by Sarita Leone
Ever the jolly fellow, Oliver raised one eyebrow so high on his forehead it nearly disappeared beneath a curl that had fallen forward. “What? No pink?”
She feigned a shudder. “No pink. Aren’t there enough females in this family already? Besides, Liam is hoping for a nephew.”
Her mother and younger brother lived nearby, in a cottage large enough to afford room for the dressmaking business she conducted. That turn of events was a result of Vivian’s marriage. Before coming to Willowbrook Manor, she and her family lived in Stropshire in a very small, drafty flat.
“Hmmph.” Oliver grinned at Will. “And what if Uncle Oliver wants a niece? What then?”
“He shall have to wait, just like the rest of us, to see what comes of this. Boy or girl, it matters not to me.” Will rubbed a tender hand across the back of his wife’s neck. “I just want a healthy babe, and a healthy mother. Although, I do admit, I would not mind rocking a daughter in my arms…”
“Hush.” His wife gave a playful slap at the hand. “I’m sewing blue swaddling, so the little one will have to be a boy.”
“Who can argue with logic like that?” Oliver shrugged, then turned his attention on her and her sister. His gaze swept from one to the other, and when he looked at Miranda she once again tittered. “Miss Spencer. And, Miss Spencer. Sisters of my heart, it is nice to see you here.”
“Why so formal?” Miranda, dressed in her signature blue, had twin blooms of pink on her cheeks that grew deeper when she spoke.
Amy never wanted to be that taken with a man that she could not control her complexion. It was a shame, that a bluestocking of her sister’s magnitude could be reduced to ninny-hood by a man’s presence.
It made her sick. And, the grippe sent a fresh wave of nausea rolling over her. Perspiration broke out on her forehead and upper lip. She dabbed her face with the edge of a spare length of linen. The thread for the blanket she worked fell on the floor beside her chair but to bend over and pick it up was risky given the state of her stomach so she did not move.
Oliver, ever the gentleman, tucked his hands into his jacket pockets and smiled.
“Why, with all this important discussion of the family growing and all, it hardly seems the time for informality. But, it is a pleasant surprise, indeed, to find you looking so lovely this morning. And, it seems you are also busy preparing for the newcomer.”
“Yes, we are all helping to build a tiny wardrobe.” Miranda held up a little nightgown for him to admire. It was mint green with miniscule flowers embroidered at the neckline and along the hem. “I chose the green…just in case.” She blushed even more furiously, as if the comment in reference to childbirth was much too intimate.
The desire to slap her sister was instant. Falling in love with a man who didn’t feel the same way was one of the most idiotic things a woman could do. God help her, she knew that better than anyone in the room—even dopey-faced Miranda.
Oliver turned his attention her way just as her stomach gave a precarious lurch.
“And you, Amy…what beautiful bit of baby finery are you working on over there?”
She stood, covering her mouth with the tiny garment and ran for an open window. How she managed to reach it in time was beyond her but she leaned over the wide window sill and lost the contents of her stomach to the flower bed below.
It was not one of her finest moments. And, it did little to enhance the beauty of the baby gown she’d been working.
Chapter 4
When Amy opened her eyes, sunlight streamed low through the window in the large, airy front bedroom. It had been Lucie’s room all the years she lived at the manor. Then, Vivian stayed in the massive bed when she came for the Season. Now, she and Miranda occupied the room when they visited.
She looked around. There was no sign of Miranda. Or her things.
Laying back against the wall of soft feather pillows, she reasoned her sister had moved to one of the other guest rooms. Either to keep herself from catching what ailed her or to give some peace to the sickroom, Amy could not guess. It was near impossible to understand the workings of her sister’s mind.
Besides, she had more pressing issues to ponder.
One in particular. One who had disappeared almost as mysteriously as he had appeared at her coming-out party. The guest list had been so long, an unending column, with most of the invited peers people she would never meet again or friends of her parents. Only one name mattered to her now. Until she had been formally presented to Lyle Roarke, the son of a lesser earl, she had no idea he even existed, but his was the name from the auspicious event that would not be forgotten.
The moment she saw him she became enamored.
Their acquaintance had turned romantic. Rides in the country. Musicales in the moonlight. Whist games. Cotillions. All under the watchful eye of Society, of course. Every now and then, she could coax her sister into covering for her while she and Lyle stole a moment in the shadows. But aside from a few heated interludes—during which her clothing was never removed—theirs had been a romance above reproach. Or, mostly above reproach.
Until recently. And, the event that changed the course of her life.
Then, Lyle’s disappearance.
Finally, her grippe. A clear case of nerves, worrying if she’d be publicly ruined.
A quiet knock. Before she could call out, the door opened and Lucie’s head appeared. A smile as she entered carrying a tray and kicking the door closed behind her.
Marriage agreed with her dear friend. She looked older and wiser, and although the duke traveled a great deal, she still seemed content.
Lucie placed the tray on the bedside table.
“How are you feeling? Any better?”
Pushing herself to a sitting position, Amy settled in against the pillows while Lucie prepared two cups of tea. She accepted hers gratefully, taking a small sip to gauge the condition of her stomach. It seemed fine, so she took a larger sip of the sweetened, hot Earl Grey.
