by Elise Marion
“Boo!” cried a thin voice in his ear, and he turned his head to find himself confronted with a pair of wide, blue eyes set in a tawny, brown face.
The large orbs belonged to Ophelia Grace Davies, Maxwell and Josephine’s first child, who was now three years of age. The girl was as precocious as Max was rumored to have been as a boy, and as sweet as her mother. A head full of glossy, dark brown curls framed her cherubic face.
“Did I scare you, Uncle Gideon?”
Dramatically clapping a hand over his chest, he sighed. “You scared me half to death, Ophelia. I thought you were a monster!”
“Papa!”
The other voice called out to him from beneath the sofa. Gideon looped Ophelia’s arms around his neck to keep her on his back as he leaned over and peered between his legs.
“Oh, hello there,” he said with a chuckle as another little girl—this one a year younger than Ophelia and possessing her mother’s gunmetal gray eyes—gave him a smile comprised of only half a mouth of teeth.
Catriona Lesley Whitlock had been born nearly one year to the day after Gideon and his wife moved into their new home. The girl was his pride and joy, twisting Gideon around her chubby little fingers as easily as her mother did. The deep sense of his life being changed had been monumental on that day. He’d wept while holding his daughter for the first time, and oftentimes simply sat and watched her without moving or speaking—still in such awe that he and Sylvia had created something so beautiful and perfect together.
“Papa!” Catriona repeated, crawling out from under the sofa in a rustle of lace-trimmed skirts. Standing, she raised both arms in a silent plea to be picked up. He obliged her, perching her on one knee as Ophelia slipped off his back and scrambled over to her father to pry a finger sandwich from his clutches.
“Is the baby here yet?” she asked, mouth full.
“Not yet, sweetling,” Maxwell replied.
“But it’s taking forever!”
“My sentiments exactly,” Gideon muttered, bouncing Catriona on his thigh and trying not to think of the myriad of things that could have gone wrong.
“Sometimes mamas need a bit more time to make the babies, you see,” Maxwell said with an indolent shrug. “That’s how you know this one will be special. It’s so special that Aunt Sylvia needs hours and hours to bring it into the world.”
“Miles is special,” Ophelia crooned, standing on tiptoe to peer at the face of her sleeping brother.
Maxwell’s face melted into an expression of tenderness as he watched his daughter stare with awe at the babe. Gideon’s chest twisted painfully as he looked on, and he clung tighter to Catriona. He’d looked forward to seeing his own children that way, but now anxiety began to plague him. What if something was wrong with Sylvia or the baby? What if his daughter and the new baby never got to meet because …
No, he wouldn’t think that way. He had to stay calm for Catriona’s sake. But, for the love of Christ, it was taking an infernally long time for this babe to be born.
As if his thoughts had conjured her, Josephine appeared in the doorway, an apron tied on over her simple gown. Stray curls damp with sweat lay against her forehead, and she looked as exhausted as Gideon felt. Yet, as Gideon shot to his feet, propping Catriona on his hip, she flashed him a wide, bright smile.
“Is she … is Sylvia all right?”
“She’s just fine,” Josephine replied. “And you have a strong, healthy son.”
Gideon staggered in his shock and plopped onto the sofa, Catriona sprawling in his lap with a grunt. “A boy. It’s a boy.”
Maxwell grinned and rocked his own son, who had just begun to stir and whimper. “Congratulations, my friend. We are even now, you and I. Two children, one of each. Perhaps we’ll see who produces number three first.”
“It won’t be us for a while if I have anything to say about it,” Josephine quipped, a hand braced against her stomach as she moved to join her husband and children.
Maxwell held a sandwich up to her lips, which she bit into with a satisfied groan.
“Gideon.”
He blinked at the sound of his name, and glanced up at his friend, realizing he had fallen into a stupor. It hadn’t completely sunken in just yet, but as Maxwell chuckled and gave him a knowing look, Gideon began to feel his legs again. Excitement and relief washed over him so rapidly he nearly passed out from the force of them.
