Kit meets his daughter
Feb. 28th, 2022 03:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kadharononI started using the last name Langford for Kit, but Edie's going to name their daughter Katherine so that she's named after her father and I absolutely refuse to have something that could be read as a Stargate reference in this. But it'll work for a placeholder, so here's ~1200 words from the very end of this story, probably.
There was the distant sound of a car, the tires crunching on the gravel drive that lead to his front door. Kit sighed and sank back in his desk chair, tempted for a moment to let his housekeeper deal with whoever it was and send them on their way. But no, better to not be a coward; no matter how terrible he felt, no matter how much he ached from the sleepless nights of the past weeks, he could put a good face on it and greet whoever this was with equanimity.
He was still making his way down the stairs when he felt it: Langford House’s shock of recognition as Kit’s daughter passed beneath the lintel of its front door for the first time. It took a great deal of effort to not rush down the rest of the stairs, and only the knowledge that he was one false step away from injury in his current state was enough to restrain him.
Edie. It had to be Edie. She must have come in order to… to what? Confront him? Or perhaps...
Despite his caution, he was stumbling over his own feet in his haste when he reached the door of the one sitting room they kept ready for visitors. His housekeeper, Hiram, was just coming to the door, and met Kit’s eye with raised eyebrows and wide eyes. Kit had to wonder what the House’s outward reaction to that inner shock had been, but he had no patience for any delays. “You’ll bring her something warm to drink?” Kit asked the man, barely taking in his nod before brushing past him into the sitting room.
Edie had settled herself into the corner of the comfortable couch that was closest to the fireplace. There was a baby basket at her feet, now clearly emptied of its burden; Edie had a shawl decorously draped around her shoulders, and a bundle tucked up beneath it.
“She refuses to nurse in the car,” Edie said calmly, in lieu of any other greeting, her eyes on the nursing baby in her arms. “Sensible girl. There’s far too much jostling, and I imagine it must be as uncomfortable for her as it is for me.”
“Edie?”
She glanced briefly up at him, and then back at the baby. “Kit.”
“Why... why are you here?”
“You look about ready to fall over. Come sit down.”
“Edie...”
Her eyes flashed up to meet his again, unreadable at this distance. “You can hold her once she’s been fed, but only if you’re sitting.”
Kit gave up on trying to get any explanation of why she was here and came to sit cautiously at the other end of the couch. He sank back against the cushions and swallowed hard. “I saw Charles earlier this month.”
Another unreadable glance, though this time her eyes lingered on his for a moment. “He said.”
“I didn’t care for the way he was talking about you.”
The corner of her mouth curved up into a wry smile. “He... is not the most progressive of men,” she said diplomatically.
He swallowed hard again, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat. “I would understand it if you never wanted to marry again,” he croaked out. “But he implied...”
“That you could have me for the asking?” The wry smile turned amused, and she turned to face him once more. “Not quite. But... it’s worth discussing.”
There were wet, smacking noises from beneath the shawl, drawing Edie’s attention away from him again. And a good thing, too; Kit had been moments away from declaring himself.
But what would Edie want to do with his love? All they truly had between them was that strange month she had spent beneath this roof and the child they had made together; he had not even dared to write to her or call her in the months that had passed since, knowing his own feelings would overwhelm him if he tried to express them to her. She had been a married woman; there had been no point to it.
“The divorce is final, then?” he asked, staring into the fire instead of letting his gaze linger on Edie as she adjusted herself, moving the baby to the other side.
“Two days ago,” she said, and then, in a tone that made it clear she was talking to the baby and not to him, “Oh, so you’re done, then? After all that fussing? Very well.”
Kit turned to watch as Edie laid the baby in her lap long enough to re-fasten her dress beneath the shawl, and then lifted the baby to her shoulder, patting the baby’s back gently until she spit up across the shawl, a garment which looked as if it had suffered such depredations many times before. He looked, and he could not stop looking; that heavy brow, those lopsided features, that twisted upper lip, not yet grown in to their adult form but still readily apparent on the small face, that head that looked far too large and heavy for the size of the body that bore it, small and twisted limbs swaddled securely in a blanket. Charles had been telling the truth; anyone who looked at this child would know she was his.
“I’ll not raise her in the house of a man who hates everything about her that is most like him,” Edie said quietly. “I will keep her from this place until your death if you cannot promise me to love her as she is.”
He felt Langford House shudder in the back of his mind at the thought of his daughter growing up in some place that was not here, in the house where she belonged, and a deep, possessive ache, though whether the latter came from the house or from him he could not tell. “Let me hold her,” he rasped, holding his arms out for her.
“Katherine,” she said to the baby as she lifted the girl off her shoulder, “meet your father, Kit.”
She was heavier than he had expected. Edie had held her so easily that Kit had been fooled. His own arms trembled as Edie settled Katherine in them, as he supported the solid weight of her.
“It’s all right,” Edie said gently, pressing on one of his hands to adjust his grip. “You won’t hurt her just by holding her.”
The baby yawned and shut her pale eyes. Not quite the elf-shot grey of her mother’s eyes, but in time, perhaps they would become so. And oh, oh, he was in love. She was small and fragile and perfect in all her imperfections, and he would do anything to protect her.
How could his mother have hated him so, when all he wanted was to give his daughter the world?
“I don’t know,” Edie said quietly, and he realized he had voiced the thought out loud. “Perhaps it was just because she was a woman, and women who are not attractive suffer more for it than men do. I can’t say.”
