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"Nothingbetter," he said, putting a little distance between them from the waist up. "Except a tentative,
tiresome, bourgeois suggestion that perhaps it is time to retire to our bed."
"Tiresome and bourgeois suddenly sound like very desirable things," she said.
They smiled slowly at each other and could seem to find nothing better or more satisfying to do for the
space of a whole minute or so.
"What are we waiting for?" she asked eventually.
"For you to lead the way," he said. "You will start damning me or otherwise insulting me if I decide to
play lord and master."
"Oh, Edgar," she said, taking his arm. "Let us gotogether , shall we? To the house and to bed? Let us
make love together to each other. Whose silly idea was it to come out here anyway?"
"I would not touch that question with a thirty-foot pole," he said.
"Wise man, darling."She nestled her head against his shoulder as they walked.
An Unpublished Epilogue
(© MaryBalogh's Website)
«^
Cora had come hurtling down to the drawing room of theBristolhouse in her usual undignified manner.
But she had said only that all was well and that he must go up immediately. When Francis had raised his
eyebrows in expectation of more information and Mr. Downes had openly asked for it, she had smiled
dazzlingly and asked her brother if he was about to faint.
He had stridden from the room without further ado and taken the stairs to the bedchamber two at a time
even though therewas a strange buzzing in his head and the air in his nostrils felt cold.
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All was well, Cora had said.
His father's new wife came bustling toward him when he opened the bedchamber door, the doctor at her
heels, bag in hand. Letty beamed at him and stood on her toes to kiss his cheek; the doctor bowed and
made his exit with her.
Edgar was left alone. Though not quite alone.Helenawas lying on the bed, pale and silent, her eyes
closed. Beyond her was a small bundle that had him swallowing convulsively. It was moving and making
soft fussing noises. But it was not his main concern. She looked too still and too pale for all to be well
and she had labored for all of fourteen hours. He took a few fearful steps toward the bed. Was it
possible that she was...
"Damn you, Edgar," she said without opening her eyes. Her voice sounded strangely normal. "If I had
known though I might have guessed, of course that you would beget such large children, I would not
in a million years have seduced you."
He could feel no amusement. Only relief and guilt. It had been unbearably hard to pace downstairs, his
father and Francis in tow, for fourteen hours. What must it have been like...
"You had a hard time," he told her just as if she did not know it for herself. "I am so sorry,Helena. I wish
I could have suffered the pain for you."
She opened her eyes and looked up at him. "He well nigh tore me apart," she told him.
He winced even as one of her words caught him like a blow low in his stomach."He?" He swallowed
again. "We have a son, Helena?" Not that the gender mattered. He had rather hoped for a daughter.
What he really meant was we have a child, Helena? Fruit of his body and hers? Product of their love?
Their very ownbaby? The miracle of it all left him feeling paralyzed.
"Are you pleased that I have done my duty like a good wife?" she asked him. "I have presented you with
an heir for the Downes fortune."
"To hell with the Downes fortune," he said, forgetting himself in the emotion of the moment. "We have a
child, my love. A baby."
She smiled fleetingly. He could see that she was desperate with weariness.
"Meet your son," she said, and she turned to draw back the blanket from the moving bundle. A red,
wrinkled, ugly little face, its eyes gazing vacantly about it, was revealed to his view for a moment. Then
he lost sight of it.
"Foolish Edgar," his wife said. "How bourgeois to weep at sight of your newborn child. You are
supposed to look closely for a moment to assure yourself that he has the requisite number of eyes, noses,
and mouths, all in the appropriate places, and then you are supposed to return to your brandy and your
dogs and your hunting."
"Am I?" She was lifting the bundle and then holding it up to him. He did not dare. He would drop it.
How could human life be so small? "But I am bourgeois,Helena, and so I will cry at sight of my son." He
took the bundle gingerly into his own arms. It was warm and soft and alive.
"Is he not the most beautiful child ever born?" Her voice had lost its mocking tone.
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"Yes." He lifted the bundle and set his lips lightly to the soft, warm cheek of his son. "Atleast the most
beautiful. Thank you, my love." He reached over her to set the child back on the bed before he could
drop it in his clumsiness. He smiled at her. "You must rest now."
"Oh, damn you," she said, lifting one hand to dash across her cheeks. "Now you have started me
weeping. It is because I am tired after all that damnablework . I would not do it otherwise."
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