Chapter 2
Ewan loved the feel of Charlotte tucked into his side. She just fit so perfectly there. It was strange to think that anything had ever made him believe she didn’t belong with him, or more aptly, that he did not belong with her. But a lifetime of abuse from his father and brothers over the mutism he could not change had damaged his view of himself.
And yet Charlotte had seen through it all. Seen the man he really was. Seen the man he could be. She had taught him, day by day, year by year, to love himself as much as she loved him. That he was worthy of it.
He squeezed her a bit tighter as they stepped forward, but they had not made it three steps when there was a great sound of screeching from down the hallway that could predict only one thing. Charlotte laughed as their two children, Jonathon and Abigail, came rushing up the hallway at full speed. Little Abby’s hair bobbed around her face, the fine locks free from their ribbons as usual.
Ewan released his wife and dropped down to his haunches, opening his arms as the two hit him at full force. He toppled backward, clutching his chest playfully as if he had been shot down by their attack.
“Papa, Papa!” Jonathon squealed, his fingers moving wildly in the same finger language Charlotte and Ewan had designed decades ago.
It warmed Ewan’s heart to see it. No one else in his life understood more than a word or two, not even their friends or family, but Ewan’s children had picked it up at the same time they were learning words. Both had fallen into its use as if it were second nature. Sometimes he wasn’t even sure they knew they were signing while they spoke.
Ewan grinned as he signed out, “You are screaming the house down. What is it? Are the dogs loose? Is the house on fire?”
As he signed, their youngest child, Abigail stared and moved her fingers in time with his, mimicking his movements, expanding her understanding of the family vocabulary. His heart swelled at the sight.
“We don’t have dogs, Papa!” Jonathon said, his tone filled with incredulity.
“Of course, yes,” Ewan signed as he glanced up with a grin at Charlotte. She was beaming back at him. “How silly of Papa not to remember. Perhaps we should get a dog, though, yes?”
Both the children’s eyes lit up, and Ewan could hardly contain his glee at their reaction. He and Charlotte were planning just that as their gift for the holiday. His cousin Matthew would bring the pup today when their family arrived from London. He could hardly wait to see the reaction when they arrived.
Charlotte leaned down and touched his shoulder. “I have a few things to attend to,” she said softly. “I’ll come find you later.”
He nodded. She blew him a kiss as she headed up the hall to continue whatever duty he had interrupted with his insistence that they explore pleasure earlier. He stood, reached out to catch each child’s hand, and together they walked up the hall together to the parlor.
Perhaps other members of the ton would have found this bond he shared with his children to be odd. But he had felt the sting of hate from his family, he was determined that his children only experience the deepest love. Aside from that, he adored the time they spent together, playing and growing closer.
Even now, they sat on the floor in the parlor together, happy as three peas in a fire-warmed pod. The children had been playing here earlier in the day, and the toys that had been left behind were still there to enjoy together. He helped them build a block tower, changed the nappy of one of Abby’s dolls and engaged in a battle with militia on horseback where he was trounced by the other side.
But after a while, Ewan touched each child’s hand to get their attention and signed, “We have serious business to attend to.”
Abigail’s wide eyes, blue as her mother’s were solemn. “What Papa?” she asked, her tone still soft and babylike.
“Two days until Christmas,” he signed. “And we need to figure out what you two are giving to Mama as a gift.”
Jonathon puffed out his chest with pride. “I drew her a picture,” he said, “of you fighting a dragon, Papa.”
Ewan nodded his head slowly. So that was what the scribbles he’d seen a few days before were meant to be. He would be sure to mention it to Charlotte so she could properly identify the gift upon opening it.
“What about you, sweet?” he signed to Abigail. “Miss Foster said you were working on a song.”
“Song!” Abigail repeated, and then proceeded to launch into an off-key and boisterous singsong about a mama who was so pretty. It seemed to go nowhere in particular and there were no verses to speak of, but he was certain Charlotte would know all the words before Christmas day had ended.
He grinned as she finished the rambling performance and clapped his hands before he signed, “Wonderful. Good, that is taken care of. I know she’ll love it all.”
“What are you getting Mama?” Jonathon asked as he turned his attention back briefly to the blocks on the floor.
When he looked up again, Ewan signed, “I have a beautiful ring for Mama, with a stone that is as pretty as her eyes. Do you think she’ll like that?”
