Beardsley Hall, Derbyshire, March 1834

When Hugh entered the candlelit bedroom, Jane looked up from her dazed contemplation of her newborn son. She could hardly believe that she and Hugh had made this perfect little person.

“The dragon outside has at last allowed me to see you.” He smiled at her from the doorway. “Are you ready for visitors?”

From where she rested against a pile of pillows in the huge four-poster bed, she discerned the signs of weariness and strain on his face. She’d been in labor most of the day, which had provided some interesting moments, but at least she’d been actively involved in events. Poor Hugh had been downstairs with nothing but his fear to keep him company. When he’d tried to see Jane before this, the midwife had given him his marching orders in no uncertain terms. Mrs. Moffatt was adamant about no men present during the delivery, well and truly earning the title of dragon.

“For you?” She smiled back. “Always.”

“Thank God for that.”

His clothes were rumpled, whiskers darkened his impressive jaw, and his thick hair was untidy. He looked appealingly poetic, as though he’d been battling with his inspiration all day, but she knew he wouldn’t appreciate the description. “Has it been beastly?”

His lips turned down. “Vile. But nothing to compare with what you’ve gone through, I’m sure.”

“He was worth it.” Jane glanced down at the dark-haired baby, sleeping like an angel in her arms. He certainly hadn’t been an angel coming into the world, although he’d been a champion when she breastfed him for the first time. “Do you plan to hover on the threshold forever? Come over and say good evening to your son.”

Hugh looked sheepish and closed the door after him as he stepped into the room. “Can I kiss you?”

She laughed—very carefully. After the long, difficult labor, she was feeling fragile. “I sincerely hope you will. I’ve had a baby. I haven’t caught some disease.”

Hugh’s gesture was apologetic. “After the day you’ve had, I mightn’t be your favorite person.”

“Oh, you’re still that.” She cuddled the warm baby against her breast. “Although you might have some competition now.”

“I’ll bear up,” he said wryly. “How are you feeling?”

“Very proud of myself. I hope you’ll feel very proud of me, too.” She rearranged the baby, and extended one hand toward Hugh. “Come and meet your son, my love.”

All Hugh’s diffidence vanished, and he rushed forward to take Jane’s hand and kiss her with the tender adoration that always turned her blood to syrup. Then he drew away to survey their child. “He doesn’t look big enough to have caused this much trouble.”

She smiled. “Would you like to hold him?”

“May I?”

“Of course.” She released Hugh’s hand and gently passed the baby across. A lot of men were hopeless with newborns, but Hugh’s big hands curled around the child in perfect security. Of course they did—he’d always provided a haven for the small and hurt and vulnerable. He was going to make an exceptional father.

“Jane, my darling,” he said in awe, “did we really do this?”

“We did,” she said in a choked voice. “Aren’t we clever?”

“We are indeed.” Hugh’s expression as he observed the stirring baby was so full of love and wonder that she blinked away tears.

“He’s a beautiful boy.” Hugh’s deep voice sounded almost as thick as hers.

The baby’s cloudy blue eyes opened, and Jane waited for more of the furious wails that had greeted his arrival into the world. But the child merely stared up at his father in fascination, as if he already knew he was in safe hands.

“Hello, lovely little man,” Hugh whispered and bent to kiss the baby’s forehead. The baby gave a contented sigh and closed his eyes again.

“What shall we call him?” Jane asked. They’d discussed a hundred names but had decided to wait for the baby’s arrival before they reached a final decision.

“Not Amelia.”

Amelia had been a possibility for a girl. Jane’s lips quirked. “No, not Amelia. You favored Cedric in honor of my father.”

With every moment, Hugh appeared more at home with the sleeping baby. “He doesn’t look like a Cedric.”

“No.” She paused. “We didn’t suggest this one earlier. But what about Silas?”

Hugh studied his son. “Silas?” he repeated thoughtfully, as he sat on the edge of the mattress.

“If he grows up to be half as good a man as Silas Nash, I’ll be happy.”

“I like it.” Hugh leaned in and kissed her again, taking care not to squash the drowsing baby. “Silas Cedric. Or would you rather save Cedric for our next son?”

Jane gave a cracked laugh. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Although ever since she and Hugh had set up home in beautiful, old Beardsley Hall, she’d thought this was a house crying out to be filled with a large, happy family. Last Christmas she’d had a taste of what that would be like, when they’d hosted their closest friends, including Fenella and Anthony. Hugh had soon forgiven the Townsends for offering Jane sanctuary when she’d needed a place to nurse her broken heart. Susan and her family also planned a stay in August. Jane didn’t view that with quite such anticipation, but hopefully, the reunion would heal the lingering breach between the Norris sisters.

“Silas Cedric he shall be.” Hugh’s eyes glowed with love as he raised his head and stared at her. “Thank you, my beloved.”

She had a horrid feeling that she looked rather smug. “Yes, I did well, didn’t I?”

“Thank you for my son, and for the happiness you’ve brought me, and the love we share. Blessings have been showered upon my head, so many more than I deserve.”

“My darling, nobody deserves them more.” Oh, dear, she was choking up again. She blinked rapidly to clear the mist clouding her vision, as she reached out to touch Hugh’s bristly cheek. “I love you, Hugh Rutherford.”

Hugh’s smile told her that he loved her, too, but she didn’t mind at all when he went on to speak the words, as if he made a solemn and eternal vow. “And I love you, Jane, my beautiful wife and the light of my life.”