But not even for the chance of having a child of her own would she rethink her refusal to marry; what good would her love for a child be if she meanwhile destroyed its father?
More, while she felt like this about children now, when it came to children of her own, how could she be certain that she wouldn’t turn into her mother?
Courting such a risk was potentially too damaging for everyone involved, so she determinedly made do with her nieces, nephews, and cousins’ children. When she reached the triumphant end of Little Red Riding Hood’s story, she had the four at her feet cheering.
Cradling the new baby, Mary appeared beside Stacie. “I believe you’re the most appropriate person to introduce this little one to our younger family members.” Leaning down, Mary handed the infant to Stacie. Spontaneously smiling, Stacie accepted the warmly wrapped bundle and settled the baby in her arms.
She drew back the fine muslin so she could look down into the tiny, round, pudgy face. The other four children scrambled to their feet and pressed close about Stacie’s legs, the better to peer at the baby.
“Not too close,” she warned. “This is Rex Maximillian. He’s come to join our family.”
“Why isn’t he opening his eyes?”
“Can he play with us?”
“Can I push him in his pram?”
Stacie fielded the questions with gentle authority, aware of Mary’s too-understanding gaze trained on her face.
The children eventually convinced themselves that Rex in his current form was unlikely to actively engage with them and drifted back to their previously discarded game.
By then, Rex’s warm weight had sunk through Stacie’s gown, and when he stirred and turned toward her, the urge to cuddle him close was nearly overpowering. She resettled his wrap, rose, and carried him back to his mother.
After handing over the infant, she remained for a few more minutes, long enough for several of her relatives to comment on the subdued nature of her engagement celebrations. Her explanation that Frederick was a rather private individual rang true and was accepted, however grudgingly, by all.
Intending to slip away, Stacie turned to the door, only to have Clarissa bound up and clutch her hand.
“Come and play, Auntie Stacie!” The blond angel bounced up and down.
Stacie looked into Clarissa’s bright eyes and reflected that no child would ever have approached Stacie’s mother in that way. Stacie smiled and crouched down so her face and Clarissa’s were closer to level. “I have to go now, and you have your cousins to play with.”
Clarissa pouted. “But they’re not you! And they can’t tell stories!”
Stacie laughed and rose. “Be that as it may, poppet”—she ruffle
d Clarissa’s curls—“I need to be on my way.”
Clarissa’s eyes searched hers, assessing her determination, then the little girl’s expression eased into reluctant acceptance. “All right.” She flung her arms around Stacie’s legs, pressed her face into Stacie’s gown, and hugged tight. “I’ll be good and say goodbye.” The words were muffled, then Clarissa released her, danced back, and waved. “Goodbye!”
Stacie laughed, waved, and before anyone else could catch her, found Mary, whispered that she was off, briefly squeezed Mary’s arm, and determinedly made for the drawing room door.
She paused in the doorway and looked back on a scene that spoke of family and the central role of women in establishing and nurturing that—a role that called to her, that she yearned for, yet had accepted could never be hers.
Stacie turned and left. Her inner yearning would have to be satisfied with what came her way via the safer role of spinster aunt.
The next morning, bright and early, Stacie rode out to meet Frederick in the park, with, as usual, her groom trailing behind. As she trotted her mare out of Green Street and into Park Lane, her mind drifted over the events of the previous evening. She and Frederick had elected to attend a soirée at Lord and Lady Manning’s house; the conversation had revolved about politics, business, and investments rather than the usual superficial ton topics, which had been a welcome change.
The difference had kept her on her mental toes and prevented her from thinking of other things, which had been all to the good. Would that that state had extended to the rest of her night. Instead, once in her bed, she’d spent hours restless and wakeful, unable to find sleep—which she blamed wholly on the aftereffects of Mary’s morning gathering.
Stirring those yearnings she normally kept deeply suppressed always left her feeling…empty. Unfulfilled and unhappy when there really was no reason to feel that way.
These days, her life was one many would be delighted to have.
Sternly telling herself that, she turned her mare in at the Grosvenor Gate and saw Frederick mounted on his gray, waiting a little way ahead.
She summoned a suitably bright smile and trotted over to join him. “Good morning, my lord.”
With a slow, appreciative smile, he gracefully inclined his head. “My lady.” The gray shifted, and Frederick looked southward, then, gathering his reins, arched a brow at her. “Shall we?”