“I have a son.”
“Yes, you do,” Josephine replied between sandwiches. She had to be starving after spending the entire night at Sylvia’s bedside. “Perhaps you’d like to go see him now?”
Gideon was on his feet in an instant, heart pounding and stomach lurching as he lumbered across the room. Josephine held out her arms for Catriona as he walked past, and he deposited the girl with her on the way out. Once free of the room, he broke into a run, taking the steps two at a time and barreling down the corridor toward the bedchamber he shared with Sylvia.
He found his wife sitting up in their bed, draped with clean bedclothes and wearing a clean white nightgown. Her hair fell in loose, gleaming tendrils around her face. She practically glowed from within, her eyes bright and shining as she smiled at him. Gideon made his way toward the bed as if through a dream, heedless to the maid working to finish cleaning the chamber and the nurse assisting the doctor in packing away his implements. He saw only Sylvia and the little red-faced bundle cradled in her arms.
“Hello, husband,” she said, her voice raspy and low. “Would ye like to meet yer son?”
“Yes, please,” he replied, his own voice quavering as he sank gingerly onto the mattress at her son.
She extended the blanket-wrapped bundle to him, presenting Gideon with his secondborn child. The lad was so small Gideon could have cradled his entire torso in the palm of his hand. Soft, nearly transparent whorls of white-blond hair lay flat against his scalp, and his plump cheeks and moue of a mouth were the most perfect things Gideon had ever seen.
Accepting the babe, he opened the swaddling to reveal ten fingers, ten toes, and skin that held a healthy pink glow.
“Isnae he the bonniest thing ye’ve ever seen?” Sylvia asked, beaming with pride.
“He’s perfect,” Gideon whispered, sucking in an awed breath as the babe stirred and opened his eyes.
They were two clear, wide pools of hazel just like his—swirls of green already showing through the brown irises. He quickly wrapped the boy up again, though one little arm swung free. A tiny fist arced toward him, and Gideon smiled, taking hold of it and running his finger over tiny knuckles.
“Meet yer da, little one,” Sylvia whispered, watching as Gideon stroked the miniature fist and pressed his lips to the top of the tiny head. “He’s the best papa in the world ye know. Yer sister is mad for him, and I know ye will be, too.”
Gideon didn’t know whether to smile or weep in the face of such praise. He’d feared fatherhood for so long—worried he wouldn’t be gentle enough, that he was too damaged, too broken. But with each new addition to their family, he felt shift after shift happening deep within. He was so full of adoration for his wife, his daughter, and now, his son, that there was less room for the things that had driven him to loneliness for years. He was so filled with joy that nothing could stop him from chasing Catriona down the halls as she screamed and giggled, or tucking her in each night with bedtime stories. When she or Ophelia took him by surprise, his heart recognized them before his mind did, and he’d never so much as flinched when one of the little girls touched him.
And now, as his son opened his hand and wrapped it around Gideon’s first finger, there was another person in the world he could trust with his entire self.
“What will we name him?” he asked, tearing his gaze away from his son to gaze at his wife.
She yawned and nestled deeper in the mountain of pillows cradling her head and shoulders. “What do ye think of Lachlan … Lachlan Rhys Whitlock.”
Studying the boy, he nodded. “Yes. He looks like a Lach
lan. That way, he’ll have a Scottish name like his sister.”
“Ye dinnae want him to have something more English? I wouldnae mind.”
He brushed his knuckles along her cheek, then tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Not this time. Once ye’ve recovered and are ready, we can begin working on another, and that one may have an English name.”
She made another one of her Scottish noises and sank deeper into the haven of her blankets. “At present, I dinnae want ye to even look at me askance. Though I’m sure that’ll change in the coming weeks, aye? We’ve many rooms left to fill, mo chroi.”
“Aye,” he said, teasingly adding a horrible Scot’s brogue to the word. “For now, I want you to rest. You’ve had a long night.”
“It was worth it,” she managed after another yawn, though her eyes had slid closed and wouldn’t open. “Are ye pleased, mo chroi?”
