Chapter Thirteen
Jane stood by the chest of drawers in her bedroom, holding Cat’s son and staying out of the way while Mrs. Hutting and Mrs. Danford, the midwife, finished up with Cat.
She averted her gaze from their activities—childbirth was quite messy—to look down at the baby. He was so tiny, though the older women had proclaimed him a good size for a newborn. And helpless. He couldn’t even hold his own head up.
He was very different from Christopher, the only other baby she’d ever held.
One of his hands escaped his swaddling—Mrs. Danford had used Jane’s spare chemise for that—and waved about. He was going to hit himself in the face. She caught his small fist, stroked his palm—and his tiny, perfect fingers wrapped around hers.
Oh. She felt his grasp in her heart—and her womb.
How much more would I feel it if he were my son—mine and Alex’s?
She didn’t want children, remember? Or a husband. She’d just got free of Randolph—
A husband isn’t the same as a brother.
Well, no, of course that was true. A husband was worse than a brother. She could go to her room and shut the door on Randolph. With a husband, there’d be no escape.
Not to mention Lord Evans hadn’t suggested marriage.
He’s here in Loves Bridge.
Her body thrummed, vividly remembering the feel of his hard length against hers when she’d collided with him earlier. Her brain had been too panicked to register much more than here was someone she could send for help, but her body had been taking detailed notes. It would like—
No, she had exactly what she wanted now: the Spinster House and her independence. She was perfectly happy.
The baby had opened his eyes and was staring up at her. She smiled, leaning closer, though she couldn’t tell if he could actually see her or not.
She’d liked the sense of connection she’d felt during the birth, helping Cat, working with Mrs. Hutting and Mrs. Danford as part of a female activity as old as time. She liked the feelings holding Cat’s baby churned up in her. They were confusing and unsettling, but they made her feel more alive than she had in a long time.
“Merrow.” Poppy, having fled the room earlier, leapt up on the chest of drawers behind Jane and leaned forward to sniff at the new arrival.
Jane’s first instinct was to snatch the baby out of the animal’s reach, but before she could act, Poppy sat back and started grooming her tail.
Apparently, Cat’s—and the duke’s—son met with Poppy’s approval.
“There we go,” Mrs. Danford said, wiping her hands on Jane’s spare towel. “Everything’s been set to rights down here. Now we need to have the baby suckle. It helps the milk come in and the mother’s body recover.”
Jane’s hold tightened—she didn’t want to part with the infant—but then she came to her senses and carefully deposited him in Cat’s arms. Mrs. Hutting helped Cat arrange things so the baby could latch onto her breast.
Lud! Cat looked so tired and worn from the exertion of bringing this little bit of humanity into the world, but she also looked gloriously happy.
Perhaps there was a balance to be struck between independence and dependence.
The baby lost hold of the nipple and started crying. The shrill sound ripped through Jane’s head like a knife and set her heart pounding. How much worse it must be for Cat.
“He’s a hungry little mite, isn’t he?” Mrs. Danford said calmly, helping to get the baby settled again. “Handsome and healthy. The duke will be proud.”
And then she frowned, likely thinking what Jane, what they all must be thinking: If the curse wasn’t broken, the duke wasn’t alive to feel anything.
Mrs. Danford shook off her dark thoughts, smiling once more. “You’ll have to stay here for a few days, Your Grace. We don’t want to take any added risks by moving a new mother and infant, even in a ducal carriage.” She started packing up. “And this way you’ll be close to your own mother so she can look in on you. You’re an old hand at having babies, aren’t you, Cecilia?”
Cat’s mother laughed. “Yes, indeed. You can be sure I’ll keep a close eye on Cat and the baby.”
“I know you will.” Mrs. Danford looked back at Cat. “When the wee bairn sleeps, you sleep, too. Being a new mother is hard work—don’t overtax yourself.”
“Yes, Mrs. Danford.”
That made the midwife laugh. “You don’t believe me. Very few new mothers do. But you’ll learn—and I know your mother will rein you in if you try to do too much.” She put the last item in her bag. “I’m off now. Shall I stop to have a look at Mary, Cecilia?”
