Chapter Forty-Five
Silence. The most beautiful, precious silence in all the world filled the room. They had been left alone and no one was talking or crying or bothering them at all. Just a beautiful silence. Harry reveled in it.
He paced the room, full of too much adrenaline and excitement to keep from moving around. He didn't want to move too much, though. Didn't want to jostle or disrupt anything.
"Would you come back over here, please?"
Harry turned to see Ruth lying in bed, propped up with a million pillows. She was leaning back and still looked absolutely exhausted. But for now, her eyes were open and her expression held a serene smile. Her brilliant blue eyes were bright and happy.
He crossed from where he'd been pacing to sit beside her in the bed. It wasn't their bed, of course, but one of the unused bedrooms of Leister Palace where Doctor Parkins and her team had set everything up. They'd slept in here—or passed out, rather—for the last two nights. But now hopefully they'd be returning to their own bedroom.
As carefully as he could, Harry sat on the edge of the bed and maneuvered himself to sit himself next to his wife. And together, they looked down at the beautiful sleeping face of their newborn baby daughter.
"She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," Ruth murmured softly. She gently brushed her fingers over that pink little forehead and the wispy blonde curls already growing there. "I needed to look at her again. I wanted to be sure I was remembering her right. I couldn't believe she was so perfect, but she is."
"Yes," Harry agreed, "she is absolutely perfect." And she was. Their Emilia Fiona Mary Louisa was absolutely perfect.
"She looks like you," Ruth noted.
"Does she?" he asked. "How can you tell?" In his mind, beautiful and perfect as she was, Emilia was a pink squalling scrunched up little thing. Newborns rarely look like much of anything, after all. Their baby was only about twenty-four hours old, and this had been the first time she'd slept.
"Yes," Ruth insisted. "She's got your hair already, blonde and curly. And her nose is just like yours. And that beautiful pouty lower lip is all you as well." As she described each feature, Ruth's index finger ghosted over them on their baby's face.
"I'm sure she'll end up being much prettier than me," Harry teased. "But if I recall correctly, she's got your eyes."
"Has she? Well they might darken, right? Don't most babies start off with blue eyes?"
Harry did not actually know the answer to that. He'd not seen either Catherine or Graham until about a week after they were born, thanks to his work. With Catherine, he'd been in the midst of tactical drills with his regiment and had not left the base right away when word had reached him that Jane had given birth. And then with Graham, the country was on the brink of war and he'd once again not made himself available away from his command.
But this was much different. Harry himself was different and his marriage to Ruth was so different than his marriage to Jane. He would not have missed the birth for anything in the world. It was the most miraculous thing. Harry had sat right beside Ruth just like they were sitting now. Doctor Parkins had been shouting instructions from underneath a sheet draped over Ruth's open legs. Ruth, bless her, had whimpered in pain and held Harry's hand very tightly. Her breathing came in pants and she moaned. Her hair had ended up plastered to her red and sweaty face. Harry did his best to push it away and hold her hand and encourage her, but it was awful to see her in such miserable pain.
And then, finally, after being in labor all through the night, their Emilia had come crying into the world just after dawn. Two weeks after his forty-sixty birthday, Harry Pearce had become a father for the third time.
He was absolutely overjoyed and smitten with his baby daughter. He could not stop staring at her, could not put her down, could not even breathe properly for being so overwhelmed with his love for this baby in his arms. "Look at her, Ruth," he said in awe.
"I am looking, Harry."
"She's ours. Yours and mine. You made her."
Ruth chuckled at his slight blubbering. "I never imagined I could ever create anything so wonderful."
"Oh I could," he disagreed. He tore his eyes away from Emilia to look at Ruth and kiss her cheek. "Only you could make something as wonderful as her." Harry looked back down at the baby, who shifted amidst the blankets wrapped around her. "Isn't that right, Princess Emmy? You come from your amazing mummy. Yes, sweet girl, you do."
"What did you just call her?" Ruth asked curiously.
"Well she is a princess, isn't she?"
Ruth's brow furrowed slightly. "Yes, but did you call her Emmy?"
"I think it fits her, don't you?" Harry asked in return.
After half a beat's pause to consider it, Ruth smiled. "Yes, actually, I think it does." She leaned down to brush her lips to the baby's forehead. "You're our perfect little Emmy," Ruth whispered.
Harry thought his heart might burst with joy. Since the moment the baby was born, he kept thinking he couldn't possibly be happier and then something else happened to make the feeling grow. All through hearing her first cries and seeing her for the first time and getting to hold her. Then when Ruth breast fed her and the nurses helped assist with everything. Doctor Parkins took such wonderful care of Ruth, and Harry got to hold the baby while they dealt with the afterbirth and everything else. Later, when the chaos had calmed, Graham had come in to meet his new baby sister. Harry held her while Graham greeted her, and Harry nearly cried. His son was growing up into a man, now over eighteen years and heading to university in just a few weeks. And from that very university, Catherine arrived in the evening from school upon hearing the news. She had curled up on the bed beside Ruth who introduced Emilia to her big sister. Harry had watched with a lump in his throat and a radiant warmth filling him.
