Catching Captain Nash (Dashing Widows #6)(20)
She shook her head. “I didn’t know until a couple of months after you’d gone. I wrote, but I knew you hadn’t got the news because the letters weren’t amongst the effects we received back from the ship.”
Morwenna stopped to push back a wave of painful emotion. He might have returned to her, but the shadow of losing him lingered. Speaking of this swept her back to the black days when she’d wished herself dead and with Robert, despite the child growing in her womb.
“Those letters must be lost in the Admiralty somewhere.”
“Perhaps you should ask when you’re there.” She started to rise, remembering that he had other commitments beyond those he owed to her. “Should we do this later, once you’ve made your report?”
“That can wait. This is more important.” He pulled her down beside him and curled his arm around her shoulders. She leaned back, drawing strength from his touch. “I should tell you that I’m going to resign my captaincy.”
She stiffened and sat up to stare at him in consternation. “The navy was your life.”
“Not anymore. I’ve come home now, and I intend to stay. Can you bear the thought of a husband under your feet instead of away at sea?”
Bear it? She wanted it more than words could say. “Of course I can. And Kerenza will be in alt to have her papa living with us.”
“I hope so.” Then in a low, sad voice, “I’ve already missed so much.”
Tears pricked her eyes. Bitter, acid tears like those she’d barely contained when listening in wordless horror to what he’d told the family. It was less than a full day since he’d come back, and she already felt like she’d lived through a lifetime of overwhelming emotion.
Now this opportunity to tell him about their child was painful and joyful in equal measure. She’d never imagined Robert would have a chance to know the mercurial, affectionate, scarily intelligent little being created from their love.
To hide how overcome she was, Morwenna rose and crossed to her dressing table. Last night, instinct had warned her not to drown him in emotion. He looked more human now, and less like a ghost. But she feared the slightest mishandling might put his fragile recovery at risk.
She lifted the leather case that sat open near her hairbrushes, so she saw its contents last thing at night and first thing in the morning. Another leather case stood on the facing side. Another leather case she looked at morning and night.
Only a day ago, she’d made herself put the second case away in a drawer as a gesture toward her new life. This morning, as hope and thankfulness flooded her heart, she’d replaced it in its familiar spot.
She hoped Robert didn’t notice how she fumbled. Her eyes were so full of tears, it was difficult to see what she did. How she grieved to think of everything he’d missed while he’d been alone and wretched and in pain.
With a shaking hand, she held out the first case, open to reveal the two miniatures inside. “This is Kerenza.”
Chapter Eight
* * *
“A picture of our daughter?” Robert’s hands shook as badly as Morwenna’s when he accepted the gold-tooled Morocco case that held two miniatures painted on ivory plaques.
“I have these with me always. This year, because I’ve been in London so much, they’ve been a great comfort. She’s happy with her cousins at Woodley Park, and I love that they’ve become like brothers and sisters to her, but I can’t help missing her. And of course, she’s got adoring uncles and aunts.”
“It’s not the same as having a father.”
“No.” She paused. “But I did my best, Robert. Please believe me.”
“I do.” He caught her hand and squeezed it.
She sat beside Robert as he stared transfixed at the exquisite little paintings. As if he’d asked, she went on. “She’s six months old in the one on the left. The one on the right was done for her fourth birthday last June.”
“So this is what she looks like now?”
Morwenna gave a wry laugh. “No, it’s far too angelic, and she appears content to sit still. Whereas she was a nightmare for poor Mr. Danvers who painted her, and I only got her to cooperate when I told her I’d think about getting her a puppy.”
“A clever little negotiator, then?” Robert managed to ask past the boulder of emotion blocking his throat. Almost fearfully he reached out to lay a finger on the delicate pink in the child’s painted cheek. His daughter…
“Just clever all round. She’s definitely a Nash.”
“She is, at that,” he said, staring down at this child he hadn’t known existed until an hour ago.
“She...she looks like you,” Morwenna said in a whisper.
“Yes, she does. And like Helena. The dark Nashes are always hellions.”
Was it imagination to feel an immediate affinity with the striking child in the pictures? As a baby, she’d been all staring black eyes and thick ebony curls. His late mother had always carried a miniature of his sister Helena as a baby. The two children could have been the same person, down to the hint of temper and determination starting to peek from each infant face.
“She’s got Helena’s nose,” he said softly.
“She has. I know Helena hates her nose, but I’ve always thought it suited her much better than some sweet little button.”