Kitabı oku: «Mother's Day Treats», sayfa 9
‘Of course I’m OK. A visit from you is as good as a cure!’ Lizzie hurled, her quivering voice breaking on that last assurance.
Sebasten departed. He should have thought about her not being able to afford to run a car, he reflected, choosing to focus on that rather than anything else she had said. However, the disturbing image of her distraught face and the shadows that lay like bruises beneath her eyes travelled with him. She didn’t look well. Was he responsible for that? For the first time since childhood Sebasten felt helpless, and it was terrifying. He could not believe how stubborn and proud she was. He saw Lizzie in terms of warmth and sunlight, softness and affection, and then he tried to equate that belated acknowledgement with the character that Ingrid had endowed her with.
Lizzie threw herself face down on the bed and sobbed into the pillow until she was empty of tears. What must her distress be doing to her baby? Guilt cut deep into her. She rested a hand against her tummy and offered the tiny being inside her a silent apology for her lack of control and told herself that she would do better in the future.
As for Sebasten, did she seem so pitiful that he even had to take her pride away from her by offering her a loan as well as the car and the diamonds? Why had she ever told him that she loved him? And why was he acting the way he was when all that she had ever known about him suggested that a declaration of love ought to drive him fast in the opposite direction? How dared he come and see her and make her feel all over again what she had lost when he wasn’t worth having in the first place?
When was she planning to tell him about the baby? She drifted off to weary sleep on the admission that she was not yet strong enough to face another confrontational scene.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ON MONDAY morning, Sebasten thought his personal staff were all very quiet in his radius and he assumed that the Sunday Globe gossip column had done the rounds of the office.
He swore that he would not think about Lizzie. At eleven he found himself accessing her personnel file. When he discovered that she had been reprimanded for the printing of four hundred copies of a photo of himself, all hope of concentration was vanquished. He was annoyed that he liked the idea of those photos.
Sebasten did not believe in love. He was crazy about Lizzie’s body…and her smile…and her hair. He had enjoyed the way she chattered too. She talked a lot, which in the past was a trait which had irritated him in other women, but Lizzie’s chatter was unusually interesting. He had also liked the easy way she would reach out and touch him; nothing wrong with that either, was there? It didn’t mean he was infatuated or anything of that nature, merely that he could still appreciate her good points.
On the other side of the equation, she was a rampant liar and she must have slept with his half-brother and he could not work out how he had managed to block that awareness out for so long. At the same time, he could no longer credit the dramatic contention that Lizzie had driven Connor to his death. Ingrid had needed someone to blame. But Connor had got behind the wheel of his car, drunk. That car crash had been the tragic result of his half-brother’s recklessness and love of high speed.
At that point, without any prior thought on the subject that he was aware of, Sebasten decided to settle that outstanding bill he had seen in Lizzie’s bedsit. She couldn’t prevent him from doing that, could she?
That same day, Lizzie went into work and found herself the target of covert stares and embarrassing whispers. Only then did she recall the article that had been in the newspaper the previous day. In a saccharine-sweet enquiry, Milly Sharpe asked her where she would like to work and Lizzie reddened to her hairline.
‘Any place,’ Lizzie answered tautly and ended up at a desk in a corner where she was given nothing like enough to keep her occupied.
She saw then that continuing employment in Sebasten’s company could well be less than comfortable for her. During her lunch break, she called into the employment agency across the road from the CI building and enjoyed a far more productive chat with one of the recruitment consultants there than she had received at the establishment which Sebasten had recommended a month earlier.
‘You have a great deal of insider knowledge and experience in the PR field,’ the consultant commented. ‘I’m sure we can place you in a PR firm. It would be a junior position to begin with, and of course you’re entitled to basic maternity leave, but if you prove yourself you could gain quite rapid advancement.’
On Tuesday, Sebasten took sudden note of how very long it had been since he had staged a meeting with the accounts team on the sixth floor and he instructed his secretary to make good that oversight. That Lizzie worked on that floor was not a fact he allowed to enter his mind once. On Wednesday, he was infuriated by the announcement that the accounts meeting could not be staged until Friday, as key personnel were away on a training course.
