Six months later
June 1667
COLIN SLID his knife under the red seal and scanned the brief missive.
A pox on him.
Rubbing his temples, he dropped the vellum letter atop the ledgers and journals that covered the scarred wooden surface of his desk—ledgers and journals he’d be forced to abandon for the next few days. Beyond the castle walls, he imagined the rolling land, freshly green with the first new shoots from spring planting. Although it was all too far away to hear, he’d swear he could make out the bleat of distant sheep, the dull thud of a log being felled, the vague bangs and scrapes of quarrying—all work he was loath to let continue without his supervision.
The estate needed his attention too, curse it.
The year was halfway over, and he’d saved nowhere near half of his debt to Hobbs.
THE DOOR cracked open. “Are you napping, my lady?”
“Hah.” Amy looked up from her book as her buxom blond maid stepped inside. “I wish. I’m so big and itchy, I cannot find a good position no matter how many I try.”
As though he’d heard her complaint, her son swished in her womb, poking out fists, knees, elbows, and feet all at once, it seemed.
Lydia’s kittenish blue eyes narrowed as she contemplated the rolling lumps on her mistress’s abdomen. “Lud, that looks uncomfortable.”
Amy laughed and set the book aside. “Sometimes I’m convinced I’m carrying a human octopus, or at the very least an accomplished acrobat.” She pushed herself to stand. “Did you need me for something?”
“The lord said he has a matter to discuss. He waits in the study.” Frowning, Lydia flipped through the gowns in Amy’s wardrobe. “Cuds bobs, milady, you’ve got nothing decent to wear that will fit over your belly.”
“I needn’t dress up to visit with my husband!” Giggling, Amy went next door to see him in the study.
She quieted as she drew near. The door was ajar, and she could hear Benchley’s voice. “Fernew was asking when the new thresher will arrive.”
“I canceled delivery.”
At Colin’s grim words, Amy froze, her hand on the latch.
“You—”
“Canceled it. Fernew will have to get along without it. Tell him it’s only till next year.”
The defeat in his voice gnawed at Amy’s insides.
“And the mill?”
She grimaced at Colin’s heavy sigh. “That will have to be repaired; there’s no way around it. Have Jenner order the parts; I should be back to help well before their delivery. No sense paying for more labor when it isn’t necessary. Anything else, Benchley?”
“No. No, my lord.”
Amy jumped back when Benchley opened the door. He nodded to her and headed toward the entrance hall.
As his footsteps receded down the corridor, she stepped into the room. Colin was bent over a sheet of vellum, shaking his head. She bit her lip.
Another financial problem he couldn’t solve, thanks to wedding her?
“Amy.” He glanced up with a distracted smile. “Come here, love.”
She went to him, smiling in return when he ran a hand over the swell of their child, feeling for signs of movement.
“Charles wants to see us,” he said, looking up from her middle with thinly veiled disgust. “Tomorrow night.”
“Charles?” Amy eyed the paper in his other hand. A large red seal was attached, broken but impressive nonetheless. “Charles who?”
“Charles. The king.”
Her heart paused before continuing at an unsteady gallop. Of course she’d known that Colin was intimate with the king, that she was now a countess and expected to move in court circles. But here at Greystone, in their own little crumbling castle, she’d felt very removed from the possibility. “But…why?”
“Who knows? Perhaps he’s miffed that I didn’t ask his permission to marry you.”
She leaned weakly against the desk. “His permission?”
Colin sighed, tossing the summons onto the surface with a flick of his wrist. “As a peer of the realm, ancient law says I’m obligated to obtain the king’s approval. But no one actually asks—not even his own brother James before his secret marriage to Anne Hyde.” With the heels of both hands, he rubbed his forehead, as though a massive headache had just arisen. “It’s archaic; I’m certain no one has asked for a century. Still, Charles has always been like a big brother to me.” He squinted, and his eyes turned a glazey dull color. “I don’t know.”
“Can’t you just send him a note? Tell him you’re busy and I’m with child?”
Colin’s laughter was immediate; his eyes cleared and turned to her, a glittering emerald green. “No, we cannot just send a note, love.” He caught her hand and pulled her onto his lap. “When the king calls, one answers. It’s off to Whitehall for us, I’m afraid.” He was silent a minute, his fingers absently twirling one of her long ebony ringlets. “We’ll leave first thing in the morning, to arrive at the town house by noon. You can nap before the evening festivities.”
“I’m sure I won’t sleep a wink tonight.” She groaned softly and moved her hand to cover where their child registered his own protest, in the form of a particularly violent kick.
“It’s nothing to be worried about. Charles is an affable sort.”
“But there will be all those people…” She imagined hordes of svelte ladies, all dressed in the latest fashions. And haughty lords, beribboned and bejeweled, looking down their aristocratic noses at her bloated form.
“You already know some of them,” he reminded her patiently, “from your shop.”
“As customers. Oh, Colin, look at me! You’re going to be sorry you married me, I just know it.”
His fingers stilled in her hair, and he said very quietly, “I will never, ever be sorry I married you, Lady Greystone. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”
When his hand moved to the back of her neck, and he pulled her toward him and kissed her lightly, she almost believed him. “And you’re beautiful, as beautiful as ever. I swear it.” He kissed her again, this time long and deep, his mouth warm and possessive, and she did believe him.
For two seconds, at least.