He adjusted the bundle in his arms and cupped her face, tracing his thumb over the curve of her brow, her cheek, her upper lip.
“I’m happier than I ever dreamed, my love. And I have you to thank.”
“Hmm … thank me when I wake. But bring ham and eggs first, aye?”
With a soft laugh, he pressed a kiss to her lips, then stood with the sleeping babe held in his arms. “Whatever you wish.”
Sylvia’s head slumped, and she slept soundly as the maid, the doctor, and the nurse quietly left them alone. Crossing to a chair near the window—one he’d sat in countless nights to rock Catriona to sleep—Gideon sank down with a groan. Now that he had assured himself that his wife and son were safe, fatigue was beginning to take him under. Slouching in the chair and ensuring that Lachlan was safely nestled in the crook of his arm, Gideon rested his head against the back of the rocking chair and closed his eyes.
No dreams were there to greet him, no terrors or memories best forgotten.
There was only the comforting blanket of blackness, and the lingering euphoria brought on by this day.
There was security and safety in the home he’d made with his growing family.
There was peace.
Historical Note
On PTSD, Haphephobia, and Alienists
Dear Reader,
The Victorian era saw the study of mental illness grow by leaps and bounds, though was still woefully lacking by today’s standards. Doctors specializing in ‘afflictions of the mind’ were known in past eras as ‘mad doctors’. These men operated under the belief that mental illness was the cause of some weakness of the mind or moral failing, and treatments were barbaric. Most of the time, they did more harm than good and even served to make matters worse.
By the time we moved past the Regency era and grew toward a better, though not thorough, understanding, the practices of such doctors evolved. They then became known as ‘alienists’. Forward thinking alienists like Dr. Scudder understood that their patients needed care and compassion, paving the way for a huge shift in the practice of psychiatry.
Gideon suffers from two disorders that we now know as Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), and Haphephobia (an irrational fear of being touched that can manifest in panic attacks and stress). Haphephobia is most commonly the result of sexual trauma, but there is proven evidence of the same effect within some war veterans. While these disorders did not have names back in the Victorian era, the symptoms of PTSD, specifically, were being studied as the result of the trauma of war. Special hospitals were opened for the care of soldiers affected by war, and facilities such as Maxwell and Josephine’s ‘Davies House’ were often funded by the charity of others.
As the wife of an Iraq war veteran, the subject of PTSD and trauma is of particular interest to me, and I’ve enjoyed exploring such themes within the historical context of the Crimean War—which is still studied by historians and hailed as one of the most disastrous wars ever fought, as well as the first ‘modern’ war due to the use of its weapons and the tactics employed.
Thanks for reading,
Elise
Men-At-Arms book 3, coming soon!
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Also by Elise Marion
Men At Arms Reading Order
A series of Victorian-era novellas following wounded soldiers of the Crimean War.
Loving the Lieutenant
Cherishing the Captain
Royals of Cardenas Reading Order
A sumptuous series of historical romances set in the fictional kingdom of Cardenas—where the Rothchester family rules it all, and love, adventure, and royal court intrigue await!
The Rogue Prince (A FREE download!)
The Awakened Prince
The Lady Warriors of Barony
Wild Gypsy Rose
The Gypsy Lord
The Courtesan (Bonus novella, can be read in any order)
Sons of Cardenas (A Royals of Cardenas Spin-off Series)
Follow the tales of the children of the couples from the Royals of Cardenas Series!
The Gypsy Prince
The Princess Spy
Lady Lost
About the Author
I first picked up a pen with with dreams of writing at the age of 12. Sitting at a little desk in front of my bedroom window, I wrote (by hand with pencil and paper) my first novel. It wasn’t very good, but I’d never been more proud of anything in my life. I’ve been writing ever since, and have found a love of romantic stories both sweet and sensual.
When I’m not wrangling my three rambunctious kids, or spending time with my retired Army husband, I’m stretching the imagination with stories of people from all walks of life (and worlds) falling in love.