On Thursday, Ingrid phoned Sebasten and demanded to know if it was true that he had been seeing Liza Denton. Sebasten said it was but that it was a private matter not open to discussion, and if Ingrid’s shock at that snub was perceptible Sebasten was equally disconcerted by the very real anger that leapt through him when the older woman then made an adverse comment about Lizzie. On Friday, Sebasten arrived at the office even earlier than was his norm, cleared his desk by nine, strode about the top floor unsettling his entire staff and checked his watch on average of once every ten minutes.
On the sixth floor, Lizzie’s week had felt endless to her. She was craving Sebasten as though he were a life-saving drug and hating herself for being so weak. She knew she had to tell him that she was pregnant, but while she still felt so vulnerable she was reluctant to deal with that issue. Mid-week, during the extended lunch break she hastily arranged, she had an interview for a position with a PR firm but had no idea whether or not she was in with a chance. On Friday morning, Milly Sharpe greeted her arrival at work with a strange little smile and put her on the reception desk.
When Sebasten strode out of the lift, the first person he saw was Lizzie. Lizzie, clad in a yellow dress as bright as sunshine. He collided with her startled green eyes and walked right past the senior accounts executive waiting to greet him without even noticing the man.
‘Lizzie…’ Sebasten said.
Taken aback by his sudden appearance, Lizzie nodded in slow motion as though to confirm her identity while her gaze welded to him with electrified intensity. His sheer physical impact on her drove out all else. She drank him in, heart racing at the sudden buzz in the atmosphere and there was not a thought in her head that was worthy of an angry, bitter woman. His luxuriant black hair gleamed below the lights and her fingers tingled with longing. His brilliant golden eyes, semi-screened by his spiky lashes, set up a chain reaction deep down inside her, awakening the wicked hunger that melted her in secret places and made her tremble.
‘So…’ His mind a wasteland, his hormones reacting with a dangerous enthusiasm that made lingering an impossibility, Sebasten snatched in a deep, sharp breath. ‘How are you?’
‘OK…’ Lizzie managed to frame after considerable effort to come up with that single word.
‘I have a meeting…’ Sebasten swung away, her image refreshed to vibrance in his memory.
As he strode down the corridor, Lizzie blinked and emerged from the spell he had cast. A slow, deep, painful tide of colour washed over her fair complexion. A burst of stifled giggles sounded from the direction of Milly Sharpe’s office, which overlooked Reception, and her heart sank. Had she somehow shown herself up? Well, what else could she have done when she had just sat staring at Sebasten like a lovesick schoolgirl? Squirming in an agony of self-loathing and shame, Lizzie decided she would not be around when Sebasten emerged from his meeting again.
That afternoon the recruitment agency called and informed her that Robbins, the PR firm, were keen for her to start work with them the following week. Deep relief filled Lizzie to overflowing and she accepted the offer. Away from Contaxis International, she would be better able to put her life together again and possibly it would be easier to face telling Sebasten what he would eventually have to be told.
On Friday evening, for the sixth night in a row, Sebasten stayed home and brooded. He didn’t want to go out and he didn’t want company.
Lizzie called her father for a chat. He seemed very preoccupied and apologised several times for losing the thread of the conversation. She asked what he had decided to do about Mrs Baines, the housekeeper, whom Felicity had wanted dismissed.
Maurice Denton released a heavy sigh. ‘I offered Mrs Baines a generous settlement in recognition of the number of years she’d worked for us. She accepted it but she was very bitter and walked out the same day. Felicity was delighted but I must confess that the whole business left a nasty taste in my mouth.’
‘How is Felicity?’
‘Very edgy…’ the older man admitted with palpable concern. ‘She bursts into tears if I even mention the baby and when I suggested that I ought to have a word with the gynaecologist she’s been attending, she became hysterical!’
Lizzie raised her brows and winced in dismay. Was her stepmother heading for a nervous breakdown? All over again, she felt the guilty burden of the secret knowledge she was withholding from her father. Then she wondered how Maurice Denton, never the most liberal of men and very set in his traditional values, would react to a daughter giving birth to an illegitimate child and paled. Such an event might well sever her relationship with her father forever…
On Sunday morning, Sebasten again lifted the Sunday Globe, which he had always regarded as a rubbish newspaper aimed at intellectually-challenged readers. However, he only wanted to check out that Patsy Hewitt had not picked up any other information relating either to himself or Lizzie. The front page was adorned with the usual lurid headline offering the unsavoury details of some sleazy affair, he noted, and only at that point did he recognise that the article was adorned with a photo of Connor.