“Oh, yes, please do,” Mrs. Hutting said. “I’ll be over in a few minutes and will make you a nice cup of tea.”
Cat sighed after Mrs. Danford left and said a little anxiously, “I guess I shouldn’t have come into the village, but I truly didn’t think riding in the pony cart would bring on labor.”
“We don’t know that it did.” Jane jumped to reassure Cat, even though she knew nothing at all about the matter. “Mary’s baby hasn’t tried to make an appearance, and she rode in the cart too.”
“Exactly.” Mrs. Hutting touched her new grandson’s fuzzy little head. “The important thing is that you and the baby are both fine.”
Cat smiled. “He’s beautiful, isn’t he?”
Most people wouldn’t describe the scrawny, reddish, squished-faced, awkward infant as beautiful. Likely nature made mothers see newborns that way so they didn’t abandon their offspring.
Cat glanced up. “I’m so sorry to have taken over your room, Jane.”
“It’s nothing.” Jane smiled. “And there’s something satisfying about the curse being broken in the place where it all started.”
Worry clouded Cat’s eyes again. “Is the curse broken?”
They wouldn’t know for certain until they saw the duke. But it had to be broken. Surely life—God—could not be so cruel as to take the man now, just as his son was born.
“Of course that silly curse is broken,” Cat’s mother said in a no-nonsense tone. “I’m sure Marcus will be here any minute now. Papa and Lord Evans went to find him right after I left the vicarage.”
Cat smiled, but she didn’t look completely convinced. Then she turned back to Jane. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to take over more than your room, Jane. Marcus will stay here with me, but the baby’s nurse will need the spare bed, and I’m sure you don’t want to be disturbed by all the commotion a new baby causes, with people up and down all night.”
Jane hadn’t thought of that, but she’d already concluded she couldn’t stay in the Spinster House. “That’s all right. I’ll just take my things”—though with Cat in her spare nightgown and the baby wrapped in her one extra chemise, she had fewer things to take—“and go stay with Randolph and Imogen.”
Cat shook her head. “Oh, no, there’s no need for that. You’ll be stumbling over one another. I insist you live at the castle for as long as we’re here.”
At the castle? She wasn’t certain she wanted to stay in that huge, echoing pile alone. “Oh, I’m sure Imogen—”
“Don’t be silly. Your brother and Imogen are still almost newlyweds, and their house is very small. I expect you’d be very much in the way.”
Almost newlyweds? But Imogen was increasing. Surely nothing of an almost newlywed nature would be occurring, would it?
Jane felt a little queasy at the thought of surprising her brother and his wife in flagrante delicto.
“The castle is enormous,” Cat was saying. “You could sleep in a different room every night for a month if you wanted to”—she grinned—“though I’ll admit some of them aren’t quite habitable yet.”
There it was again—the castle’s size. It was larger than Chanton Manor, which had felt overwhelming enough and that was with other people around.
Though she did know many of the people who worked at the castle. Perhaps it wouldn’t be too bad. And surely Cat and the baby would be able to travel in a few days, giving her back the Spinster House.
“Very well. I just hope I don’t get lost.”
Cat’s grin turned sly. “You’ll have Alex to rescue you if you do.”
Lord Evans! Oh. Of course he’d be staying at the castle—unless he took a room at the inn, but with the castle so large . . .
But it wouldn’t be proper for them to sleep under the same roof, no matter how large the roof was, without a chaperone.
And with her confusing emotions.
Jane looked at Mrs. Hutting, expecting her to object.
“That sounds like a perfect solution,” the vicar’s wife said.
Where were the arbiters of social behavior when you needed them?
The baby had now fallen asleep and dropped off Cat’s breast, so Mrs. Hutting took him and carefully put him in the temporary bed they’d made out of a drawer and one of Jane’s bedsheets.
“I’m off to see how Mary’s doing and fix Esther that cup of tea I promised her,” Mrs. Hutting said. “I’ll be back later to check on you, but in the meantime I leave you in Jane’s capable hands.” She smiled at Jane before she left the room.
