Richard was exultant when he heard that Isabella had had a son. He had intended to be in St Piran for the birth in order to look the expectant father and he made his presence in the household felt as soon as possible.
Lisette made him wait as Isabella was feeding the baby, and this for some reason irritated Richard.
‘How is she? The doctor said she had a difficult time.’
‘She had a long labour, Sir Richard, and she is still very weak.’
‘And the child?’
‘He is small, but alive and well.’
‘Good. Good.’
Lisette felt anxious. What was going to happen now? Dear Lord, this man was never going to let Isabella or the child alone. He would cart them back to Botallick like the possessions they were. These months of pretending that things might be different were sliding away. Lisette had changed her opinion of Sir Richard. There was something single-minded and relentless about him. He would survive at any cost, but Isabella would not.
When Richard was allowed into the bedroom, Isabella was lying with her eyes closed and the baby in the crook of her arm. He stared down at them both and his heart stirred. Isabella looked pale and drained but more beautiful than he had ever seen her, as if the hard labour of childbirth had made her into a woman. The childish face of the girl he loved had gone. This face was that of a tired woman informed by pain, grateful that she had survived.
Richard felt awkward and large standing in the privacy of her bedroom, and when Isabella opened her eyes he saw immediately that she resented his presence. He moved nearer the bed and looked down at the tiny piece of humanity with its creased little face and downy hair.
‘Isabella?’ Richard asked. ‘How are you?’
‘I am well, thank you, Richard.’
‘May I see your son?’
Isabella moved the baby slightly and pulled the shawl away from the child’s face. Richard peered down. He had never seen anything so small. Tentatively he put out his little finger to a hand the size of his bent thumb. The tiny fingers flexed and closed around his. Richard was enchanted.
‘How small he is. How perfect,’ he murmured.
Isabella looked up at him surprised. She had yet to understand he had spent nine months convincing others of his impending fatherhood and in so doing had almost convinced himself. He did not look down and see Tom’s child but his own, and in a flash Isabella realized this and her emotions were mixed.
She felt a stab of fear for her future, and pity for a man who had married a younger woman in order to procreate. She had wronged her husband and she felt sadness for what might have been between them if she had been a little older, if she had minded less about the physical side of her marriage. If she had never set eyes on Tom Welland again.
If only she could have loved Richard. That moment, as he looked down for the first time on her child, could have been a gift she gave him in return for his devotion. The softening of his face as he reached out to touch his son. These small precious moments that made a union of marriage. If she had loved him. If the child had been his.
They were both still as they looked upon the baby, and in the stillness, Richard, whose nature was to love absolutely when he loved, felt sudden, total and unconditional love for the child in Isabella’s arms.
‘Have you everything you need, Isabella?’ he asked gently. ‘What can I bring you until you are both well enough to move back to Botallick? You look pale, should I employ a professional nurse for you? You need to get your strength back. The doctor wanted to send for a London quack and here you are having managed very well on your own!’
Isabella smiled faintly, but her heart sank at mention of her leaving the Summer House.
‘Richard, you are kind, but I have all I need, thank you.’
‘Then I will leave you to rest …’
Richard felt suddenly at a loss. He had married her too young. He saw that now. He had frightened her with his demands. This business with the carver had just been childhood fantasy. He should have let her play it out instead of handling it badly. He should have stayed silent, turned a blind eye. Isabella would never have pursued it if he had left well alone. God! How he wished he could go back and have that time again.
‘I will leave you. I go to talk to Ben Welland. I shall be staying at The Western Arms, but before I return to Falmouth I will come and see you, for I must register the child in Truro. Goodbye, my dear.’
Register the child? Richard disappeared and Isabella was left with a dry mouth and shaking hands as she pulled the baby closer. She had baptized the child, Thomas Benjamin. Welland names. This truce could not last and Isabella wished it to. It was so much easier without harsh words and she felt so exhausted she wondered if she would ever be herself again.