And Sebasten was gripped to that double-page spread inside the paper with a spellbound intensity that would have delighted Patsy Hewitt, who had found ample opportunity to employ her trademark venom after doing her homework on Lizzie’s stepmother, Felicity Denton. Mrs Baines, the Denton housekeeper, had sold her insider story of Felicity’s affair for a handsome price and Connor, even departed, still had sufficient news value to make the front page with his once tangled lovelife.
Lizzie was still in bed asleep when her mobile phone began ringing. Getting out of bed to answer it, she was bemused to realise that it was a former friend calling to express profuse apologies for misjudging her over Connor.
‘What are you talking about?’ she mumbled.
‘Haven’t you seen this morning’s Sunday Globe yet?’
Learning that Mrs Baines had sold her story of Felicity’s affair with Connor shook Lizzie rigid. No longer did she need to wonder why her stepmother had been so eager to get rid of the family housekeeper: Felicity had been justifiably afraid that Mrs Baines knew too much. Had Connor visited the Denton home as well? Lizzie wrinkled her nose with distaste. The housekeeper had probably known about that affair long before she herself did.
Over an hour later, Lizzie arrived at her family home to find it besieged by the Press. A half-dozen cameras flashed in her direction and she had to fight her way past to get indoors. Her father was sitting behind closed curtains in a state of severe shock.
CHAPTER NINE
‘FELICITY walked out late last night. A friend in the media phoned to warn her about the story appearing in the Sunday Globe,’ Maurice Denton shared in a shattered tone as Lizzie paced the room, too restive to stay still. ‘Felicity isn’t coming back. She made it clear that she wants a divorce.’
‘But…but what about the baby?’ Lizzie pressed, disconcerted by the speed and dexterity of her stepmother’s departure from the marital home.
The older man regarded her with hollow eyes. In the space of days, he seemed to have aged. ‘There is no baby…’
Lizzie’s mouth fell wide. ‘You mean, Felicity’s lost it…oh, no!’
‘There never was a baby. She wasn’t pregnant. It was a crazy lie aimed at persuading you not to tell me about her affair with Connor.’ Her parent shook his greying head with a dulled wonderment that he could not conceal. ‘Felicity thought that if she tried, she could get pregnant easily and then pretend she’d mixed up her dates. But it didn’t happen: she didn’t conceive. As time went on and she was forced to pretend to go to pre-natal appointments she decided that she would have to fake a miscarriage…thank heaven, I was spared that melodrama!’
‘Do you think…er…Felicity’s having a breakdown?’ Lizzie suggested worriedly. ‘I mean, maybe it was one of those false pregnancies that come from genuine longing for a baby—’
‘No.’ Maurice Denton’s rebuttal was flat, bitter. ‘Last night, she informed me that she didn’t even like children and that she was fed up not only with the whole insane pretence that she had foisted on us all but also sick and tired of living with a man old enough to be her father! She wasn’t even sorry for the damage she did to you, never mind me!’
Lizzie flinched. ‘I’m so sorry…’
‘Perhaps when a man of fifty-five marries a woman more than thirty years younger he deserves what he gets. Why didn’t you come to me about her and the Morgan boy?’
‘I…I told myself I couldn’t tell you for the baby’s sake…but possibly, I just couldn’t face the responsibility.’ Listening to the mayhem of raised voices outside the front door, Lizzie said gently, ‘Look, maybe the reporters will go away if I make a statement to them…what do you think?’
‘Do as you think best,’ Maurice Denton advised heavily. ‘Felicity is gone and it can only be Felicity or you that those vultures are interested in. I’ve never had much of a public profile.’
Lizzie went outside to address the assembled journalist and parry some horrendous questions of the lowest possible taste. ‘Was Morgan sleeping with both you and your stepmother?’
‘Connor and I were only ever friends,’ Lizzie declared with complete calm.
‘What about you and Sebasten Contaxis?’ she was asked.
‘Oh, I’m not friends with him!’ Lizzie asserted without hesitation and there was a burst of appreciative laughter at that response.