“Pretty wing?” Abigail clapped her hands, for she was just becoming interested in dresses and hair ribbons and her mother’s jewelry. “Oh yes, Papa.”
“That’s a secret, though,” Ewan signed. “No telling.”
“Yes, Papa,” the children repeated.
“Mama has a secret,” Jonathon said absently, as he picked at the paint on the block in his hand.
Ewan wrinkled his brow at that idea. Charlotte did not keep secrets, he knew that. Of course, the boy likely meant a secret about her gift for him. She had been looking very sly every time she teased him about it.
“Oh yes, what secret is that?” he signed.
“A baby,” Jonathon said.
Ewan blinked. Jonathon had to be wrong, of course. Not because it wasn’t possible. They made love often and were never careful, but Charlotte had said nothing about being with child again. “What?” he signed.
Jonathon stacked his blocks so slowly that Ewan was tempted to draw his attention. But at last he said, “She was talking to Miss Foster about needing to ready a room for the baby. They were talking about colors and finding the cradle in the attic. Then she said to be sure to be quiet because it was a secret.”
Ewan’s lips parted at his son’s innocent words sank in to his mind and spirit. This seemed like far more than just some misunderstood comment. There was so much detail in Jonathon’s tale.
Could it be true? He racked his mind for the signs he might have missed. And found them. Charlotte had been a little more tired as of late. She slept a bit longer in the morning and started yawning earlier in the night. He’d dismissed it as a reaction to the cold winter up here by the sea. Now it made more sense.
She’d also occasionally felt ill during the last few weeks, especially before she ate in the morning. During her prior pregnancies, both those things had been the signs that she was breeding.
He paced away to the window, staring out at the foggy rain and the swirling sea beyond it. He hardly registered any of it. All he could think about was the fact that Jonathon might be right in what he had overheard. Ewan would be a father again.
Delight was his first reaction, rushing through him from head to toe like the flush of new love.
But it was swiftly followed by another emotion. One that pushed aside the first and made itself more known. Concern. Why would Charlotte tell their nurse about the baby before him? Why would she want this news to be a secret from him?
He glanced over. The children were oblivious to his changed mood as they continued to play on the rug. He moved to the fire. Above it a portrait of him and Charlotte hung. It had been painted just after their marriage five years ago. He could see the lines of worry about his eyes, captured unknowingly by the painter.
And there had been worry for him then. His early childhood before he was taken in by his cousin Matthew’s family had been so miserable. He had still been anxious about his lack of ability to speak that the idea of bringing a child into the world who might share his affliction was almost unbearable. He’d pushed Charlotte away because of it, nearly lost her.
Even now the idea of that took his breath away.
When she’d told him she was pregnant with Jonathon, he knew his reaction had disappointed her. They had been happily married for months, and yet his old fears had rushed forward and spoiled that happy day. He’d spent the remaining time before his son’s birth apprehensive and afraid. Only Jonathon’s first cries, the ones that proved he would have the voice Ewan never had, freed him from his terror.
When she’d told him about Abigail a little more than a year later, he had tried so hard to be happy, and it had been a little better. But he still hadn’t exactly celebrated as he waited for their child to be born and for the moment to come when he would know if she would one day be able to speak.
And perhaps that was why Charlotte had kept this from him. His heart sank. At Christmas, her favorite holiday thanks to the history this time of year held for them, she didn’t want to face his worry, his fear. She didn’t want to be disappointed by his lack of joy over her pregnancy.
They were happy. And he knew that there were few areas where he failed her. This was obviously one of them.
He turned to look at the children. They were now half-heartedly fighting over who would put the last block on their tower. Their nurse entered the room and smiled at him before she scolded, “There now! You two best not fight, for what will the Christmas spirits think of it?”
That seemed to snap the children back into line and Jonathon handed over the block to allow Abby to finish their tower.
“May I take them, Your Grace?” Miss Foster asked with a smile.
He nodded. Though the nurse didn’t know their family hand language, if she needed more of a response he could bring out the silver notebook Charlotte had given to him years ago and write his responses to her queries. But she seemed to have none. She simply helped the children gather up their toys to be put away.
They waved to him as they were ushered from the room, leaving him alone to ponder the thoughts that now clouded his mind.
If he had let Charlotte down on this subject in the past, he needed to make it up to her. He needed to do it as soon as possible.