Henry did not respond. Lady Fairfax did not seem to expect an answer either.

“From now on, make decisions solely for yourself. There’s no need to strive to become the head of the family. If you wish, return to Paris and take up painting again. Settle there and marry. I know your soul is happiest when it expresses beauty. Happiness will be your salvation. For God saves humanity through happiness.”

Having finished speaking, Lady Fairfax left the room at once. No comforting kiss, no goodnight—her exit was quintessentially her.

That night, Henry stayed awake, his eyes open in the darkness. He mulled over his mother’s words, striving to remember each one. And then he realized. He understood why he had longed for his aunt Laura so intensely.

He had been searching for someone to soothe his wounds, to give him the courage to start life anew. He thought that person was his aunt. He believed it could only be her.

But the one who truly fulfilled his desire was his mother. It was like a tale of the bluebird.

“For God saves humanity through happiness.”

Happiness. Yes, he too desired happiness. And the power to create happiness lay within himself. That meant the strength to save himself was in his own hands.

At dawn, the nurse returned to Henry’s room with a basin of water and shaving supplies. Though his eyes were shadowed from a sleepless night, they sparkled like flames as he spoke to the nurse.

“Good morning, Mrs. Redden. After shaving, could you fetch the charcoal and sketchbook from the first drawer of my desk?”

The news that the thief who had broken into Whitefield was shown leniency helped enhance the reputations of Dunville Park and Whitefield. Each family had its own understanding of the circumstances, but outsiders, unaware of the truth, praised it as the kind of mercy expected from a gentleman’s family with centuries of history.

Dunville Park soon grew quiet. The Fairfax couple, who had been distressed by their son’s injury, set aside their worries as Henry’s condition improved rapidly. Lady Fairfax, in particular, was relieved to see Henry devoting himself to drawing from his sickbed. As long as he was painting, her son would not give up on life.

Meanwhile, Olivia, who had felt disappointed by the lackluster resolution of the Whitefield theft, quickly found a new source of intrigue. Despite Henry’s injury keeping him bedridden, their aunt Laura had not once visited her brother.

Just as Olivia was about to set out to satisfy her curiosity, welcome news arrived at Dunville Park. Laura was pregnant!

They had delayed sharing the news due to the turmoil caused by Henry’s injury, but the baby had been conceived over two months ago.

Olivia’s joy was beyond words. She was even more thrilled than her mother, who was always weighed down by worries about Whitefield’s future.

Olivia immediately began fussing with white fabric. Two days later, she completed a charming baby bonnet adorned with lace trim.

Her needlework skills were lacking, and more than half the work was done by the seamstress, but Olivia shamelessly embroidered “Made by Olivia” on the corner of the bonnet before wrapping it as a gift. She then began dressing meticulously for a visit to Whitefield.

Her sly plan to have the newborn named Olivia had already begun.

Olivia intended to visit Whitefield every three days. She would present herself as the most beautiful, shower her aunt with gifts, and remain a sweet, lovable niece throughout the pregnancy. She aimed to plant the thought in her aunt’s mind: Oh, I hope our daughter grows up to be like Olivia.

Winning her aunt’s heart was all that mattered. After all, her uncle would do anything Laura asked, even if it meant dying—or at least pretending to.

“Even if it’s a boy, it doesn’t matter. Oliver is close enough to Olivia.”

Olivia, an Oliver for her cousin. As she fastened ruby earrings to her earlobes, she let out a delighted “Kyaa!” She could hardly wait to meet her future cousins, whether Oliver or Olivia.

But Olivia’s ambitious plan cracked the moment she went to her mother’s room to ask permission to use the carriage.

“A visit to Whitefield? No.”

Olivia screeched at her mother’s headshake.

“Why!”

“Laura’s morning sickness is severe. She’s practically half-dead, lying in bed.”

“Who said that?”

“Laura’s husband.”

Lady Fairfax fluttered a letter from her younger brother, just arrived, toward Olivia.

“She’s vomiting at the smell of food, even perfume, they say. Poor Laura.”