It was only later while she was making a snack for her father that she truly appreciated that her own name had been cleared. Would Sebasten find out? Sooner or later, he would discover that he had targeted the wrong woman. How would he react? But why should she care? What he had confessed to doing was beyond all forgiveness. She looked into the fridge, where a jar of sun-dried tomatoes sat, and her tastebuds watered. Sun-dried tomatoes followed by ice-cream. She shut the fridge again in haste, unnerved by recent food cravings that struck her as bizarre.
An hour later, Sebasten sprang out of his Lamborghini outside the Morgan household in the leafy suburbs. A lingering solitary cameraman took a picture of him. Waving back the bodyguards ready to leap into action and prevent that photo being taken, Sebasten smiled. Sebasten had been smiling ever since he read Patsy Hewitt’s hatchet job on Lizzie’s stepmother. The wicked stepmother, a typecast figure and a perfect match to Sebasten’s own prejudices. He could not imagine how he had contrived not to register that Lizzie’s father had a very much younger wife who bore more than a passing resemblance to the evil queen in Snow White. He could not imagine how it had not once crossed his mind that Lizzie might be engaged in protecting a member of her own family.
‘Lizzie’s not friends with you, mate,’ the cameraman warned Sebasten.
‘Watch this space,’ Sebasten advised with all the sizzling, lethal confidence that lay at the heart of his forceful character. He just felt happy, crazy happy, and all he could think about was reclaiming Lizzie.
‘She’s a gutsy girl…I wouldn’t count my chickens.’
Sebasten just laughed and leant on the doorbell and rattled the door knocker for good measure.
CHAPTER TEN
IT WAS very unfortunate for Sebasten that Lizzie had watched his arrival from the safe, shadowy depths of the dining room.
Even at a distance, the slashing brilliance of his smile rocked Lizzie where she stood. He was so gorgeous but that he should dare to smile, sure of his welcome, it seemed, before he even saw her, lacerated her pride, fired her resentment and drove home the suspicion that he lacked any sense of remorse. He was tough, ruthless and hard and no relationship with Sebasten would ever go any place where she wanted it to go, she acknowledged with agonised regret. He had already spelt that out in terms no sane woman could ignore.
Hadn’t she already got through the first week of being without him? She would get over him eventually, wouldn’t she? It dawned on her that on some strange inner level she had not the slightest doubt that Sebasten was about to suggest a reconciliation and that shook her. But once she announced that she had already conceived his child and in addition had every intention of raising that child, Sebasten would surrender any such notion fast. So really, what was she worrying about?
Sebasten had killed his smile by the time Lizzie opened the door. ‘Come in…’
‘I suggest we go out, so that we can talk,’ Sebasten murmured levelly. ‘I imagine your family aren’t in the mood for visitors today.’
‘Only my father is here and he’s having a nap in the library.’ A quiver assailing her at his proximity, Lizzie pushed wide the door into the drawing room.
‘Where’s the…’ Sebasten bit back the blunt five-letter word brimming on his lips in the very nick of time and substituted, ‘your stepmother?’
‘Already gone,’ Lizzie admitted, tight-mouthed with tension. ‘They’ll be getting a divorce.’
‘Your father’s got his head screwed on,’ Sebasten asserted with an outstanding absence of sensitivity. ‘Booting her straight out the door was the right thing to do.’
‘Actually Felicity left under her own steam,’ Lizzie declared, making the humiliating connection that she had once been booted out of Sebasten’s life with the same efficiency that he was so keen to commend.
‘Even better…she won’t collect half so much in the divorce settlement,’ Sebasten imparted with authority.
‘Right at this moment, my father has more to think about than his bank balance!’ Lizzie hissed in outrage. ‘He’s devastated.’
‘I was thinking of you, not your father. Not very pleasant for you, having to put up with a woman like that in the family,’ Sebasten contended, allowing himself to study her taut, pale face, the strain in her unhappy eyes, and then removing his attention again before he was tempted into making the cardinal error of a premature assumption that forgiveness was on the table and dragging her into his arms. ‘Why the blazes didn’t you spill the beans on your stepmother weeks ago?’
‘I believed she was pregnant with my little brother or sister…only it turns out now that she was lying about that to protect herself and keep me quiet.’ A tight little laugh fell from Lizzie’s lips as she thought of the baby that she carried. It seemed so ironic that the conception which Felicity must initially have been desperate to achieve should have come Lizzie’s way instead.
‘It sounds like she was off the wall. If it’s any consolation, Ingrid Morgan is shattered too and feeling very guilty about the way she treated you,’ Sebasten revealed. ‘She called me this morning.’