Jane did not feel at all capable, but the baby was asleep and Cat was in bed, so she didn’t think anything dreadful could happen.
“Mrs. Danford said you should sleep when the baby sleeps, Cat.”
“I can’t sleep. I’m still too excited by what just happened.” Her fingers picked at the bedclothes. “And worried. When do you think Marcus will get here?” Her voice dropped to a strained whisper. “If he gets here.”
Jane could tell Cat not to worry, but they both knew those would be empty words.
Fortunately, they heard footsteps pounding up the stairs just then. Cat’s face brightened and she looked at the doorway just as the duke burst into the room.
“Catherine!”
Cat’s smile lit her face, dispelling all signs of strain and tiredness. “Marcus!”
And then the duke was across the room and his arms were around Cat. “Catherine, thank God you’re all right.” He buried his face in her neck.
Jane bit her lip. What would it be like to have a man care so intensely for me?
To have Alex care?
It might be suffocating.
Or it might not.
Cat rubbed her husband’s back. “Marcus, aren’t you going to look at our son?”
He raised his head—his eyes were suspiciously damp. “Son?”
“Yes. That’s what I was doing here, you know. I worked very hard, even though Mrs. Danford said I had a relatively easy labor.”
Cat pointed to the drawer-turned–baby bed, and the duke peered in, looking equal parts horrified and fascinated. “He’s so small.”
Cat laughed. “I assure you he seemed huge when he was being born. I’m very thankful he’s not larger.” And then she sighed happily. “Isn’t he wonderful?”
Jane began to feel as if she was intruding on a private moment. Poppy must have agreed, because she jumped down from her perch and ran out of the room—past Lord Evans.
“Oh!” Jane’s heart seized and then began to execute a reel all around her chest. She swallowed and sent her frolicking organ a stern reprimand. “I didn’t see you there, Lord Evans.”
He smiled—he had lovely eyes when he smiled. “I came up with Marcus.” He gestured with his head that they should follow Poppy. “Shall we?”
Jane nodded. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me, Cat,” she said.
Cat didn’t reply. She’d likely not even heard.
Lord Evans stood aside to let her pass and then followed her down the stairs.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” she asked when they reached the sitting room. She had a sudden, rather desperate craving for a nice, calming cup.
“I think we need more than tea,” the earl said. “Do you still have that brandy?”
Perhaps he was correct. “I certainly didn’t finish the bottle myself.”
She led him into the kitchen—and almost tripped over Poppy, sprawled on the floor.
“Careful.” Lord Evans’s hand shot out to steady her.
Lud! His touch was far from steadying. Yes, it kept her from measuring her length on the floor, but it had a disastrous effect on her knees, causing them to wobble alarmingly.
Only because she’d just been through such a draining and yet exhilarating experience, of course. She told her knees to behave themselves and grabbed the brandy bottle from the cupboard.
“Would you be so g-good—” She cleared throat. “Could you get the cups for me, Lord Evans?”
He grinned—and her knees threatened to go out again.
“What? Still no brandy glasses?” He got the cups and put them on the table as she collapsed as discreetly as possible onto one of the chairs.
“As you know, I do not make a habit of imbibing spirits, nor did I expect to have to entertain you again.” Lud! Even she would admit she sounded unbecomingly petulant. It was her ridiculous nerves speaking. She was happy he was here—happy but nervous and unsettled. Not in control. That was what she disliked. “I beg your pardon.”
The earl gave her a probing look as he joined her at the small table, but let her comment pass unremarked upon.
“I think I’m still”—she groped for the right word—“overwhelmed by the birth.”
“Did you stay then? I’d thought you’d be sent downstairs once Mrs. Hutting arrived. You are an unmarried lady, after all.”
“Did you think I would have a fit of the vapors?” To be honest, she was surprised that she hadn’t.
He raised an eyebrow as he poured a little brandy in her cup and rather more in his. “I would never think that, Miss Wilkinson. I have complete faith in your ability to weather any storm with aplomb.”
