Later, as his head lay on Philomena’s stomach, he laughed. “I felt the baby move.”

“Remember your mother joins us today,” Philomena said.

Hugh shouted. “What a time to mention my mother.”

“I must make everything ready. Your mama is not yet used to my presence in the family, although I do believe the inheritance of Fairford Manor, as an addition to your estates, helped to persuade her to accept the marriage.” Philomena began to rise from the bed, all thoughts of sleep driven away. “Do you know what your mama said last time she was here?”

“Indeed I do. She wished you had been able to come out and enjoy the London Season before our marriage. If I remember correctly, you replied that it was impossible to ‘come out’ when you had never been in the schoolroom, and that you were proud to have worked all your life. It was not tactful.”

Philomena giggled. “I was not thinking of that, but when we were taking tea, your mama admired my gown. I am afraid I could not resist explaining that I made it myself. She glared for a moment, over the top of her lorgnette, as you know she likes to do, and said, ‘I suppose that at least my new grandson will be the best dressed baby in England.’”

****

“Papa,” said John, as they strolled together in the woods, searching for a tree to cut down and take into the Hall. “Will you and Miss ’Mena tell me the story of Good King Wenceslas again, like before?”

Hugh looked down at his son and smiled. “You can ask her yourself. Here she comes.” He nodded in the direction of the house as Philomena approached, her gait awkward. John waved.

Hugh stepped forward and took her arm. “I thought you were resting. You were awake early.”

Philomena’s cheeks glowed as she remembered the morning’s pleasure. “I feel a little restless. I can’t forget what happened at Christmas.”

Hugh kissed her on the cheek. “No more can we. John was asking if you would tell him the story of Good King Wenceslas again tonight. And perhaps I will join you, to be sure you do not make mistakes.”

“Miss Smith and I have read some Christmas stories today,” said John, “but she makes me read parts of them myself and that takes too long.” He ran off across the grass.

Philomena and Hugh walked on, hand in hand. “He still calls me Miss ’Mena,” said Philomena, with a small sigh.

Hugh squeezed her arm. “Be content. It is quite right that John should still remember and love his mother. Beatrice and I did not do well together, but that was my fault and I would not have him forget her, even for you, my love.”