by Ava Devlin
"I very likely would," she granted. "Though I'm not so sure about hunting for a Scots husband. I'm quite enjoying life as a spinster midwife, all things considered."
"It is a queer path for you to choose for yourself, to be certain. I imagine the folk here feel a little strange being waited upon by a Somers, no?"
Heloise considered it, tilting her head in thought. "You know, I haven't much thought about it. For the first year, learning under Meggie, I mostly attended to Rose while she carried little Reginald. When we took to the village for a few cases here and there that Meggie had picked up during her tenure, I would ask the expecting mothers to simply call me Heloise, rather than my Lady or Lady Heloise or what have you, but they all staunchly refused, and so I've learned not to fight it anymore. The township didn't have their own midwife, so I haven't displaced anyone, and I do not charge for my services, which surely is seen as a boon to some families, don't you think?"
"Oh, I wouldn't know," Sheldon responded with a dark sort of sobriety to his tone. "Women are mysterious creatures all, so far as I'm concerned. 'Twas merely curiosity on the part of a friend."
"Are we friends, at last?" She giggled, raising her free arm to wave to the assembled party standing outside of the church. "I recall for many a year, you only had time for Gideon, and then eventually Alex. I was never let in on the fun. I believe more than once you called me a 'wean' and instructed me to return to my nursery."
"I never!" he grumbled, his cheeks red with guilt. He cleared his throat gruffly and picked up his pace, tugging her along across the street. "Look alive, lassie, lest we miss the whole affair!"
She laughed merrily, allowing him out of her grasp so that he might flee to the safe embrace of masculinity alongside her brothers as they alighted the Somerton carriage. Alex looked very fine this morning in his new tails. The vibrant red of his hair was tamed into some semblance of respectability beneath a top hat, and his handsome features were molded into what appeared to be a permanent smile.
"Viscount Somers!" the vicar called as he burst from the church entrance. "Come in, come in from the cold! It's a sight warmer within! We lit the fires early, just for this joyous occasion!"
Reverend George Halliwell was a charming fellow in his fifth decade, with permanently rosy cheeks and a modest little potbelly that always stuck out from his robes. He had endeared himself to their community over the decades as a constant beacon of positivity, who was known to occasionally slide the odd jest into his sermons and to provide moral counsel with the care of a doting grandfather, rather than a stiff-backed judge.
As he ushered the group within, Heloise spotted a second carriage arriving, likely carrying the bride and her parents within. She paused at her work of handing off Boudicea to the family driver to watch it approach, the wheels of the Blakely family carriage squeaking on their hinges as they turned.
"They wanted me to ride with them," Lady Rose Somers commented, drawing up to Heloise's side with her son perched on her hip, "but I convinced Glory it was bad luck to have anyone but the bride and her parents in the carriage for the final moments of her maidenhood. I'm fairly certain she knew I was lying, but she wasn't willing to risk the off chance I wasn't."
Heloise giggled as the carriage came to a halt, turning to her sister-in-law and little nephew, only to remember her own instructions just two days prior.
"Oh, Rosie, I told you not to carry him in your condition," Heloise scolded, holding out her arms for the child, who was more than happy to fall into the embrace of a new and willing servant. "That's a good boy, Reggie. Come here."
"Hel!" Reggie squealed, immediately moving to sink his fingers into her carefully arranged hair. "Hel Hel!"
Luckily, it only took a few encounters with the lad to develop lightning-fast reflexes, and Heloise caught his hands playfully and tickled his sweet little belly instead, winning a happy chortle from the boy.
Rose smiled at them, sliding a hand over the newly visible proof of her second child beneath her gown of plum and gray. The deep purple ribbons of her bonnet emphasized the roundness of her cheeks when she smiled, and despite Heloise's best efforts to be stern, she found herself returning the grin anyhow.
"Let us go inside," she suggested. "I imagine lingering in the frost isn't ideal either, hm?"