“Thank you. I am, actually.” She held the cup and saucer while her visitor perched on the edge of the bed. Then she placed the saucer on the bedclothes, on her lap. The china cup had a dainty handle, but she kept a two-finger hold on it.
“I am glad to hear that. You have had us all worried.”
“It is just a case of the grippe. Nothing to be concerned about.” She took another sip, hoping the conversation was over.
It wasn’t.
“Be that as it may, I have sent for Doctor Fairweather. He should examine you, just to be sure nothing serious is going on.”
Ice ran in Amy’s veins.
“Absolutely not—I will not be examined. I tell you, I am fine. Just a case of the grippe. My tummy took a bad turn, is all. It happens to everyone. I will not consent to mollycoddling or interference from a dodgy old doctor.”
“How can you say such things? And how on earth can you call Doctor Fairweather dodgy? Goodness gracious, but that wonderful man has taken excellent care of all of us—you, Miranda, me, Oliver—since we were in swaddling clothes. It is most uncharitable of you to refuse to see the man. Why, he is coming to be of service, and on your account.”
She swallowed a lump in her throat. Her emotions rode high lately, and this sudden burst of near-crying hit out of the blue.
“I am sorry. You are right, but I still won’t see him. I am fine, Lucie. I do not want to be examined.”
“You should be, though.”
“I refuse.” There was little she could control in her life, but this something she would not allow.
Lucie kept silent, and drank some of her tea. She motioned toward a plate of scones on the tray, but Amy could not even look at them. She shook her head.
Taking a scone and carefully balancing it on her saucer beside her cup took some concentration, but once it was accomplished, Lucie cleared her throat.
“You have not been yourself lately, Amy. I fear some of the blame for your, ah, distance is mine. I know I have not been as faithful in my frie
ndship as I should be now that I am a married woman.” She paused, took a thoughtful bite and chewed. Then, she swallowed and met her gaze. Unshed tears made her eyes shine when she said, “I am new to being a wife, even though Nick and I have been married over a year now. There is much to learn, many things to overcome—even in a happy marriage, there are matters to deal with. They have, I fear, kept me busy to the point of neglecting you and Miranda. Truly, I am so very sorry.”
A huge lump swelled in Amy’s throat. She could barely breathe, it grew so large.
Shaking her head, she rushed to reassure her dearest friend.
“No, it is not your fault. Nothing is your fault. And you are not like us anymore—”
“Oh, how could you say such a thing?” The tears fell onto her closest friend’s cheeks now.
She sat forward and pulled Lucie into an embrace. Tea and the scone went flying, but the two put their arms about each other. Lucie put her face down and sobbed.
She had no idea why the other cried, but Amy knew it was more than a lapse in friendship. They had been close as sisters their entire lives, all three of them, so tears and hurt feelings were nothing new. This, however, was more serious in nature. The tears were an adult’s heartache, not a skinned knee or misplaced locket.
Eventually the torrent subsided. Still, she held her tightly, rubbing her hand along Lucie’s back and waiting until the sniffling was nearly over. Then she sat back, handed over the clean lace hanky she kept inside her sleeve and watched the other blow her nose. Twice.
“Feel better now?” She suddenly felt older and wiser, although they were both four-and-twenty.
A sniff. Then, a slow nod. “I do.”
“Do you feel like talking about it? I am, as you well know, a very good listener.”
Lucie shook her head.
“Is it because I am not Miranda?”
That garnered a puzzled expression. When the other opened her mouth, she held up a hand to stem the protest.
“It is not as if I don’t know what you two say about me when I am out of earshot. Really, I know you are closer to my sister than me. She is more serious, a true bluestocking and someone who would never, ever get herself into any manner of bumble broth.” Amy ran a hand over the bed covering where it had been splashed with tea. The spot was drying but would leave a mark against the white fabric. “While I, as you are both so fond of telling me, am far too wild by far to be taken as anything more than a lark.”
Lucie inhaled sharply. Being called out on the truth of things had to put her a step back, but the pair had spoken thusly for years. What, had she no feelings? Had she no right to protest the labels the two more serious of the trio heaped upon her? Had she no right to speak the truth—especially when all she wanted was to be of some help?
To someone. For something. Sometime.
Botheration! Her life had turned so completely inside out that her best friend wouldn’t even confide in her.
“Amy…”
“Don’t try to deny it.” She met Lucie’s gaze. To her credit, her friend’s eyes were not only puffy from crying but chagrined as the truth of their association came out between them. “I have known all along, have felt the odd duck out for some time now. It is no one’s fault.”
“I don’t know what to say. I have completely let you down, haven’t I?”
She took a deep breath. Her sides hurt from retching, and she was swept over by a wave of supreme exhaustion. The effort of speaking seemed too much, so she shook her head and snuggled down into the pillows and blankets.
“We have let each other down, I think.” A yawn, so big it hurt her sides when she stretched to cover her mouth. “Now, if you will please leave me to my grippe. I am very, very tired.”
