Her face lit up. ‘Luke. Such a dear boy and so good to his mother. It is too bad...’ She sighed.
‘You and my husband do not get along well.’
‘I do not know why. I did everything I could when I first married his father.’ Another sigh. ‘Alistair did not take to me once Luke came along. Sibling jealousy, I suppose. Like father, like son. The old Duke also had little warmth in him, though one must not speak ill of the dead. I did my best to be a mother to Alistair despite the way he pushed me away.’
The Dowager reached for the teapot. ‘Do drink your tea before it is cold.’
Julia bit back the urge to remind the Dowager that this was her house now. It must be difficult to find oneself replaced.
‘Foolish boy, he resented his father marrying again,’ the Dowager said sorrowfully. ‘He can be shockingly nipfarthing. He hates spending a guinea on anyone but himself.’ Narrow-eyed, she glanced at Julia over the rim of her cup. ‘He won’t even have the dower house made ready for me. Instead I am forced to squander my small portion on renting a house in town.’
Somehow this part of her description of Alistair did not ring true. Cold as a winter’s frost he might sometimes be, but he had been generous to a fault in every other regard. ‘The dower house?’
‘On the outskirts of Sackfield. It is quite unfit for habitation. If I could live there, I would be able to see my grandsons more often. Luke has no room for me in his tiny cottage. And that is a disgrace, too—his father would have been most displeased. Alistair’s lack of family feeling...’ She closed her eyes. ‘Forgive me. I should not speak ill of your husband and you so newly married.’
It seemed Alistair did not treat his family at all well. It wasn’t the first time she had noticed his lack of familial feeling. ‘I am not sure how I can be of assistance.’
The Dowager drew her handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed at her eyes. ‘Foolish of me. I do beg your pardon. But perhaps a word with your husband...’
‘I will try.’ She sipped at her tea, embarrassed by the woman’s show of distress.
The woman tucked her handkerchief away with a frown and a piercing look at Julia. ‘And what about you?’ She cocked her head on one side. ‘You look a little pale. You should get out in the fresh air, my dear, instead of sitting indoors tiring your eyes.’
‘I have been a little unwell. The journey did not agree with me.’
The soft brown eyes sharpened. ‘You are not—’
‘No,’ Julia said. ‘No happy event expected as yet.’
Oddly, the Dowager seemed to relax. ‘I hope your husband is treating you as he should? Dunstan has a reputation for breaking hearts. Nor is he known for consideration or kindness.’ She paused as if waiting for Julia to speak. As if expecting Julia to gossip about her husband.
The Dowager’s voice lowered, she leaned closer. ‘If you ever need help, come to me.’
Alistair had been kind to her recently. And there was something about his stepmama that made her feel uncomfortable, yet the woman was being perfectly sweet.
The Dowager finished her tea and pulled on her gloves. ‘I really must not linger, I promised a friend I would call on her this morning, but I simply couldn’t resist the opportunity to meet you.’
And in a flurry of kisses beside each of Julia’s cheeks and mutterings about time, the Dowager departed, leaving Julia feeling strangely exhausted and in need of fresh air.
* * *
Alistair stared at the waterlogged field and its drowned crop. He turned to his steward. ‘I thought we agreed to clear the ditch.’
His steward glared at the red-faced tenant, Mollet. ‘I relayed your orders, Your Grace.’
‘And so he did, Your Grace, but see the trouble ain’t here. It’s run-off from Beauworth’s land. River’s choked.’
An excuse if ever he heard one. Mollet was lazy. Always had been. Thackerstone knew this. He turned to his steward. ‘Ask Beauworth’s man to take a look.’ That man would be Luke. He lowered his brow at the smug-looking Mollet. ‘After you check the ditch.’ Beauworth would haul him over the coals if he started making false accusations.
Mollet removed his pipe from his mouth and spat.
Alistair had the sudden urge to get home to his wife. To feel her softness in his arms, to bury himself to the hilt, to feel the wonder of her as she came apart. He could have had that, had he remained in her bed. Instead, he’d galloped off on the flimsiest excuse. His steward could have handled this without any help.
It was this very desire he felt to be with her that had him traipsing around his estate at this ungodly hour. He wanted her too much.
He kept thinking about how ill she had been on their journey. First queasy. Then violently ill. And then...perfectly fine. Hungry.
As if she was... But she could not be. They’d taken every precaution.
Doubt roiled in his belly. She could have been carrying another man’s child before he found her in that accursed bordello. Had that been her plan all along? To find some rich fellow to take responsibility for an unwanted brat.
The idea revolted him. And infuriated him. And surprisingly he was saddened by the thought. He did not want to think ill of his wife. He wanted... More.
He cut the thought off. ‘Where next?’
His steward gave him a considering look. ‘How about we take a look at this year’s crop of lambs? That should take us ’till dinner time. We can stop off at the Wheatsheaf after that if Your Grace wishes.’
Hearing something in his tone, Alistair eyed him askance and saw a knowing curl to the man’s mouth. Had the man heard gossip and thought to help him avoid his duchess? He’d certainly been avoiding her in town and news of that sort travelled fast.
