It wasn’t hours, but more like fifteen or twenty minutes.” Trey downed the remaining ale, he hated reliving that day, but felt he could with Graham. “I did fall from my horse, from loss of blood. Two of my men saw my horse standing without me on his back. They rushed over and found me on the ground beside my horse. He was standing over me. Protecting me. They threw me over his back and took me to the medical tent.”

“We both got lucky that day, my friend.” Graham motioned for the server again. “I was uninjured, but captured by two of Boney’s best men. One smashed my head from behind with the butt of his rifle. They carried me between the two of them, but one of our men who’d seen what happened followed us. He was a marksman. He killed one Frenchie and clipped the other on the shoulder. They dropped me and I came to, slowly. The man that saved me got me a horse from a fallen soldier and… I’m here today.”

“And you have children,” Trey mumbled.

Graham’s eyes widened. “Did that injury… I mean, can you… You’re married.”

“I can do the deed.” He wondered how honest he could be without humiliating himself. He thought Graham would understand what he’d gone through. He’d had his own brush with death at the hands of the French. “Only one other man knows this… the real reason I’m in Edinburgh.”

“On my honor, I’ll never speak of it.”

“If Wellington trusted you, I suppose I can too, right?” Trey gave a nervous laugh. “I’m here to see a physician, a biologist that studies cells, at the university hospital here. The man came highly recommended as someone who might give me a definitive answer as to whether or not it was possible to sire a child at all.”

“Have you seen him?”

“Yes.” Trey stared down into his ale. None of this very easy to speak of.

“And?”

“It’s highly unlikely.”

“But the bayonet didn’t get you… there? Did it?” Graham’s face turned an odd shade of green. Under any other circumstance he’d find it amusing. But this was his life, and his inability to sire children.

“It came close. Very close. But the doctor thinks it was the fever afterward when the glands were swollen that killed my chance of… having children of my own. Sometimes, I wish the bastard had hit that artery. Better to be dead and never have met Caroline, than to return home and have to tell her this.”

“Does she know anything?” Graham asked as the server approached with their fresh mugs of ale.

Once the woman was gone, Trey shook his head. “I’ve never told her. She knows about the injury, but… I was uncertain about—the other—until yesterday.”

“Will you tell her? It would be the right thing to do, you know.”

“I haven’t decided yet,” Trey replied, and held up a hand to stop any scolding Graham might have. “There’s more to it than just telling her. This news will break her heart. I cannot do that to her.”

Trey would give anything to not have to hurt his Caroline. If there were any way, any…

“This isn’t meant to be a replacement for a child of your own, but… I know of a foundling home, here in town,” Graham said. “If you’re interested. You can adopt. The people there would be thrilled to have you and your wife as potential parents. I can vouch for you, even though I’ve never met your wife.”

“I don’t know…”

“Your brothers each have sons, so it’s not likely that you’ll need a blood heir for a title or anything.”

Trey was silent a while. He knew what Caroline wanted and he wasn’t sure another man would understand. Still, he tried explaining. “A few of her friends have had babes, and she wanted to… do the same.” He felt this unfamiliar knot working its way up his throat and he swallowed it down. “I cannot give that to her. I would do anything in the world for her. Give her anything she desired that is within my power to give her. But I cannot give her the one thing that every other man in this room could.”

“I don’t think she’d care where the babe came from,” Graham said. “Let’s go to the foundling home and talk to the director. Tell her your story. You’re a bloody war hero, and I’m willing to bet my father-in-law’s distillery that there are dozens o’ babes in there needing a home.

“And,” Graham added, “if you get a babe, and bring it home with ye, she’ll forget about wantin’ to carry one in her belly. Besides, it’s not exactly the easiest thing to do, givin’ birth.”

“I have to admit, I like your idea better than mine.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask what were you thinkin’?

“I was thinking of hiring someone to do what I couldn’t.”

Graham started to cough, spitting out the ale in his mouth. When he recovered, he chided Trey. “Without asking your wife? How could you even think it? And you’ve only been married a year! At one year of marriage, I would’ve killed the man who touched my wife.”

“I never said it was an easy decision.”

“Find a chubby-cheeked babe that is in need of a mother and present her to your wife. Do not tell her about your condition at all, and maybe one day a miracle might occur.”

“I will give it some thought,” Trey said. “When I left the doctor’s office yesterday, I’d set my head to—to one path, without considering this other.”

“Giving her a babe to raise as her very own can be your gift to her for Saint Valentine’s Day.”

“You make it sound like a kitten or puppy. Bringing her a babe will never give her the experience of having a child grow within her own body.”

“That’s something that’s overrated,” Graham snapped back. “My wife hates being pregnant, but loves each child.”

Trey thought about what his friend was saying. Loving a babe was an instinct he’d already seen in Caroline. He knew she would be a wonderful mother. But would adopting a babe really satisfy her desire to have one of her own?

And, if by some miracle she did get pregnant, would she love the older child less because he or she was adopted? Caroline was not the kind of person to do something so uncaring. It wasn’t in her sweet nature.

Should he do this without consulting her? Wouldn’t she want to be a part of the process of adopting a child, or even children?

“You have given me much to consider, Graham, though I don’t think I should proceed without first presenting this to my wife. She deserves to know the truth about my… situation.”

“I agree she needs to know, but I think you tell her later. After she has a child to shower her love upon. That way she’s not so mad that you hid this from her.”

“While I think you may be right, shouldn’t she be a part of the adoption? At the very least, she should know what I am considering, no?”

“If that is what you wish,” Graham said. “I think you should get some information and present this option to your wife. Even if you don’t adopt from here, but in Lincolnshire, speaking to someone knowledgeable is certainly worth your time.”

Trey was silent, mulling over everything Graham was saying. And he was right. He could see someone and learn about how one goes about adopting children. Then when he brought the topic up with Caroline, he would have informed answers for her.

“Would you like to speak to this woman I know?” Graham asked. “She is the director of the Presbyterian Orphans Home.”

“A woman director? How do you know her?”

“She’s my sister,” Graham said. “Our father was a ruling elder, then deacon in the Church of Scotland. Lenore is a widow, who has no children… of her own.” He cleared his throat. “She has thrown herself into her work. She loves the children who come through her home, and works hard to find them good homes.”

“Right. Well… I suppose I could speak with her.” It wouldn’t hurt, Trey thought. After all, he was still stranded in this cold, damp, city. What else was he going to do tomorrow?

“Meet me here after breakfast,” Graham said. “Say, ten o’clock?”

“Fine,” Trey said, feeling much better than he had when he’d entered the place. “I’m staying a few doors down at the Caledonia.”

“After breakfast then.” Graham drained the last of the dark ale in his mug, and stood. “You’ll see Wilson, this will be a far better idea than the one you had. Far, far better.”