A Stranger in Mayfair - Charles Finch [76]
“Who ith the thponthor of thith child?” cried out the bishop.
Here was their moment. Lenox and Lady Jane stepped forward and silently bowed.
“Very good. And what ith her name?”
“Grace Georgianna McConnell,” said McConnell loudly, then handed the bishop a slip of paper with the name clearly spelled out, as had been customary since a powerful couple had long ago found themselves at home after a baptism with a wrongly named child.
Then (also as was customary) Toto placed George in Lady Jane’s arms, where she stayed while the ceremony finished with a short speech from the bishop.
Lenox’s eyes flitted over to Jane quite often, and once as he looked he saw that she was in a state of high emotion. Tears swelled in her eyes and began to fall, singly and doubly down her cheeks and onto her brown dress. Lenox handed her a handkerchief, and she pressed it to her mouth without taking her gaze away from the child tucked safely in the crook of her right arm. Toto saw it and started to cry, too. McConnell caught Lenox’s glance and smiled.
The moment the bishop said the final words of his blessing, soft conversations started all over the church, soon rising to quite normal speaking-voice levels and finally into something of a racket. Lady Jane returned the baby to her mother, and the three members of the new family vanished into their private room.
“That was lovely,” said Lenox to Lady Jane after she had hugged Toto good-bye and he had shaken McConnell’s hand.
She slid her arm through his and leaned her head against his shoulder, her face still wet. “It was beautiful,” she said in a barely audible voice. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”
“I thought Toto would start giving the blessing herself, she looked so excited.”
Jane hiccupped with laughter. “It’s true. She was quite calm at first, but I saw her get caught up. How lucky she is, Charles!” As she said these last words the laughter left her face and she looked up at him, bereft.
He looked back at her, his eyes slightly narrowed, trying to read her expression. Instead of saying anything he squeezed her hand and hoped it would be reassuring enough.
Just then someone with so little tact that he couldn’t see he was interrupting a private moment, a gentleman named Timothy Macgrath, approached Lenox and said, “Jolly good show, wasn’t it!” and they were all thrown into the general conversation that rattled on as people began to file into the street.
Meeting on the steps of the church, Lenox and Dallington consulted quickly.
“Will you go visit Fowler before the party?” asked Lenox.
“Of course. I never saw him, did I?”
“Ask him about Clarke’s father, who he was and why he’s gone. Maybe that will tell us something.”
“Shall I ask him about Frederick being Ludo’s son?”
“I don’t think so. Not yet. Use your judgment—if you feel he’s willing to commiserate with you, then share all the information you like.”
They were only a couple of short blocks away from the butcher’s, Schott and Son. Lenox couldn’t resist checking in to see if he was there; he told Lady Jane, who was deep in conversation with the Duchess of Marchmain and didn’t have much present need of him, that he felt like a stroll.
It was still warm, and as he walked he loosened his tie. Some thought about children, elusive and dim, went through his mind more than once, but it was unclear even to himself what he wanted—for himself, for Lady Jane, for their life together.
He was so lost in thought that he overshot the butcher’s by a block and had to turn back.
Someone was in. The white tile of the shop’s interior gleamed brightly, and behind a row of beef sides that hung from the beams someone