‘I don’t hold any spite against Connor’s mother.’ Taut as a bowstring, Lizzie hovered by the window.
‘I don’t understand why you couldn’t tell me the whole truth. If you had named your father’s wife, I would never have disbelieved your explanation and I could have been trusted with that information.’
Lizzie noted without great surprise that Sebasten was playing hardball and landing her with a share of the blame for his refusal to have the smallest faith in her. ‘I’m not so sure of that. You and your old friend Ingrid wanted your pound of flesh, regardless of who got hurt in the process!’
Sebasten did not like the morbid tone of that response at all. ‘I misjudged you and I’ll make it up to you.’
‘Was that an apology?’
‘Theo mou…give me time to get there on my own!’ Sebasten urged in a sudden volatile surge that disconcerted her and let her appreciate that he was not quite as cool, calm and collected as he appeared. ‘I am sorry, truly, deeply sorry.’
‘I can’t be,’ Lizzie confided shakily.
‘I’m not asking you to be sorry,’ Sebasten pointed out in some bewilderment, wondering whether the shine of tears in her eyes was a promising sign that the very first humble apology he had made to a woman in his entire life had had the right effect.
‘You see, I can’t be sorry that you misjudged me because if I hadn’t found that out, I would never have discovered what a ruthless, conscience-free louse you are,’ Lizzie completed in a wobbly but driven voice.
Sebasten spread lean brown hands in a natural expression of appeal. ‘But I’ll never be like that with you again,’ he protested. ‘I want you back in my life.’
‘Oh, I’m sure you’ll find another dumb woman to take my place,’ Lizzie snapped out brittly and turned her back on him altogether while she fought to rein back the tears threatening her.
‘Yes, I could if I wanted to but there’s one small problem…I only want you.’
In his bed, that was all, Lizzie reflected painfully, her throat thick with tears. She forced herself back round to face him again and tilted her chin. ‘I think you’ll give up on that ambition when I tell you what I have to tell you.’
‘Nothing could make me give up on you,’ Sebasten swore, moving forward and reaching for her without warning to tug her forward into his arms.
Lizzie only meant to stay there a second but Sebasten had come to the conclusion that action was likely to be much more effective than words that appeared to be getting him precisely nowhere. He framed her flushed face with two lean hands and gazed down into her distraught green eyes. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ he was moved to demand in reproach. ‘I will never hurt you again.’
Trembling all over, Lizzie parted dry lips and muttered, ‘I’m pregnant…’
Pregnant? That announcement fell on a male quite unprepared for that kind of news. Sebasten tensed, not even sure he had heard her say what she had just said. ‘Pregnant?’ he echoed, his hands dropping from her.
‘Yes,’ Lizzie confirmed chokily.
‘Pregnant…’ Sebasten said again as though it was a word that had never come his way before and innate caution was already telling him to shut up and not say another single sentence. But he was so shattered by the concept of Lizzie being pregnant that not all the caution in the world could keep him quiet. ‘Is it Connor’s?’ he shot at her rawly, savage jealousy gripping him in an instant vice.
Watching the flare of volatile gold in his stunning eyes, the fierce cast of his superb bone-structure, Lizzie was backing away from him and she only stilled when her shoulders met the china cabinet behind her. ‘No, it is not your half-brother’s child. Even Connor was not low enough to try to get me into bed while he was making mad, passionate love to my stepmother behind my back. I never slept with Connor,’ Lizzie spelt out shakily.
Sebasten recalled his own belief in her inexperience the first night he had shared with her but Sebasten was always stubborn and not quite ready in the state of numb shock he was in to move straight in and embrace the possibility of a child he had never expected to have. ‘How do I know that for sure?’
Temper leapt with startling abruptness from the sheer height of Lizzie’s tension. ‘You’re the only lover I’ve ever had…is it my fault you were too busy taking advantage of me to even notice that I was a virgin?’
‘I didn’t take advantage of you and if you’re telling me the truth you’re the only virgin I’ve ever slept with,’ Sebasten launched back, playing for time while he mulled over what she had said but all his anger ebbing at miraculous speed. Even so, that did not prevent him from finding another issue. ‘You said you were protected.’