It was a ghastly impolite thing to do, but she turned on her side, facing away from her visitor. She closed her eyes and, not caring a whit what Lucie thought, went to sleep.
Chapter 5
Oliver reached the fencing area long before his friend. He planned it that way. One of his favorite times of the day was early morning, when darkness gave in to light. Sunrise above the east meadow was spectacular, the way it had been since he was a boy and had crept from his bed—much to Nanny Greta’s annoyance—and run to his perch in the limb of the massive oak beneath which he now sat.
The tea had long ago cooled down, but he did not mind. As he sipped, he thought about the events unfolding at the estate. Since his recovery from addiction he had claimed the responsibility for almost every aspect of operations, save the household details. Those were still, thankfully, handled by his mother.
His parents were better than they had been in some time. If his father was well enough to be about, riding, visiting with his cronies and buying cigars in Town, his heart must be sturdier than before and recovering. And, his mother’s meddling in Lucie’s life was a sign that she wasn’t so preoccupied with Father’s health that she didn’t have a moment to spare for anything—or anyone—else. Good for Mother, hard on his sister.
And Lucie…since she and Nick, a well-known duke, were wed, her life had changed drastically. Or, it should have. While she wasn’t supposed to be still living at Willowbrook, she spent many days and nights in the suite of rooms she and Nick had begun using as their own on their wedding night. The duke was a wealthy man, with many properties and people who depended on him. He wasn’t one to let an assistant or solicitor do what he was able to do himself. Therefore, he was away from his new bride more than Oliver, in his humble, bachelor, opinion, thought prudent.
He didn’t like the way Lucie’s manner had grown so subdued. Her customarily bubbly personality was no more, and he didn’t care for that one little bit. He wanted his sister back but had no idea how to bring that about.
“You look in a blue study.” Will had approached on silent feet, but that was his norm so Oliver did not start when the man’s polished brown boots appeared beside him. Will gazed down at him with a worried expression. “Is everything as it should be? Are you well?”
He crouched, bringing them at eye level with one another. Oliver waved off the probing examination.
“I am fine, don’t worry so much. I’ve had nothing stouter than tea for well over a year, and I am not inclined to partake of anything stronger.” He drained the dregs from his mug and set it at the base of the tree. “I am simply taking stock of the situation here at the estate. Quite a lot to order in one’s mind.”
The other man pulled fencing gloves onto his hands, pressing his fingers into the soft leather and fisting each hand to warm them.
“Yes, indeed. I am glad I don’t have your responsibilities on my shoulders. It would prove too much for me to handle.”
“Don’t underestimate yourself. You would fare well if the roles were reversed.” He watched a fat red robin work to pull his breakfast from the grass. The worm, for his part, resisted, holding deeply onto the soil. “We are all dug in here, our lives intertwined with each other as well as the estate. I cannot let anyone down. I need to be certain everyone is cared for properly, and wants for nothing. That is how Father has always been, and it is how I shall be, as well.”
“There is no one who is lacking here. You are entirely too serious sometimes. All is well—unless of course you remember poor Amy’s tummy. I do hope she is improved this morning. Vivian did not want to discuss it, but she did allow that yesterday was not the first time she has been violently ill.”
“Not good. It is interesting that no one else has fallen ill. We are, after all, a close group.”
“Good point. Although I am glad my wife did not share the illness. We…ah…”
He grinned, and Will returned the smile. Their close bond included sharing secrets the way blood brothers might.
“You two had a nice night, then?”
A brisk nod, then he slapped his hands together. “We did at that.”
“It’s allowed…with the babe coming, and all?” The bachelor life did not include facts regarding women’s health, so he de
ferred to his married, and much wiser in that respect, assistant.
“Doctor Fairweather told her it’s perfectly fine to be…ah, well, in that situation, for a while longer yet. I was surprised, but she does not seem to mind and, well, I certainly won’t put an end to that sort of thing prematurely.”
“Women are really stronger than we give them credit for, aren’t they?”
“Yes, I believe they are much stronger than we are, even. Certainly, our muscles are bigger and we are heavier, but when I think that my beautiful Vivian is going to bring forth a child from her own body—that slender, perfect body—it renders me speechless. If I were called upon to do such a thing, I do not believe I could do it. I do not have the fortitude for such a task.”
The robin was still after the worm. Oliver watched, then shooed the bird away with a fast wave of his arm. He’d been tenacious, but the worm had also refused to give up, so it seemed fair the worm deserved to live another day.
“I am in complete awe of the female sex. If they left it to us, the human race would have surely come to a screeching halt with Adam and Eve.” He pushed himself to his feet, brushed the seat of his trousers off and grabbed his fencing gloves. As he put them on, he grinned at Will. “Do you think you’ve energy enough to parry with me for a bit?”
“I always have enough energy for fencing. You know that.” He picked up his foil, removed the protective leather sleeve covering the pointed tip and stabbed the air a few times.
Oliver walked toward the center of the clearing. The sun was fully up and the morning grew warm. Dew evaporated off the lush grass and birdsong surrounded them. It was a good start to the day, vigorous exercise in the freshest air this side of Town.