Kit sniffled, but the tears he was trying to hold back started pouring down his cheeks. Several fell on Katherine’s face and she opened her mouth and started yelling about it; Edie rescued their daughter from Kit’s arms and began to calm her as Kit searched his pockets for a handkerchief.
There was the distant sound of a car, the tires crunching on the gravel drive that lead to his front door. Kit sighed and sank back in his desk chair, tempted for a moment to let his housekeeper deal with whoever it was and send them on their way. But no, better to not be a coward; no matter how terrible he felt, no matter how much he ached from the sleepless nights of the past weeks, he could put a good face on it and greet whoever this was with equanimity.
He was still making his way down the stairs when he felt it: Langford House’s shock of recognition as Kit’s daughter passed beneath the lintel of its front door for the first time. It took a great deal of effort to not rush down the rest of the stairs, and only the knowledge that he was one false step away from injury in his current state was enough to restrain him.
Edie. It had to be Edie. She must have come in order to… to what? Confront him? Or perhaps...
Despite his caution, he was stumbling over his own feet in his haste when he reached the door of the one sitting room they kept ready for visitors. His housekeeper, Hiram, was just coming to the door, and met Kit’s eye with raised eyebrows and wide eyes. Kit had to wonder what the House’s outward reaction to that inner shock had been, but he had no patience for any delays. “You’ll bring her something warm to drink?” Kit asked the man, barely taking in his nod before brushing past him into the sitting room.
Edie had settled herself into the corner of the comfortable couch that was closest to the fireplace. There was a baby basket at her feet, now clearly emptied of its burden; Edie had a shawl decorously draped around her shoulders, and a bundle tucked up beneath it.
“She refuses to nurse in the car,” Edie said calmly, in lieu of any other greeting, her eyes on the nursing baby in her arms. “Sensible girl. There’s far too much jostling, and I imagine it must be as uncomfortable for her as it is for me.”
“Edie?”
She glanced briefly up at him, and then back at the baby. “Kit.”
“Why... why are you here?”
“You look about ready to fall over. Come sit down.”
“Edie...”
Her eyes flashed up to meet his again, unreadable at this distance. “You can hold her once she’s been fed, but only if you’re sitting.”
Kit gave up on trying to get any explanation of why she was here and came to sit cautiously at the other end of the couch. He sank back against the cushions and swallowed hard. “I saw Charles earlier this month.”
Another unreadable glance, though this time her eyes lingered on his for a moment. “He said.”
“I didn’t care for the way he was talking about you.”
The corner of her mouth curved up into a wry smile. “He... is not the most progressive of men,” she said diplomatically.
He swallowed hard again, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat. “I would understand it if you never wanted to marry again,” he croaked out. “But he implied...”
“That you could have me for the asking?” The wry smile turned amused, and she turned to face him once more. “Not quite. But... it’s worth discussing.”
There were wet, smacking noises from beneath the shawl, drawing Edie’s attention away from him again. And a good thing, too; Kit had been moments away from declaring himself.
But what would Edie want to do with his love? All they truly had between them was that strange month she had spent beneath this roof and the child they had made together; he had not even dared to write to her or call her in the months that had passed since, knowing his own feelings would overwhelm him if he tried to express them to her. She had been a married woman; there had been no point to it.
“The divorce is final, then?” he asked, staring into the fire instead of letting his gaze linger on Edie as she adjusted herself, moving the baby to the other side.
“Two days ago,” she said, and then, in a tone that made it clear she was talking to the baby and not to him, “Oh, so you’re done, then? After all that fussing? Very well.”
Kit turned to watch as Edie laid the baby in her lap long enough to re-fasten her dress beneath the shawl, and then lifted the baby to her shoulder, patting the baby’s back gently until she spit up across the shawl, a garment which looked as if it had suffered such depredations many times before. He looked, and he could not stop looking; that heavy brow, those lopsided features, that twisted upper lip, not yet grown in to their adult form but still readily apparent on the small face, that head that looked far too large and heavy for the size of the body that bore it, small and twisted limbs swaddled securely in a blanket. Charles had been telling the truth; anyone who looked at this child would know she was his.
“I’ll not raise her in the house of a man who hates everything about her that is most like him,” Edie said quietly. “I will keep her from this place until your death if you cannot promise me to love her as she is.”
He felt Langford House shudder in the back of his mind at the thought of his daughter growing up in some place that was not here, in the house where she belonged, and a deep, possessive ache, though whether the latter came from the house or from him he could not tell. “Let me hold her,” he rasped, holding his arms out for her.
“Katherine,” she said to the baby as she lifted the girl off her shoulder, “meet your father, Kit.”
She was heavier than he had expected. Edie had held her so easily that Kit had been fooled. His own arms trembled as Edie settled Katherine in them, as he supported the solid weight of her.
“It’s all right,” Edie said gently, pressing on one of his hands to adjust his grip. “You won’t hurt her just by holding her.”
The baby yawned and shut her pale eyes. Not quite the elf-shot grey of her mother’s eyes, but in time, perhaps they would become so. And oh, oh, he was in love. She was small and fragile and perfect in all her imperfections, and he would do anything to protect her.
How could his mother have hated him so, when all he wanted was to give his daughter the world?
“I don’t know,” Edie said quietly, and he realized he had voiced the thought out loud. “Perhaps it was just because she was a woman, and women who are not attractive suffer more for it than men do. I can’t say.”
Kit sniffled, but the tears he was trying to hold back started pouring down his cheeks. Several fell on Katherine’s face and she opened her mouth and started yelling about it; Edie rescued their daughter from Kit’s arms and began to calm her as Kit searched his pockets for a handkerchief.