“I didn’t put on perfume. Let me go, please?”

“You silly girl. An expectant mother enduring a harsh first trimester doesn’t want any visitors. She doesn’t want others to see her retching at the slightest scent. Just stay put, alright?”

Olivia returned to her room, whimpering with disappointment.

Her disappointment was understandable, but it was a great relief for Laura that the visit did not happen. Though Olivia hadn’t worn perfume, she had used toner after washing her face, and the artificial floral scent would surely have upset Laura’s stomach.

Laura’s morning sickness was no exaggeration. Until Ian returned from Leeds, she had only reacted to food smells, but within days, her sensitivity grew so acute that even the faintest odors she previously wouldn’t have noticed turned her stomach.

The scent of cosmetics lightly worn by female servants, the sweat of male servants, the musty dust clinging to laborers after cleaning the storeroom, the everyday smells embedded in uniforms washed once a week.

As the mistress, communicating with the servants was part of Laura’s routine, but she found herself covering her mouth several times a day, searching for a place to retch.

Even Remswick, whom she often saw, triggered her nausea. Remswick always reeked of strong perfume. It might seem surprising that he wore perfume, but there was a reason. Past his mid-fifties, he had noticed a peculiar elderly odor emanating from himself and began dousing himself with potent perfume morning and evening to mask it.

The household was in a state of emergency due to the mistress’s morning sickness. Servants had to bathe daily and wash their uniforms. Despite the cold, they bathed every day and changed clothes during meals to avoid odors clinging to their uniforms. The servants’ lives became exhausting.

Still, if it had helped, the effort would have been worthwhile. But it did nothing to ease Laura’s morning sickness. No matter how strictly supervised, erasing all human scents from nearly forty servants was impossible.

Remswick was a prime example. As the servant who most frequently attended the mistress, he stopped using perfume, but this backfired. Laura, struggling to keep down a meal amid her nausea, vomited everything at the smell of Remswick’s natural body odor. Watching his mistress suffer, Remswick felt both guilt and the sorrow of aging anew.

Laura became confined to her room, unable to step outside. The only person she could tolerate without nausea was her fastidious husband, who showered morning and evening. To Laura, trapped in the hell of morning sickness, he was her only safe haven.

As is common for pregnant women, Laura’s moods swung wildly, and being cut off from the world made her cling to her husband. She sat on his lap daily, sobbing.

Watching Laura suffer pained Ian deeply. Had he known pregnancy would be so hard on her, he wouldn’t have longed for a child so desperately, even quitting smoking for it.

Laura grew thinner by the day. The only foods she could keep down without retching were a few vegetables and fruits.

Ian could do little but pat Laura as she clung to his neck, weeping.

Ian’s distress peaked as Laura entered her third month of pregnancy. Her arms were like leafless branches. Frequent vomiting had burst blood vessels, mottling her face.

Every night, watching his emaciated wife sleep beside him, Ian thought, What if she dies like this?

He held her close.

No. I’d rather give up the child.

He cursed divine providence. Why couldn’t men bear children? With his stamina, he could endure this morning sickness. Women, especially Laura, were far too fragile.

His wife had been underweight even before pregnancy. If she continued like this until the final month, childbirth could be catastrophic.

At this thought, Ian ceased his resentment and began praying to God.

Lord, please save Laura. End her morning sickness, or show me a way to ease her suffering.

His prayers were fervent and persistent. If heaven did not respond, surely God did not exist.

Fortunately, his prayers proved God’s existence. An answer came through Laura’s lips.

“Darling.”

One night in her twelfth week of pregnancy, Laura woke her husband. Ian, sleeping with Laura in his arms, opened his eyes at her faint call.

“What is it, Laura?”

Laura murmured in a weak voice.

“There’s something I want to eat.”

Ian sprang up. Laura wanted to eat something. What could it be? Even if it was something bizarre like crocodile eye soup, he didn’t care. He was ready to storm a zoo with a ladle.

The food Laura named was surprisingly simple.

“The stew you made for our anniversary… do you remember?”

“Of course.”

“That… I want that…”