Page 97 of The Governess and the Brooding Duke
For... It was not his.
And yet who else would claim this child? No one. He thought about Lachlan, the leader of her clan, who had taken a child conceived in hateful circumstances. He had meted out justice. Judgement.
And it had been brutal. And yet when it came to his treatment of the babe, he had been compassionate. Beyond compassionate.
He reached down into the cradle and picked up the sleeping child. ‘Lachlan,’ he said, testing the name. It was Scottish, unforgivably so, but he was a duke. So in all likelihood the name would be seen as an interesting eccentricity.
Lachlan.
That was what he would name the child. Lachlan Samuel. His own name. Jane had not given his own name to their son. And yet he felt that it would make a strong tie between them, and now he wanted to do so. He wanted to make that claim.
Because a man had been there for Mary when she had needed him most, and he had come alongside a helpless child. And he felt... He felt that he needed to do the same here.
He held the child close, and he felt something soften inside of him.
‘You are my son,’ he said.
Because he had been a wall. He had been steady. He had been stable, but all of that kept what needed to spill over back as well.
He needed kindness here. A compassion that he had not felt.
How could he?
He had felt like this child had stolen Jane from him. But Jane had made her own decisions.
Yes, his own failures were a part of that, but Jane had made her own choices. And on top of that, sometimes fate was simply cruel.
Mary had nearly died giving birth, and she had been innocent. Of anything.
The idea of Mary pale and bleeding made his blood run cold.
Even more so than the idea of her being round with child at such a tender age.
He needed to see her.
Holding the child still, he walked down the corridor, and to her chamber.
He knocked.
‘Yes?’
He opened the door, and saw her lying in bed, her nightdress on, a hint of pleasured exhaustion present in the purple circles beneath her eyes.
The curtains were opened, allowing in a fair amount of grey morning air.
‘Good morning,’ she said. And then it was as if she suddenly realised he was holding the babe. ‘Oh.’
‘I thought about our conversation last night. I’m humbled by the story that you told of your clan leader. Would it be too painful for you if the child was named Lachlan?’
She looked stunned. Tears filled her eyes. ‘Why would... How did my story bring you to this point?’
‘Because you are why I’m standing here holding this child. I would’ve abandoned him. For what? I loved Jane. I don’t even hate her in death. I had transferred all of my bad feelings to this little one, and he did nothing. Even my wife, with her share of guilt... I do not hate him. How can I hate him?’
He was his to protect. Just like Michael and Elizabeth. He was all this little boy had. He was all he had.
‘That’s beautiful. You are... You will be wonderful.’
‘Only by comparison to the rest of my species.’
