She escaped for a few moments to check on Lauren. Mrs. Farmer had told her—at excruciating length—that a gentlewoman, especially a countess, did not leave her bedroom after giving birth for at least two weeks.
She didn’t tell the midwife that her mother hadn’t followed such an arbitrary rule. She’d heard stories of how Mary had arrived back at Adaire Hall carrying her. A combination of bad weather, a ruined road, and a broken wheel had kept her parents stranded at a friend’s house. Instead of being born at the Hall, Jennifer had been born near London. However, her mother had always told her that it didn’t make her any less of a Scot.
Mrs. Farmer was, unfortunately, still as jealous a guardian as she had been before Mary’s birth. Jennifer had been given strict instructions that she wasn’t to disturb the countess with any distressing news. Nor was she to ask any intrusive questions. She was to treat Lauren as if she were a delicate flower, easily bruised.
From what she’d seen, Jennifer didn’t think that a delicate flower could survive childbirth, but she was careful not to say that to Mrs. Farmer.
She made her way to Lauren’s bed, and despite the midwife’s frown, sat on the edge of the mattress. Lauren had insisted that Mary’s cradle be beside her, and Mrs. Farmer had grudgingly allowed such an arrangement. Lauren had also insisted on nursing her own child. Jennifer couldn’t quite tell if Mrs. Farmer agreed or disagreed with such a decision. The woman’s face underwent a series of expressions each time she lifted Mary out of her cradle and delivered her to Lauren.
“You’ve come at the perfect time,” Lauren said with a smile. “Mary’s just gone down for a nap. Her tummy is full and her nappy isn’t.”
Lauren had always been a pretty girl, but giving birth had bestowed on her something, a quality Jennifer found difficult to describe. Perhaps it was radiance.
“I think she must’ve gained a great deal of weight already.”
Tradition dictated that a baby was never weighed before her first birthday, so it would be a mystery until then. The baby did look extraordinarily healthy with a boisterous set of lungs.
“Are you hungry?”
Lauren smiled. “I’m always hungry lately,” she said.
Jennifer went to the door, opened it, and waved two maids inside. She had prepared a tray for not only Lauren, but Mrs. Farmer. She’d also provided a selection of beverages. She wasn’t the least bit surprised when Mrs. Farmer chose whiskey and Lauren opted for ale.
“Thank you for thinking of us,” Lauren said.
The midwife unbent enough to add her thanks to Lauren’s.
“Have you seen Harrison today?”
Lauren’s face changed, ever so slightly, but it was enough to tell Jennifer what she needed to know. The baby hadn’t changed Harrison’s character. It was one thing to ignore an infant. Mary wouldn’t know of her father’s desertion—but Lauren?
“He’s in the Clan Hall,” Jennifer said, exchanging a glance with Mrs. Farmer.
Regardless of how Harrison behaved, Lauren would be a good mother, and Jennifer would be a good aunt. The newest Adaire wouldn’t notice for a while that her father didn’t seem to care for her.
Who did Harrison care about, besides himself?
Jennifer spent a while in conversation with Lauren and Mrs. Farmer before returning to the celebration in the Clan Hall.
Her brother was still in the corner, playing laird to a nonexistent clan. It suited him, just as it did to dress up in the Adaire tartan from time to time, as if to remind everyone exactly who he was.
“Where’s the bereaved son?” he asked her, surveying the crowd.
She estimated that there were still at least a hundred people in the Clan Hall, even though it had been hours since the men had returned from the churchyard.
“He isn’t here. Why, do you want to cause a scene with him?”
“I want him gone, Jennifer.”
She deserved some say in what happened at the Hall. She’d served as its factor, steward, and chatelaine for the past five years without recognition or thanks. When she said as much to her brother, he sent her a quick look.
“Bored, Jennifer? Prefer to have your lover in residence? Don’t worry. We have some new stable boys who might interest you.”
She took a deep breath and told herself not to respond. Harrison’s coarseness had always been a goad. Conversation with him was often a blood sport.
“What? No rejoinder? Have you already sampled them?”
“Must you be so horrible, Harrison? On this occasion?”
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Jennifer, but this is my