"Well, it isn't," Heloise grumbled, adjusting the weight of her nephew until it felt right. "He's going to be too big to carry before long!"
"Why do you think I'm still doing it?" Rose pointed out, holding the door open for them to draw within, where indeed it was much warmer and more pleasant.
Heloise had to set Reggie down on the ground (to his great offense) in order to shrug off her cloak and hang it on one of the pegs by the door. When she turned to retrieve him again, he had already toddled off at an unseemly speed toward his indulgent grandmother, who was assisting little Callie out of her new coat on the other end of the room.
As always, Reggie Somers acted without a care in the world for whether or not he had permission to do such a thing, and was received enthusiastically by those he had chosen to bless with his attention.
Heloise chuckled to herself, peeling off her gloves to stow away in the pockets of her cloak, taking in the congregation as it had developed thus far.
The housekeeper, steadfast Mrs. Brenda Laughlin, had herded the members of the household staff who wished to attend (and were not otherwise occupied preparing the opulent wedding breakfast that was to follow) into a section of seating near the stained glass windows. She had worn her best dress, a stiff blue linen that complemented her robust Celtic features quite beautifully. She had bought a matching bonnet specifically for the occasion, after much grumbling that she had missed Lord Gideon's wedding entirely.
It was amusing to Heloise that their actual mother, Ruthie Somers, had reacted almost in opposition to Mrs. Laughlin. She'd praised Gideon for his expedient and frugal elopement as the plans for Alex's upcoming nuptials became progressively more elaborate.
"A wedding on New Year's Eve?" she'd moaned. "How ridiculously indulgent!"
The bride, as it happened, had already intimately acquainted herself with the entertainment options available in the towns and cities near Somerton. She had ensured that announcements were sent to every major publication in Britain, as well as two shipped all the way to the United States. She had overseen the banns being read both here and down in Devonshire from which she hailed, and had agonized for well over a week about whether the wedding cake would have an almond or a sugar glaze.
It was a delicious sort of irony that starched and proper Gideon should have the unorthodox, scandalous wedding, while mischievous, fly-by-night Alex endured the rigorously traditional and respectable path. Anyone who knew her brothers would have immediately assumed that things would unfold the other way 'round.
"Lady Heloise, you are looking radiant," came a smooth, pleasant voice from the entrance hall as the town's handsome young physician, Dr. Richard Garber, entered the church. "I imagine knowing your own wedding day must loom somewhere near on the horizon must provide an additional thrill on a day like today."
Heloise shook her head, a little smile playing about her lips. "You will not convince me to give up spinsterhood, Richard. It has treated me far too well. And besides, you'd lose your one and only colleague on this cold and isolated moor."
"Ah." He shrugged, the gray of his eyes sharp in the late-morning light, and offered Heloise his arm. "If you'd marry me, we could continue to work together, could we not?"
"Hm," she said, taking his arm and allowing him to lead her toward the pews. "I suspect you might treat a wife somewhat more carefully than you treat a colleague."
"Alas, we will never know for certain unless we test the hypothesis, my dear Lady Midwife."
This was not the first time he had made such comments. They always came under the guise of having been a jest, but with enough flirtation in his tone to suggest that the offer was sincere, should she wish to take it. She released his arm and g
ave him a little nod as she took the second of the family pews, behind her brother and sister-in-law, at their seats at the front of the church, and did her best to disregard the way he bowed and let his gaze linger upon her before finding his own seat elsewhere.
It wasn't that Dr. Garber wasn't attractive. He was certainly handsome enough, with a fashionably sleek build, a head full of glossy brown hair, and gentle, practiced manners. He was intelligent and friendly and would likely make a very fine husband. Heloise had even allowed herself to consider it once or twice, though all the particularities of her situation generally dissuaded her from that line of thought.
"Do you see that?" Gideon asked, turning from the pew in front of her, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "He's got the dog sat on a pew like a person! It's a wonder he didn't try to affix a hat to her head."
