The Beauty of Darkness (The Remnant Chronicles #3) - Mary E. Pearson Page 0,165

and an ache bloomed in my chest. I gulped down my drink, draining my goblet.

And then we heard more footsteps.

Small, hesitant, the soft tap of slippers on stone.

Pauline.

Heads turned toward the door expectantly. But then the soft sound mysteriously stopped. Lady Adele’s brows pulled down. “Maybe I—”

Kaden pushed back his chair and stood. “Excuse me,” he said, and with no further explanation, he left the room.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

KADEN

She was sitting on a bench in the shadows of an arched passageway, the baby in her arms, her gaze lost in some distant world. Her long honey locks were neatly tucked into a netted cap, her dress reserved and buttoned, every stitch and line of it conveying propriety.

She didn’t look up as I approached. I stopped, my knees almost grazing hers.

Her gaze remained fixed on her lap. “I was on my way,” she said, “and then I realized, he doesn’t have a name. I can’t go in there without a name. You said it yourself, I need to give him a name.”

I bent down on one knee, and lifted her chin to meet my gaze. “Pauline, it doesn’t matter what I say or what anyone in there thinks. You choose a name when you’re ready.”

She studied me. Her eyes traveled over every inch of my face, her gaze restless and afraid. “I thought he loved me, Kaden. I thought I loved him. I’m afraid of making wrong choices again.” She swallowed and her restless search stopped, her gaze settling into mine. “Even when a choice feels so completely right.”

I couldn’t look away. My breath was suddenly trapped in my chest, and I was afraid of making wrong choices too. All I could see were her lips, her eyes, everywhere, only Pauline.

“Kaden,” she whispered.

My breath finally rattled free. “I guess if a choice feels right, maybe it’s best to test it first,” I said, “take it slowly, see if it can become something more … something you can be sure of.”

She nodded. “That’s what I want. Something more.”

That was what I wanted too.

I stood. “I’ll go in first. I’ll tell them you’ll be along.”

* * *

I returned to the dining room just as the next course was being served—Berdi’s fish stew. Lia had risen and walked around the table to kiss her cheek and tell her how many times she had dreamed of every morsel, every scent, every taste that was Berdi’s stew. I knew as soon as I caught the scent, that yes, it was better than Enzo’s, but then I asked everyone to hold off for just a moment. “I think I saw Pauline coming down the hallway. She should be here any moment.”

And in only seconds, she walked in. She paused, standing in the arch of the doorway, her cap pulled loose, the blanket drawn back from the baby’s head so his blond wisps showed and his little fist was free to stretch in the air.

“Hello, everyone. I’m sorry I’m late. The baby had to be fed.”

Silverware clattered somewhere in the room.

“The baby?” Lady Adele said.

“Yes, Aunt,” Pauline answered. She cleared her throat, then lifted her chin. “This is my son. Would you like to see him?”

Silence vibrated through the room. Lady Adele’s mouth hung open. “How is it possible for you to have a son?” she finally asked.

Pauline shrugged. “Oh, I got him in much the usual way.”

Her aunt looked at me and my white-blond hair and then back at the baby. I saw the assumption she was making, and I was about to correct her, but then I said nothing. I would leave that to Pauline.

The baby broke the silence with a loud wail.

“Bring him here,” Berdi said holding her arms out. “I know how to rock that sweet potato so he—”

“No,” Lady Adele said. “Let me see the child. Does he have a name?”

Pauline crossed the room. “Not yet,” she said as she laid the baby in her aunt’s arms. “I’m still trying to find the right one.”

Lady Adele patted, jiggled, and shushed the baby, and he quieted. She looked up at Pauline, her eyes blinking, her hand still patting, and it seemed, her mind spinning. “Finding a name isn’t so hard,” she finally said. “We’ll help you. Now go sit, your stew is getting cold. I’ll hold him while you eat.”

CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT

Even through the closed balcony doors, I could hear the laughter in the dining room. It was a good thing. A rare thing. It was momentary, I knew. The worry would close in again, but for