Rose Daughter – Part II

After seven years, she found herself with child. They paced all week-end in the library, so rattled they nearly forgot to water the roses. She had managed to ascertain that her cousin Helen knew of a reputable agency of British nannies. Mightn’t French be better, he wondered. Foreign languages, so valuable and . . . They compromised. Nanny would be British.
     Piqued, he ventured that all his favourite names appeared in Byron: Augusta, Selim, Caroline. She said nothing. Thyrza, he said. She opened her Tennyson: a girl would have to be Maud. He kissed her pale blonde hair. It was his favourite name.

Here are Part I and Part III.
Image: A black-and-white version of Takashi Hososhima’s.