His grandfather had sent him to the gamekeeper knowing full well that the only humane thing they could do was to put the poor creatures out of their misery. Ludlow had known the outcome and yet had made William the instrument of the fawns' death. He had never quite forgiven his grandfather for that.

And he had never forgotten that smell.

Now years later he found himself surrounded by that very same smell. The memory of that muggy afternoon with his grandfather was a like a cold, hard seed buried deep inside his chest that had just miraculously sprouted. He caught his breath and looked down at the downy tufts of brown hair on the soft skull of the baby he clutched tightly in his arms. He could feel the child's tiny heartbeat against his collarbone.