Indeed, to their left, Lord Sheldon Bywater, a distinguished soldier and peer of the realm, was positioned next to his bloodhound, who was perched politely on the pew next to him while he absently scratched at her neck. Perhaps the truly remarkable thing was how little attention it drew from the other congregants.
"That's why he's still a bachelor," Rose commented. "He hasn't got room for another woman in his life."
"If I were a few decades younger, we'd just see about that," Ruthie Somers whispered, ushering the children into the pew between herself and Heloise.
"Oh, Mother, please," Heloise tutted, instinctively placing a hand on her daughter's curly head, as though to protect her from her grandmother's bawdy sense of humor.
Ruthie gave a wicked little grin and a shrug of her slender shoulders, her chestnut-brown ringlets quivering with the motion. "I am still young enough to regard handsome men, Heloise. So are you, for that matter."
"Mother!" she hissed, though her voice was drowned out by the pipe organ thrumming to life under the agile fingers of the young curate.
The atmosphere within the sanctuary buzzed with sudden excitement as Reverend Halliwell and Alex Somers took their places next to the pulpit, both men serious and upright as the doors opened to reveal the bride.
When she was a girl of sixteen, Heloise had believed that Gloriana Blakely was the most beautiful girl she would ever lay eyes on in her life. Even now, well into their second decade of living, she still believed it, watching the ethereal glow around the other young woman as she made her way toward the sanctum.
In those days of fiery youth, Heloise’s resentment of Glory's stunning good looks and natural social graces had led to anger, dislike, and a not insignificant number of pranks at the other girl’s expense. Today, she simply found herself stunned into perfect stillness as this incredible woman, who had once been such a thorn in her side, floated into the church on her father's arm, swathed in silver and white. Whether she was stunned by Gloriana’s beauty or by the shock of her own sudden feelings of happiness upon seeing this particular person, she could not say.
Gloriana clung to Sir Reginald Blakely's side, though she was a touch taller than her father. They had the same platinum hair, though Sir Reginald's was sparse and untamed while Gloriana's was a wealth of perfectly styled curls, arranged artfully into a wreath of holly and winter berries, with curls that tumbled down to frame her heart-shaped face. There were snowflakes embroidered into the gown she wore, flashing with silver thread as she made her way down the aisle. All the time, her pale blue eyes were locked upon Alex Somers with an expression of overt adoration.
It wasn't until the pair had passed Heloise's pew, with Glory's gown brushing against her fingers, that Heloise snapped back to reality. She settled into her seat, reminding herself of the occasion, and took note of her brother's face, his expression of awe at the approach of his bride.
As they reached the pulpit, Sir Reginald kissed his daughter's cheeks and whispered something into her ear that made her smile and blink away a welling of tears. He clapped Alex on the shoulder and the two exchanged a smiling nod before Sir Reginald turned and made his way back down the aisle to his own wife, who received him with a tight embrace and rested her head upon his shoulder.
What must it have been like, Heloise wondered, to grow up with parents who loved one another so openly? She stroked Callie's hair, a tendril of guilt blossoming in her soul for the things her child could never have, for the things that she herself had never had in the tender years of her life.
Alex and Gloriana clasped hands as Reverend Halliwell read from The Book of Common Prayer, instructing them to love one another and respect one another and honor one another and so on. It didn't appear the bride and groom really heard any of it, though they repeated the words well enough.
Heloise suspected that Gloriana Blakely had rehearsed her own vows in front of a mirror at length, perfecting her delivery and the advantages of this posture or that tilt of the head, to ensure the moment was utterly perfect.
And so it was.
She would want to recount it in copious detail for her friends and perhaps some enemies as well. Heloise had been surprised that Gloriana agreed to a wedding in the country in the dead of winter, which guaranteed a small congregation made up of only those who lived locally and her parents, who were perhaps the only Britons willing to travel nearly the full span of the nation through Yuletide.
Perhaps, she realized with a little smile, her impatience to be married to Alex outweighed her instinct to capitalize on even such a large opportunity to leverage her social clout.