She scrutinized his expression, but when she found no sarcasm there, she let the initial pleasure she’d felt at his compliment grow. But she wished to be honest—she shouldn’t let him entertain false notions of her strength. She leaned closer to admit, “I think I only kept my composure because I had to. I was terrified—as you might have noticed when I ran into you.”
He grinned. “Literally.”
He had such a nice smile. It made her feel warm and relaxed—and as if they were on the same side, and he was welcoming her into some private mischief.
Lord, she hadn’t even taken a sip of brandy yet.
“I did try to get Mrs. Hutting to hurry over to you,” he said. “But she didn’t appear to feel the same sense of urgency you and I did.”
That was another thing she liked about him—she knew she could depend on him. He understood immediately what was needed and set about to accomplish it. Look at the way he’d solved the last problem they’d discussed at this table—the Waldo W. Wertigger disaster. He’d found the puppet theater—with Poppy’s help—and put on an excellent show.
“I’m sure you did try to hurry her.” She smiled and shook her head. “I’ll admit I was never so happy to see anyone in my life as I was when I saw Mrs. Hutting.” She’d tried to remain calm, but until Cat’s mother arrived, it had been very much a case of the blind leading the blind. “Mrs. Hutting knew just what to do—and it wasn’t very much longer until Mrs. Danford joined us.”
She took a sip of her brandy—she’d learned last time the danger of taking anything larger than a sip—and contemplated what had just happened upstairs. It was hard to think of anything else, the experience had been so vivid with so many sights, sounds, and—she wrinkled her nose—smells.
“Have you ever attended a birth?” she asked the earl.
Lord Evans’s brows shot up. “No, thank heavens. I will leave that to you women. You are the stronger sex, after all.”
She examined him closely—he was teasing her.
It was amazing how much the male of the species didn’t know about some basic facts of life—though she’d just learned this particular lesson today, so she supposed she shouldn’t hold it against him.
“We are the stronger sex, Lord Evans. We have to carry a growing person inside us for nine months and then struggle to push him out.”
Lord Evans, looking uneasy for once, held up his hand. “Please, Miss Wilkinson. If you are thinking of sharing the gory details, spare me, if you will. You may have nerves of steel, but mine are far more gelatinous. I would like to go to my grave unenlightened on such matters.”
Well! She’d expect someone like Randolph or the detestable Mr. Barker to hold such a ridiculous opinion, but she was disappointed to hear the earl voice it.
“Why should that be? The father helps make the baby, doesn’t he? If he’s to be involved at the beginning, I don’t see why he’s allowed to be absent at the end. That’s the hardest part.”
Lord Evans’s face had got rather flushed. Was he embarrassed? She had been unusually frank, perhaps.
There was no perhaps about it. She’d leapt far beyond the normal boundaries of polite discourse. She should apologize—
Except it isn’t embarrassment in his eyes. It’s something far hotter.
She took another swallow of brandy.
“Miss Wilkinson, I shall tell you a secret that I now realize doesn’t reflect very well on me,” he said. “When I came to Loves Bridge in August, I was fleeing my very pregnant sister. She and my mother were visiting my estate when I returned from the Lake District and instead of going inside to speak to them, I ran like the great coward I am.”
So that’s why he came to the fair.
She felt a bit deflated. She’d known it hadn’t been to see her, but the notion kept poking into her thoughts like thistle that was impossible to uproot. She’d pull it out in one place only to have it appear someplace else later.
“You were afraid your sister would have her baby in your house?”
He looked down at his brandy cup. “Yes.”
She sensed there was something more that he wasn’t saying, but she let it go.
“Has Lord Chanton never kept your sister company during a birth?”
“Not that I know of.”
That was rather sad. “If you ever have a child, Lord Evans, you should try to find the courage to support your wife during the birth. It is an intense experience and not always comfortable”—she gave him a speaking look—“especially for the laboring woman, but it is . . .” How to describe it? “Quite remarkable.”
He was watching her intently. Likely he was shocked at her outspokenness. Well, she was not about to beg his forgiveness for that. If he did not care for it, he could leave.
Except it sounded like they’d be staying at the castle together.