‘I was sick the next morning…it might have been that or it might just be that I fall into the tiny failure-rate percentage…but the point is,’ Lizzie framed afresh, ‘I am pregnant and it’s yours.’
‘Mine…’ Sebasten was now unusually pale at the very thought of what he saw as the enormous responsibility of a baby. All he had to do was think about his own nightmare childhood, the misery inflicted on him by self-preoccupied adults who left him to the care of unsupervised staff when it suited them and isolated him in boarding schools, where he had also been forgotten with ease. Nobody knew better than he that even great wealth was no protection when it came to a child’s needs.
‘I appreciate that this is a shock for you,’ Lizzie conceded when she could hear that ghastly silence no longer. ‘But I should also add that I’m going to have this baby—’
Emerging from his unpleasant recollections. Sebasten frowned at her in complete innocence of her meaning. ‘What else would you do?’
Silenced by that demand, Lizzie blinked.
‘I suppose we’ll have to make the best of it,’ Sebasten breathed, squaring his broad shoulders in the face of his inner conviction that life as he knew it had just been slaughtered. But much of his gloom lifted on the sudden realisation that, of course, Lizzie would come in tow with the baby. With Lizzie back in his life and him ensuring in a discreet way that the baby was never, ever neglected for even a moment, he could surely rise to the challenge?
‘And what would making the best of it…entail?’ Lizzie prompted thinly.
‘Sebasten expelled his pent-up breath in an impatient hiss. ‘Obviously, I’ll have to marry you. It’s my own fault. I should’ve taken precautions too that night but we’re stuck with the consequences and I’m a Contaxis…not the sort of bastard who tries to shirk his responsibilities!’
During that telling speech, Lizzie almost burst into a rage as big as a bonfire. She went lurching from total shock at the speed with which he mentioned marriage when she had never dreamt he might even whisper that fatal word. Then she truly listened and what she heard inflamed her beyond belief.
‘I don’t want to marry you—’
‘You’ve got no choice—’
‘Watch my lips—I do not want to marry you!’
Sebasten dealt her a grim appraisal in which his powerful personality loomed large. ‘Of course you do. Right now, we’ve got a bigger problem than me being a ruthless, conscience-free louse!’ he countered with sardonic bite. ‘Can we please focus on the baby issue?’
‘You don’t want to marry me…you don’t want the baby either!’ Lizzie flung at him in condemnation, feeling as though her heart was breaking inside her and hating him for not being able to feel what she felt.
‘I want you and I’ll get used to the idea of the baby,’ Sebasten declared.
Intending to show him out the front door, Lizzie yanked the drawing-room door wide and then froze. Her father was standing in the hall, his face a stiff mask of disbelief. It was obvious that he had heard enough to appreciate that she was carrying Sebasten’s child. He looked at her with all his disappointment written in his eyes and it was too much to her after the day she had already endured. With a stifled sob, Lizzie fled for the sanctuary of her old apartment in the stable block.
Sebasten could see ‘potential ally’ writ large in his future father-in-law’s horror at the revelation that his unmarried daughter was expecting a baby. ‘I’m sorry you had to hear the news like that. Naturally, Lizzie’s upset by the circumstances but I’m just keen to get the wedding organised.’
Maurice Denton was relieved by that forthright declaration. Unfreezing, almost grateful for a distraction from his own personal crisis, he offered Sebasten a drink. Sebasten accepted the offer.
He had never been more on edge: he felt as if Lizzie was playing games with him and that was not what he expected from her. It took time to concede that he might have been a little too frank about his reactions and that perhaps lying in his teeth would have gone down better. After a third drink to Sebasten’s one, Maurice informed Sebasten that should be himself live until he was ninety-nine he had no hope of ever hearing a marriage proposal couched in less attractive terms. He then asked his son-in-law-to-be if he was shy about being romantic.
Sebasten tried not to cringe at the question but he was honest in his response: he had never made a romantic gesture in his entire life.
‘I think you’d better get on that learning curve fast,’ Lizzie’s father advised before going on to entertain Sebasten with stories of how devoted a mother Lizzie had been to her dolls and how much she had always adored fussing round babies.
While the older man began to find some solace not only in those happier memories of the past but also in the prospect of a grandchild after the humiliation of his own disappointed hopes of another child, Sebasten began to imagine the baby as a miniature version of Lizzie tending to her dolls and relax and even warm to the prospect.
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