Joan Wolf by Margarita Page A

Frost knocked at the door of the library, where Nicholas had been pacing around like a caged tiger. “You have a son, my lord,” she told him proudly. “A fine, healthy boy.”
    “A boy. How is my wife?” His voice sounded tense.
    “She is fine. She did splendidly. And it was oversoquickly!”
    “Thank God,” Nicholas said devoutly. “I don’t mind telling you, Mrs. Frost, that I was worried. She is so small.”
    “I can say now, my lord, that I was worried too. But the baby is a nice size, and she delivered with no trouble at all. Dr. Macrae says you may come upstairs if you wish.”
    Nicholas started for the door with alacrity.
     
    * * * *
    Margarita was sitting up in bed when he came into the bedroom. Her hair had been brushed and neatly plaited, and she wore a crisp white night dress. At the sound of the opening door, she looked up from the child in her arms and her eyes met Nicholas’s. There was quiet in the room. He was aware of nothing but those great dark eyes fixed so steadily on his. Then she made a small movement toward the child in her arms. “Here is your son, my lord.”
    He crossed the room and looked down at the small bundle resting in the crook of Margarita’s arm. The baby had downy brown hair and delicate, fair skin. His eyebrows were amazingly well defined and Nicholas said, with profound surprise, “He has eyebrows!”
    Mrs. Frost laughed. “Yes. And ten fingers andtentoes as well, my lord.”
    “He is perfect,” Margarita said softly, her eyes on the baby’s face. The child gazed back out of wide gray eyes. “His eyes will be brown. All my brothers and I had gray eyes when we were born.”
    “If he has eyes like you, little one, he will be a very fortunate boy,” said his father. He held out a tentative finger and brushed it against the baby’s cheek. “What shall we call him? We never talked of a name.”
    There was a note of surprise in her voice as she answered, “Nicholas, of course.”
    He looked at her. “I thought perhaps you might like to call him after your father.”
    “Antonio? No, Anthony would be the English.” She smiled at him then, a lovely, warm smile. “That is very generous of you, my lord. Perhaps our next son. This one is Nicholas.”
    He felt absurdly pleased and was embarrassed by his pleasure. “If you insist,” he said hastily. He took her hand. “I am so glad you are all right, little one. I was worried about you.”
    “It was painful but nothing I could not support,” Margarita answered proudly. “In fact, Nicholas, I am very pleased with myself.”
    He laughed and bent to kiss her cheek. “Andsoyou should be. Mrs. Frost said you did splendidly.”
    Margarita’s small face glowed and Mrs. Frost said, “I think her ladyship should rest now, my lord.”
    Nicholas nodded. “Of course. Good night, sweetheart. I shall see you both tomorrow.” She smiled and he went to the door, pausing to look back once before he left. She was still looking at him.
    * * * *
    In the weeks following the birth of her child, Margarita became completely absorbed in the rich fullness of motherhood. She turned her sitting room into a temporary nursery so she could nurse the baby at night. They had hired a baby nurse to take care of him, but Margarita enjoyed the routines of dressing and bathing her son, and Mrs. Wade found herself acting more as a teacher than a doer.
    Nicholas rather felt as if in gaining a son he had lost a wife. She was so immersed in the baby. Her life revolved around little Nicky: nursing, resting, bathing him, eating and drinking so her milk would be nourishing, nursing, resting again.
    He missed talking to her. During dinner she told him about the baby, and after dinner she was so sleepy that he was sure she wasn’t attending to what he was saying. He was impatient with her for being so tired and ashamed of himself for feeling impatient. He knew she was up at least twice during the night to feed the baby.
    In spite of feeling a bit put out