Not a problem. As Cat had pointed out, the castle was enormous.
“You are not the only one who found this day momentous, Miss Wilkinson. The entire village is celebrating. Poor Marcus has had at least two gentlemen cry all over him in addition to any number of ladies.” He laughed. “A passerby might be forgiven for concluding that the birth’s outcome was exactly the opposite of what it was.”
“I suppose someone must have spoken to Mrs. Danford when she left a little while ago.”
He nodded. “That someone—or someones—being the Boltwood sisters, I suspect.” He grinned. “And we should celebrate as well, don’t you think? A toast.” He raised his cup. “To the breaking of the Spinster House curse.”
She clinked her cup against his. “But I thought you didn’t believe in the curse.”
“I’m not certain what I believe, but it doesn’t matter any longer, does it? If there ever was a curse, there isn’t one now. The Duke of Hart has lived to see his heir born.”
“Yes. That is wonderful.” She let her thoughts roam over the day as she sipped her brandy. Hmm. “You know, I never asked how you came to be here.”
Did Lord Evans look a little uncomfortable? No, it must be her imagination because now he was smiling.
“Nate—Lord Haywood—wrote and asked me to stop by. He was worried about Marcus, but didn’t feel he could come himself, not wanting to have his wife travel or to leave her at home.”
That made sense—sort of. “But why did you come here, to the Spinster House? Had you tried the castle first?” She frowned. “But then surely someone would have told you the duke and Theo had gone to visit Lord Davenport.” She smiled. “Not that I wasn’t delighted to see you, of course. You could not have appeared at a better time.”
“Er . . .” The earl straightened, inhaled, and—
Poppy jumped onto the table, almost upsetting Jane’s teacup.
“Where are your manners, Poppy?” Jane asked, grabbing her teetering cup. “You almost put a paw in my brandy.”
She thought about pushing the cat back to the floor, but quickly decided that would be a bootless effort. Poppy always did exactly what Poppy wanted.
The cat gave her a speaking look and then turned her back to face Lord Evans.
The earl chuckled and scratched Poppy’s ears. “I guess you know what she thinks about your reprimand.”
Jane glared at Poppy’s back. “Yes. Poppy can be quite articulate when she wishes to be.”
Poppy waved her tail in Jane’s face.
Jane pushed it aside and looked at Lord Evans. “I think you were about to tell me why you stopped by the Spinster House.”
“Yes. I—”
“There you are!”
“Eep!” Jane almost knocked over her teacup herself as Mrs. Hutting stuck her head into the kitchen.
“Oh, sorry,” Cat’s mother said. “I banged on the front door, but no one answered so I let myself in.” She smiled. “I see you’re having a nice cup of tea.”
“Er, yes.” Jane looked at Lord Evans—the evil man was smirking. They’d both stood to greet Mrs. Hutting, so Jane couldn’t administer a swift kick to the earl’s shins.
“I assume the duke is upstairs?”
“Yes, madam,” Lord Evans said.
Mrs. Hutting smiled. “It is wonderful that that dreadful curse is no longer hanging over his head—and Cat’s head as well. I’ll go up and see how they’re doing. If you’ll excuse me?”
Poppy jumped down and went over to rub against Mrs. Hutting’s ankles.
“Are you coming, too, Poppy? You’ll be careful around the baby, I hope.”
“Merrow.”
Mrs. Hutting must have taken that for assent—not that she could easily keep Poppy from following her in any event—because she and Poppy left together in apparent harmony.
They listened to Mrs. Hutting’s feet climb the stairs, and then Lord Evans looked at Jane. “Might I have some more tea, Miss Wilkinson? It really is quite extraordinary.”
“Very funny.” She poured more brandy into his cup and then, somewhat recklessly, added more to hers.
“If you’ll remember, I told you your teacup subterfuge would work to your advantage.” He shook his head in mock dismay. “And you scoffed at me.”
“It’s not a subterfuge. And if Mrs. Hutting hadn’t been distracted, she’d likely have noticed the brandy bottle and put two and two together. Now, about your—”
“Alex! Jane!” The duke bounded into the room, grinning so widely Jane blinked. His joy was almost tangible.