And now, it was just the three of them. Harry and Ruth and Emmy. It was quiet and beautiful, and despite not having slept in two nights, Harry had never ever been happier in all his life.
But, of course, it could not last. A soft knock came at the door. Fiona poked her head in. "I'm so sorry to bother you, but we have a visitor," she said.
"No visitors yet. Tell them to bugger off," Harry said, not taking his eyes off Emmy's sweet little face. She yawned and Harry nearly started to cry again. Her eyes fluttered and opened, revealing bright eyes exactly the same stormy blue as Ruth's. Harry somehow instinctively knew they'd remain that color for the rest of Emilia's life.
Despite Harry's brusque instruction, the door opened and the visitor walked in. "I don't think you're supposed to say that about the king, Harry."
Harry looked up to see King James walk in. Fiona closed the door behind him, leaving the family their privacy.
"Hi, Dad," Ruth said, her voice thick with emotion. She reached her arms out to her father.
The king came right over to his daughter and bent down to hug her. "Hello, dear," he greeted, kissing her cheek. He straightened up with a smile. I hear my daughter's got a daughter of her own now."
Ruth beamed, tears shining in her eyes. "This is Emilia Fiona Mary Louisa. Harry won't put her down, so good luck wrestling your granddaughter out of his arms."
James chuckled at that. "I was the same way with you. Your mother got so cross with me, thinking you might never learn to walk because I held you so much. Your Emilia will be all the better for a father who adores her, I think. From experience, I can say it's worked out quite well."
Harry smiled. "Since you're a special case, I'll let you hold her," he said. He held the baby out to her grandfather.
"Oh Ruth, she's wonderful," he gushed. "Emilia Fiona Mary Louisa, I apologize that it's my fault you've got so many names. But they're very good names, and I'm sure you'll grow into them."
"Until she does, she can just be little Emmy Pearce," Harry pointed out.
King James looked up at Harry and then to Ruth. "You didn't tell him."
Ruth frowned. "Oh," she said flatly.
Harry wasn't quite sure what was going on. "Tell me what?"
Chewing on her lips as she often did when she was nervous. "Erm, well, because she's an heir to the throne, she…she has to be of the House Everard. That's the name that has to be on her official records and things."
"Oh," Harry said in surprise. He'd not realized that his child could not have his name. She wasn't a Pearce. Catherine and Graham were. But Emilia wouldn't be.
"I…I should have said before. Oh Harry, I'm so sorry," Ruth stammered, getting a bit worked up.
Harry turned back to her and took her hand, bringing it to his lips. "Shh, don't get upset. It's alright, Ruth."
"But it's not alright! She's your daughter and she should have her father's name just like any child born anywhere else in the country. It's not fair," she insisted.
"It's fine," he assured her, squeezing her hand. "I don't think there's any doubt in who her father is. She's got my mother's name and she's got my hair and my nose, you said so yourself. She won't ever use a last name anyway. She's Princess Emilia Fiona Mary Louisa of Leister. That's her full name and it will be her name until she's queen, isn't that right?"
Ruth nodded.
"Right then. She doesn't need my name. And even if I did care about that sort of thing, we've got Graham to carry on the Pearce name. Emmy wouldn't have kept Pearce forever anyway, not once she got married. At least this way she'll always be in the House Everard. That's more important anyway, right?" he reasoned.
A bright smile appeared on Ruth's face and she leaned in to kiss him soundly.
"You know, before you got married, my father said to me once that we might all be better for having Major Pearce in our family. I don't know that my dad was ever wrong about anything important. He certainly wasn't wrong about you, Harry," King James said.
Harry felt quite honored to hear that. He wished that the old king could have lived to meet Emmy. Though if it weren't for the series of tragedies leading to King James inheriting the crown, they might not have ever had any children at all. But things have a way of working themselves out, Harry supposed. The loss of Ruth's beloved grandfather had, in its way, brought about their perfect baby daughter.
The baby herself started fussing in her grandfather's arms. "Oh dear, little one, do you want your mummy and daddy? Is that what you need?" he cooed to her.
"She might need a feed," Ruth speculated.
"Ah. That might be my cue to go." He kissed the now-crying baby on the cheek and handed her to Ruth, kissing her on the cheek, too. "There's a crowd of reporters outside the gates. Malcolm and Adam have been wrangling them. I'll give them a statement that Jo prepared. The press release of her gender and name and that everyone is happy and healthy went out yesterday. But you'll have to deal with them later this afternoon," he warned.
Ruth sighed heavily. "Sam warned me, yes."
Harry tried to focus on the fussing baby and not on the indecency of having to stand on the palace steps to pose for photographs as an announcement of the royal birth. But Sam had warned him of this as well, thankfully. Catherine and Graham would stand with them, showing the happy blended family all together.
That thought cheered him significantly. The whole family.
King James left and Ruth situated herself to feed the baby. As Emmy suckled happily to have her breakfast, Harry realized that everyone he loved was under this roof right now. Ruth and Emilia beside him, Graham and Catherine down the hall. Malcolm and Adam and Fiona and all the rest of the staff keeping them all safe. Ruth's father, the king, as the bright sun around which they all orbited. There would be plenty to deal with later, of course, plenty to make him grumpy again, but for now, in this moment of silence, everything was perfect.