It was an open secret that Gloriana had already been wearing the ring that Alex slipped onto her finger today, for quite some time. It was an heirloom that belonged to a great-grandmother on the American side of the Somers family, a pretty bauble of clustered gems that carried a legacy of true love. Heloise supposed that today’s ceremony simply transformed the ring from a symbol of promise to a sacred bond.
Just like that, they were husband and wife. Gloriana Blakely, childhood nemesis and flouncing foe was no more. Now there was Lady Gloriana Somers, a sister.
When Alex gathered his new bride into his arms, he kissed her thoroughly enough that even the reverend raised his eyebrows. Those gathered amongst the pews reacted only with enthusiastic applause.
From the corner of her eye, Heloise was certain she saw Sheldon Bywater dabbing tears from his cheeks as he watched the proceedings.
As the congregation stood to shower the newlyweds with congratulations and cheer, all of them eager to join the delegation back to the house for refreshments and entertainment, Heloise lagged a little behind, watching the church as it emptied.
She leaned down to retrieve a sprig of winter berries from the aisle, which must have fallen loose from Gloriana's hair as she'd passed by. She held it up to the light streaming in from the windows, admiring the vibrancy of the red against the chill that nurtured it. The miracles of the moor and the beauty it created, despite its harsh edges and its ferocious storms and gales, never ceased to inspire a thrill of wonder in her heart.
"Auntie," came a sweet, soft voice from the doors.
Heloise looked up to see her daughter haloed in the purple and silver light of a winter's day, gazing at her from the end of the aisle. "Yes, my love?"
"Granny says you must come or we'll all catch ‘fluenza," she recited, fidgeting with her skirt.
"Well, we can't have that, can we?" Heloise smiled, taking long steps to the back of the church, where she retrieved her cloak and offered her hand to the little sweetling. "Besides, the sooner we get back, the sooner we can try some of the wedding cake!"
"Cake?" Callie replied, her dark eyes wide with eagerness.
"Mhm, and all sorts of other treats too. Come along, let's get to the coach before Granny turns into a snowman!"
Callie giggled, gripping Heloise's hand with the tight enthusiasm of a child who knows nothing but her own wants. Together they exited the church and joined the procession.
4
Caesar was the first honest-to-goodness purchase Callum Laughlin had made with his newfound, albeit humble fortune. A four-ye
ar-old stallion of mottled gray and white, Caesar had been described by his seller as restless, irritating, and insatiable for exercise—which was to say, perfect for Callum's needs.
A horse that was desperate for running and built for wide-open spaces was exactly the remedy to Callum's own impatience to be home.
Of course, prior to coming into Callum's possession, poor Caesar had been forced to endure being called Sugar-snout, after the distinctive spray of white on his nose. It was an overall undignified and improper name for such a fine mount. Changing his name was the first of many gifts this horse would experience as his existence evolved from a future of shambling stagecoaches to a horizon on Yorkshire, with endless wild land to run upon.
The business of his soon-to-be-executed gelding went unspoken. Callum thought it best that Caesar never know what they were going to do to him.
Bundled up in his warmest clothes beneath a layer of scarves and blankets, Callum had torn across the snowy terrain headed north, making triple the time he had been making in those stuffy, crowded stagecoaches. As one fellow traveler had commented to him, back near Stratford, attempting to get anywhere during the Twelve Days of Christmas was always going to be a busy affair, full of people who were trying to get to family in time to share in some of the festivities.
The military had made Callum respectful of deadlines, however, and he had told himself back on the southern shores of England that he wanted to be home in time for the new year. And so, he and Caesar had arrived on the fringes of the estate of Somerton, overlooking a frosted gate and the looming crescent shape of the manor house in the distance, with many hours to spare before the year turned over anew.
With a scarf wrapped so firmly about his face to protect from the frigid wind, Callum had to content himself with giving Caesar reassuring pats to the neck and scratches to the mane rather than telling him of all the wonderful things that awaited him just there, within their grasp.