She’d never thought he looked older than his age, but now that the burden of the curse had fallen from him, he looked much, much younger.
He gripped Lord Evans’s hand and they pounded each other on the back, proper British restraint thrown out the window. Lord Evans was facing away from her, but she could see the duke’s expression.
The emotion it revealed made her own eyes sting and a lump form in her throat.
Then the men separated and the duke turned to her.
“Miss Wilkinson—Jane—thank you for all you did for Catherine today.” He was still smiling broadly and looked as if he might be thinking of hugging her, so she stepped back out of reach. “I can never repay you for taking care of my wife until her mother arrived.”
“Oh, well, as to that, Your Grace, I wish I could say I’d done anything to merit your thanks, but I really only just stood around taking up space. Poppy did as much as I did.”
Poppy trotted into the room and jumped back onto the table. She looked quite proud of herself . . . but then she was a cat. She always looked proud of herself.
“Please, call me Marcus. You are one of Catherine’s closest friends, after all.”
“Very well, Your G—Marcus.” Using the duke’s Christian name felt too familiar—and she’d rather keep her distance at the moment. There was far too much emotion in the room for her comfort.
“I’m surprised to see you downstairs, Marcus,” Lord Evans said. “I didn’t think anything would separate you from your wife and son.” The earl grinned. “Care for a spot of tea?”
“Tea? No tha—”
The earl held up the brandy bottle. “It’s a very special sort.”
“Oh, well, in that case, yes, I’ll take some.”
Jane fetched another teacup and gave it to Lord Evans to fill with brandy.
“As to why I am here,” the duke said, “Mrs. Hutting shooed me out of the room so she could attend to Catherine’s and William’s, er”—he cleared his throat and flushed slightly—“needs.”
“William?” Jane realized she’d never asked Cat what they planned to name their son.
The duke nodded. “For Catherine’s father.” And then he grinned at Lord Evans. “William Nathaniel Alexander.”
That provoked another round of emotional backslapping.
“Here’s to a long and happy life for young William Nathaniel Alexander,” Lord Evans said once he and the duke were done. And then he added with a rather salacious grin, “May he have many brothers and sisters.”
The duke laughed as they clinked teacups. “I think it will take a while for Catherine to agree to that.” He raised his cup to Jane. “If I ever doubted it, I do no longer: The female is definitely the stronger sex. From Catherine’s account, I would never wish to go through childbirth myself.”
Jane couldn’t help it. She gave Lord Evans an “I told you so” look.
“But I’m here not only because I was banished from Catherine’s room,” the duke continued. “I need to have a word with you both. Alex, Mrs. Hutting tells me the vicar has returned with the pony cart. Could I impose on you to take it to the castle? Theo will pick it up later from the stables.”
“Of course I’ll take it”—Lord Evans pulled a face—“though I can’t say I’m looking forward to handling those ribbons.”
The duke grinned. “I’m sure your reputation will survive the experience.”
“It’s not my reputation I’m concerned about—it’s my bones and teeth. I observed that, er, equipage in motion when the vicar drove it off in search of you. ‘Rattletrap’ doesn’t begin to describe it. I suspect I’ll feel like I’ve traversed all of England when I finally reach the castle.”
The duke nodded in acknowledgment of that truth. “You can see why Theo and I were so concerned when we discovered our very pregnant wives had gone off with it.” He turned to Jane.
Lud! Here it comes.
“Jane, Catherine tells me you’ve graciously agreed to turn the Spinster House over to us for the time being and move to the castle, so it seems exceptionally rude of me to subject you to the pony cart. If you prefer, Alex can send my coachman back to get you in a far more comfortable vehicle.”
“That’s not necessary, Your—”
The duke’s eyebrow rose.
“M-Marcus. I’m not made of glass.” Nor am I pregnant.
Oh Lord, I didn’t need that thought. Please don’t let me blush.
She could almost hear the Almighty laughing at her. “I’ll go in the cart.”
With Alex.
Her skin turned a deeper shade of red.