Most Welcome

"As good luck would have it."

November 9th

Long before she eloped, Anne had resolved to be a better mother than her own, a suffering creature who had only been saved by widowhood. The bare minimum of her hopes was that her children would never think their lives would be better without her. She wanted to contribute to their happiness and well-being. A good mother would do that. A good mother would bring something to her children's lives that no other person ever could. These had always been her hopes for her children with George. In the waning days of her last, unexpected pregnancy, Anne had worried that giving up the child would be the moment in her life when she lost all claim to the title of good mother. What good came from a mother surrendering her own baby?

More good than she had ever imagined.

A week earlier, Anne had been delivered of two tiny girls. Both babies had dark blue eyes and wisps of black hair. Although the older twin was smaller than her sister, Cerimon had declared them both healthy. The joyous surprise was mixed with some strain. Between herself and her daughter-in-law, Anne had plenty of clothes for two babies. Everything else had been planned for one child only. The two had to share a crib. Anne, though exhausted, had to feed both girls herself. Hiring a local nurse was out of the question; they had to wait for the girls' parents to arrive. Initially, no-one had been more welcome in that party than the nurse. But Anne had come to see Prince Cleon and Princess Lychorida as the true treasures. 

When Fitzwilliam told her that Puck knew Queen Mab's brother and sister-in-law were eager for children, she agreed immediately. Queen Mab was a good lady, intelligent and merciful. Her brother would doubtlessly be a good man. Yet, the first reason Anne fixated on the prince and his wife was Fitzwilliam. Mab had saved Anne's son. It was only fair to pay her family back in kind, and the babe would be immeasurably better off for it. Ten babies wouldn't have conveyed all of Anne's gratitude for the life of her only son.

"What a perfect little jewel," Lychorida cooed to the bundle in her arms. Though not a princess born, she answered every preconception of the word Anne possessed. Behind her, her husband paced with the younger twin. The girl was fussing, and he was attempting to soothe her. Cleon did not have a prince's splendor, but he had a quiet, regal dignity. When the nurse came to take the fussy girl upstairs, he kept his eyes on the baby until she was well out of sight. He looked lost until he remembered he had a second daughter, and he settled immediately down next to his wife to appreciate her.

"She is a quiet one, isn't she?" 

Lychorida nodded her head gently, so as not to shake the baby. "I can still hardly believe we have a quiet one and a louder one, Cleon. Lady Anne," she continued without looking up from the baby, "we can hardly thank you enough." 

"And it is hardly necessary. You are doing a great kindness to all three of us." 

"Their father has no objections?" Cleon asked.

"None whatsoever." If Cornwall had cared to be involved, he knew where her son lived. Anne had promised not to complicate his domestic situation. She saw no need to put hers at his mercy when he had also chosen silence. Once Fitzwilliam delivered a letter from Cleon, however, Oberon would go to Cornwall to explain the outcome. Oberon and Titania were not the most intimate of her friends, but their sons' bond had also created friendship and trust between the three parents. The Summerdreams would never undermine the immense favor their son had done for her. Further, they both had every reason to help Anne discreetly give a child to members of their royal family. "The choice was mine entirely, and I am glad of it."

Cleon took a deep, bracing breath. The slight bunch of his lips and his unsteady gaze betrayed to Anne what he was about to say. Lychorida knew it as well; her expression darkened. "My lady, you were gracious enough to offer us one child. We would not have you feel compelled to double that gift, if you do not wish it."

"I would not wish that you feel compelled to take both girls, when you only expected one." Anne sipped her tea with a mother's presence, commanding the conversation even when she couldn't speak. The light clink of the cup on the saucer was the only break in the surrounding silence. "I will confess, I started my marriage wanting more than two children. Two were all God would grant me. I have known for a long time that the two I have are more dear to my heart than twenty others could have been. It is entirely possible I will be the only grandparent any of my grandchildren have. I am ready for that part of my life." As ready as I will ever be, at least. "Babies are for those at the opening of their lives, like you."

When they could bear to part with the sight of her daughter, Lychorida's purple eyes glistened. "We are so fortunate that you feel that way - the four of us. I hope you will come visit us someday, that you see the little ones have wanted for nothing."

"Perhaps," Anne demurred. The offer was surprisingly hard to hear. Thinking of visiting the twins tightened a hoop around her heart. It was a thought for another, much later day. 

"I hope as well," Cleon said. "We would be proud to introduce the girls to such a generous lady."

"Let us not pretend you and your wife are not granting me an immense favor as well. You will love and cherish them at least as much I would. They will not be stigmatized or whispered about. And I am free to go back to my life with my own children, which is no small blessing to me." Her lips bunched now, pursing shut to stop words she had vowed not to utter. Queen Mab's single request of Anne and her family at Christmas was to not reveal her intervention. Anne longed to tell Cleon. She longed to tell him that she owed her son's lives, all of his children's lives, to Mab, and that giving the unfortunate babies to him and his wife was a pittance in return. She could not. She could only hope he would someday know it. "Now, I have been longing to know what you will call the girls. Have you decided?"

The princess smiled brightly. "We had agreed on Puck for a boy," Lychorida said. "It is a family name for us both, and in consideration of Puck Summerdream's assistance, it seemed only right. For a girl, however, we were still debating the merits of Helena and Hermione. You have settled the argument for us - the elder will be Helena and the younger will be Hermione."

The prince was not laughing. He glanced at the door behind which Hermione and her nurse had disappeared and then at his wife, who was engaged in cuddling Helena. After a spark of resolution crossed his face, a spark Anne knew all too well, he looked directly at her. "My lady, pardon me for pressing you, but if I were in your situation... well, I am not entirely convinced."

"Cleon," his wife whispered desperately. "Please, let it be."

"I'm sorry, Ly. I'm sorry." Cleon turned his eyes back to Anne. "I simply can't believe how easy you are with this choice. I've been on edge since the nurse took Hermione out of my sight. Please, do not be insulted, but how can you be content with this decision?" He couldn't look at his wife. If Lychorida had ever wished for anything, it was for a child. For that child to be twins and twin daughters at that was more than either had dared to dream. Until he loved the girls, it had never occurred to him that their blood mother might feel the same. Now, it was all his choked heart could spew into his mind. "How can we be sure that this is what you want?"

Again reminded of her son, Anne smiled halfway. "You can't be. You will never be able to fathom the thought of giving up your own children." 

"Then how can you?" 

"Because my children have been the sun in my sky for twenty years and more. I may have conceived the girls, I may have carried and birthed them, but they are your children. Mine have lives I want to still take part in. Mine are the ones whose lives are better for my presence - at least, I pray they are. The girls' lives are already better for having you as parents."

The sudden moisture in Cleon's eyes betrayed him as convinced. "I hope so."

"It isn't a hope, it is a fact," Anne replied. "I've known since the first moment you saw those girls that I have rarely made a better decision in my life."

Next Post: "My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour."