Lady Crenshaw's Christmas by Heidi Ashworth Page B

of color in her cheeks.
    “Grandmama, you go too far.  Ginny’s condition is hardly obvious and will be less so when she is wearing the special gown she has bespoken.  There is no need to say a word to anyone until later.”  He paused and Ginny, still facing the fire, imagined him rubbing his chin the way he always did when deep in thought.
    “In point of fact, we need say nothing until the child is born.  If my uncle’s babe is a boy, we need hardly ever go to town and may keep our child’s existence practically in the dark for as long as we wish.”
    “Posh!” Grandaunt Regina declared.  “This baby belongs to you and to Ginny, my only living relatives for whom I have any finer feeling.  I wish the world to know of it!”
    Ginny felt her heart soften with those words and turned to join the conversation.  However, Anthony was none too pleased.
    “And what of the duke’s child?  His babe will be your grandson as much as I,” Anthony pointed out.  “He has lost a grown son, one destined to be his heir, and now has all his hopes pinned on his duchess giving birth to a boy.  Neither Ginny nor I wish to incur his wrath by being the cause of any distraction.”
    Grandaunt Regina drew a deep sigh and followed it with a loud, “harrumph”. 
    “There, now, dearest Grandmama, I feel you are beginning to see the wisdom in my words,” Anthony said.
    “Yes, indeed,” she admitted, though it was clear from the pained expression on her face that she was far from appeased.  “At the very least, you must choose a name.  I should be very pleased if you would indulge me in that.”
    “John, of course, after Ginny’s father and mine,” Anthony said as if Ginny hadn’t expressed an ardent desire to name their son after his father.  “And Regina if it is a girl, naturally,” he added, almost as an afterthought.  The idea of a girl child was clearly not a possibility he had much considered.
    Grandaunt crowed with delight but Ginny felt no such thing.  “I had hoped to name our daughter after my mother, Mary,” she said as surely as she dared.
    “Don’t be a fool, Ginerva,” her grandaunt demanded.  “Your daughter will be no peasant.”
    “It doesn’t matter, Grandmama, our first girl shall be named after you and that is an end to it,” Anthony said in soothing tones.
    Ginny felt a stab of pain prick her heart.  “But, Anthony, you said I should choose the baby’s name.”  She thought about the night she told him that he was to be a father.  They had spent a cozy hour nestled in bed dreaming of the bundle of joy to come and all their plans for it.  He had insisted that she have everything her way, according to her desires; the gift of the babe was enough for him.  Now it seemed as if that night were a figment of her imagination. 
    “There will be other babes, Ginny.  You can name the second.  The first is special and Grandmama is right; he or she will be of noble birth.”
    Ginny thought perhaps she had heard amiss.  “Anthony, how could you?  You, who married a commoner with no title attached to her name?” 
    Her husband had the grace to look a bit struck but he refused to be baited.  Instead he turned to his grandmother and made their excuses.  “The Christmas Eve ball is tomorrow night.  We shall discuss this again afterwards and not before.” 
    “Anthony!” his grandmama cried but he paid no notice.  Moving to where his wife stood by the fire, he took her by the elbow.  “Come, my love, let us cry pax and see where things stand with the preparations in the privacy of our rooms.”
    For once, the forthright Ginny saw the wisdom in holding her tongue.  She allowed herself to be led out of the room and a safe distance down the passageway before she gave vent to her feelings.  “Anthony, I am persuaded you insisted that I name the baby.  Do you not remember?”  Ginny could hear the choked sound in her throat that presaged tears to come but she pressed on.  “It