The Mistaken Widow. Cheryl St.John
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expression held anticipation, as well as curiosity. When she caught sight of the baby, she covered her trembling lips with her fingers for several long seconds. Sarah saw how badly she wanted to see her son in this tiny child, and regret yawned in her chest.
“He’s just beautiful,” she said at last, her voice thick with emotion. “What’s his name?”
Embarrassed, Sarah edged her gaze away from Nicholas and looked directly into Leda’s gray eyes. “I haven’t named him yet,” she said, knowing the older woman would think that as strange as Minna had.
Instead Leda glowed as though she’d been gifted with a king’s ransom. “We can do it together.”
Nicholas’s eyes narrowed, but Sarah wouldn’t lock gazes.
“Your rooms are ready,” Leda announced. “I think you’ll find everything in order, but you need only ask.”
Sarah glanced at the grand curving marble staircase that led to an open hallway above. She met Nicholas’s dark eyes.
“They’re upstairs,” Leda said, and then as if just now realizing, turned back. “Oh dear.”
“Not to worry, Mother,” Nicholas said. “Claire and I have perfected this transportation problem. Gruver, if you’ll just carry the little fellow up, you’ll be dismissed for the rest of the day. Take tomorrow off, too. I’m sure you’ve missed your family.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Nicholas swooped forward and waited for Sarah to reach for his neck. She did so, and he slid his arm beneath her legs, brought her against his chest, and turned to his mother. “See, Mother? All those peas and carrots paid off in the long run.”
“I told you so.” The woman chuckled and followed them up, her skirts rustling. Her small laugh eased some of Sarah’s discomfort, and Sarah was strangely grateful to Nicholas for making his mother smile.
This time Sarah didn’t fight the sensations his nearness created. His interaction with his mother and his treatment of his driver said more than a million words could have. He was a good man. A sincere man. A respected, decent man.
And she was still taking advantage of him.
She rested in the security of his arms for just these few minutes. Enjoyed his strength, the masculine scent of his hair and the crisp, fresh smell of his clothing. And wondered just how long she had before she was truly, deeply, impossibly past the point of turning back.
Leda had hired a nursemaid to care for the baby. The woman, a tallish, gray-haired widow who called herself Mrs. Trent, took him while Nicholas and Leda made Sarah comfortable. Sarah sighed in relief when Nicholas finally excused himself and left the room.
“Mrs. Halliday…” Sarah began.
“Leda, dear. Please.” The older woman patted the counterpane into place over Sarah’s good right leg and made sure the other one was settled on a pillow.
“Leda. I’ve been waiting for a chance to talk to you.”
“I know, darling. We’re going to have plenty of time together. You’re going to be the daughter I never had. And this little man…”
Leda took Sarah’s son from Mrs. Trent and held him to her cushioned breast. Tears ran down her cheeks openly. “This little man is going to keep me from dying of a broken heart.”
At the woman’s anguish, a great suffocating weight burgeoned in Sarah’s chest. “I’m not who you think I am,” she choked out.
“I don’t care who you are,” Leda said on a half sob. “If I hadn’t had you and the baby to look forward to these past few days, I couldn’t have borne the sorrow. A mother should never have to lose her child. Never,” she said fiercely. “You’re what I need to go on living now. You and him.” She nuzzled the infant’s downy head, and Sarah choked on the confession that welled in her soul.
But she didn’t have the courage to say the words that would destroy the woman who’d already lost her son. All her good intentions fled like dry leaves before a storm, and the secret cowered in a shadowy corner of her heart.
Not now. Not just now. She could wait. Until Leda had a chance to get over Stephen. By then Sarah’s leg would be better, and she’d be able to leave. Until then…how much harm would it cause to let the woman think they were her family for just a little longer?
Sarah prayed she wouldn’t have to know the answer to that.
The spectacled Mrs. Trent did as she was bidden, taking care of the baby’s laundry, bathing and changing him with efficiency, but never getting in the way when Sarah wanted to perform the tasks herself. In fact, she was more than pleased to share her knowledge, answer Sarah’s questions and assist her in learning to do what she could herself.
Leda visited Sarah and the baby often, but Sarah didn’t see Nicholas for the next few days. The portly middle-aged doctor called twice, proclaiming her leg better, but still not well enough to put her weight on. He checked her head, asked about the baby’s eating habits, looked him over and wished her a good day.
Sarah and her son slept and ate and grew stronger. At times, beneath Leda’s doting concern, Sarah didn’t feel so alone—until she remembered the gracious woman believed she was someone else. Her identity was a secret she bore alone. A burden she carried each day and each night, its weight squeezing her heart and her conscience.
Late one afternoon Leda came to her suite, and soon after tea was served. “I thought we might decide today,” the woman said, a note of hopefulness in her voice.
“On what, Mrs. Halliday?”
“Leda, please. On the baby’s name, of course.”
“Oh, yes, of course.”
“Tell me, did you and Stephen have any names you particularly wanted to use? Your father’s perhaps?”
Sarah didn’t know Claire’s father’s name, so she shied away from that idea. Her own father’s name would only remind her of his hurtful rejection. She shook her head. “I like Thomas. Or Victor. Peter is nice, too. Did you have any you particularly like?” Sarah asked, knowing full well she must.
“Well.” She settled her cup in its saucer and patted her lip with a linen napkin. “My father’s name was Horatio. Stephen’s father’s name was Templeton.”
Sarah hoped the woman had some relatives with acceptable names. Sarah had, after all, suggested she needed help choosing.
“My grandfather was William—”
“William is quite nice,” Sarah cut in quickly.
“Do you like it?”
“I do. I like it a lot.”
“He needs a middle name,” Leda commented.
Sarah nodded, grudgingly.
“How about Stephen?”
Sarah thought about the kind young man who had taken her in out of the rain and given her his bed for the night. If he’d been in that bunk, he would probably be alive right now. Naming her son after him wouldn’t make up for the debt, but it would be appropriate. “I think Stephen is more than suitable.”
Leda clapped her hands together in almost childlike excitement. “William Stephen Halliday! Isn’t it a grand name?”
Guilt fell on Sarah like a cold Boston fog and dampened her spirits. But seeing Leda this happy made her unwilling to change anything that she’d said or done. “It is indeed. It’s a wonderful name.”
“Nicholas will come and get you for dinner tonight,” Leda said, rising. “We’ll tell him then.” She bustled from the room.
Sarah wheeled her chair over to the alcove where the ornate iron crib Leda had purchased