Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine.
Thom had finally been persuaded to take himself off home. It had not come a moment too soon as she was really quite out of tolerance for all of his attempts at trying to manage her. She supposed she had Helga to thank for his departure, but as she also had Helga to thank for the wet nurse's continued attempts to get her to summon some interest in the mewling, fretful bundle that was being presented to her on a daily basis, she felt no guilt at failing to voice that gratitude. That was Helga's less direct attempt at managing her. She had just as little tolerance for it coming from her friend as from her son, but there was quite literally no one who would be convincing Helga to leave aside from Helga herself. In truth, she had little objection to Helga staying. Helga could stay below stairs and manage the house to her heart's content. She just needed to stop her attempts at advocating for the resident of the nursery.
She did not appreciate the reproachful looks that were forever being leveled in her direction - from Helga and Thom and even members of the household staff whenever she refused to play along with their scheming. There was no reason for them to look so put out with her; it was not as though she wished the child ill.
The nurse seemed to be healthy enough, and she well knew that Helga would not tolerate an incompetent being left to manage a child. Thus, the child's basic care was assured. (Rowena would have made some sort of arrangements if that had not been the case.) The child was fed and clothed, and she had no further concerns about the situation. She simply had no desire to see the babe - let alone hold or cosset her. Why was that so difficult for any of them to understand? They all knew families in which that was the standard procedure for the lady of the house. She did not know why they all insisted on explanations and trying to talk her around to their preferences. It was no concern of theirs. She hardly needed their reminders that this was far different than the practices of the house when Thom had been born; her memory was sufficient to provide her with all of the details to contrast that she could ever possibly need. Did they all suffer from the delusion that it would be the same without her husband in the midst?
Gareth had been a doting figure front and center in all of her interactions with their infant eldest. She had no stomach for repeating the motions with no husband and father present for this their second and last. It was not the same, and she was not about to pretend that it was. Nothing was ever going to be the same again. She was never going to be the same again.
She wanted to be left alone - to what purpose she did not yet know. How could she when she was no longer even certain what she was? She had been called the Raven's Claw by the spreaders of stories - what would they call her with no Raven by her side? She was not certain that she wanted to know and not wanting to know was such a foreign concept to her that she felt as if she no longer fit inside her own skin.
She was glad to have Thom gone, but she was disappointed that his last words to her had been an admission that Godric was on his way. She could, she supposed, simply refuse to see him, but she suspected that would only work for a limited amount of time. That was an endlessly aggravating prospect - this was her home after all. She was mistress here, and if she wanted to refuse visitors, then that ought to be her right. She just wanted solitude. It should be granted to her.
Quiet was doing the turmoil inside her head no favors, but it was a sight better than the expectations inherent in people watching you every moment of every day. She had succeeded in sending nearly everyone in the house away (the servants mostly packed off to new positions arranged elsewhere). Helga, of course, would not have gone no matter what she ordered, but she had already admitted that she did not mind if the other woman stayed. In part, that was due to the selfish knowledge that she could stay shut up in her bedchamber for as long as she liked with the other woman present. Helga would manage whatever might be in need of managing. (Helga, after all, dearly loved to manage.)
In part, she found that she wanted the other woman close. She could not begin to say why. The other woman practically radiated contentment wherever she went, and Rowena was in no humor to be tolerant of those who were content. Under other circumstances, she might have found the inconsistency of it intriguing (these were not other circumstances, so she did not bother to examine them as she might have once). Her desire for the other woman's presence was certainly not caused by any sort of companionableness of widowhood either.
Rowena may have married early in accordance with generally accepted practice, but she had married a relatively young man (particularly by wizarding standards). She had not been Helga - married off to a man of an age nearly twice doubled. She and Gareth had been meant to age together - there was none of Helga's death is to be expected as part of life philosophy in her world. She was not supposed to be facing such a stretch of years without him. She should not be facing such a stretch of years without him. Of what use was magic if it did not provide answers when they were needed? Of what use was she if all her skill and knowledge failed her when she needed them most?
She did not know. There were many things now that she did not know. She also no longer knew whether she cared to find out.