Thackerstone had been in the family’s employ for many years. No doubt he thought it gave him the right to be impertinent. Or helpful.
‘No urgency about seeing the lambs, is there?’ He glanced up at the sky. ‘Jaimie said it would rain this afternoon. Let us leave them for another day.’
‘No urgency, Your Grace.’
‘Then I’m for home.’ And a cup of tea with his wife. And perhaps to assure himself these new suspicions were groundless.
* * *
Julia had set out on a walk with the intention of visiting the orchard and discovered it was at a greater distance on foot than she’d assumed. After half an hour, she’d felt unusually tired and had been caught in a shower on her way back. Not a successful outing at all.
Robins appeared the moment she entered the sitting room beside her bedroom.
‘You are soaked through, Your Grace.’ The woman tutted. ‘Shall I send for a tea tray?’ She relieved Julia of her hat and spencer.
‘What I would really like is a bath,’ Julia said. ‘After the ride yesterday and the chill of the walk this afternoon, I think a soak would do me good.’
Robins pressed her lips together as if she guessed the real reason Julia felt sore. Heat flushed her skin as the woman helped her into her dressing robe. ‘As Your Grace wishes. Shall I bring tea as well?’
Thank goodness she wasn’t offering chocolate. And as always she seemed to be trying to please. ‘Tea would be lovely. Not Oolong though, please.’ She smiled at the woman and received a stiff little grimace in reply.
‘Right away, Your Grace.’
Julia sank on to the chaise and picked up a book to read while she waited. A few moments later she heard voices in her dressing room, Robins relaying her orders.
Soon the chamber next door was bustling with servants bringing the bath and traipsing the water in. It was such a chore. She wondered if Alistair had ever thought about installing a system of piped-in hot water. It would make it so much easier for the servants. But when one was as rich as a nabob, perhaps he didn’t need to care about his servants’ travails.
<
br /> ‘Would you like your tray in here, Your Grace, or would you care to sip it while you soak?’
Tea in the bath. The idea sounded heavenly. While she had enjoyed every moment of Alistair’s attentions, her body was aching from the unaccustomed activity. ‘While I soak, thank you.’
‘Your bath is ready, then, Your Grace.’
Divested of the rest of her clothes, Julia stepped into the tub perfumed with oil of her favourite jasmine and took the cup and saucer from Mrs Robins. ‘Thank you, Robins. You have been very thoughtful.’
‘My very great pleasure, Your Grace.’
The woman actually sounded as if she meant it. Perhaps she was mellowing. Perhaps she had realised Alistair did not like her and was trying to recover some ground. Whatever it was, it was a whole lot better than her previous officiousness.
Julia sipped at the tea. A little too strong, a great deal too sweet. She sniffed at it—not Oolong, but something familiar. She felt too tired to care.
‘I will come back in a while, Your Grace.’ The woman bustled away.
Julia set the cup aside. She leaned back against the edge of the tub and luxuriated in the heat sinking into her bones. Images from the afternoon flitted through her mind as she daydreamed about the return of her husband. And what she would tell him about his stepmother’s visit. Some of what the woman had said had been...disturbing.
* * *
‘Julia!’ The deep voice sounded urgent.
She dragged herself from the haze of sleep.
Sleep?
She sat up, chilly water sloshing around her, to find her husband staring at her in shock. She covered herself with her hands. Her head spun ominously. She closed her eyes briefly. It didn’t seem to help. ‘Alistair?’
‘I came to see if you were going to take tea in the drawing room this afternoon.’
She swallowed, feeling suddenly very ill. ‘I—I’m afraid I have already had my tea. Oh, dear heaven, I feel dreadfully unwell. Ring for Robins.’ She tried to stand.
He cursed under his breath. The next minute she was in his arms, dripping wet and entirely naked. He lifted her out of the water and set her on her feet, quickly wrapping her in a towel before carrying her across the room to the privacy screen. While she knelt over the chamber pot, he held back her hair. Water dripped from his coat sleeves on to the carpet.
She swallowed hard and her stomach seemed to settle. She groaned. This was dreadful. What on earth was going on? ‘I’m all right. I simply felt a little dizzy upon awakening.’
‘You should not have gone walking today,’ Alistair said, helping her to stand.
The servants must have told him. ‘What has that to do with anything?’ she gasped, leaning against him.
‘Clearly, your constitution is not strong. In your condition—’
‘My condition?’
A muscle in his jaw flickered. ‘You do yourself no favours by lying about it, madam.’
She pushed back from him. When she saw the direction of his gaze, she pulled the towel higher. ‘What condition?’
She shivered and this time it was from cold. He strode away and returned with her robe, pulling it about her shoulders and sweeping her up in his arms. It ought to feel good to be so cherished, but he was furious. What did he think was wrong with her that made him look at her so coldly? He lay her down on the chaise longue at the end of the bed, his face expressionless.
Panic fluttered in her breast. ‘Tell me, Alistair, what condition?’
‘Your being with child.’
For a moment the words made no sense. Then they did. A feeling of hope fluttered in her chest. But why was he furious? And how would he know when she did not?
The nausea.
Was it possible?
‘You seem so sure, when the idea never occurred to me once,’ she said. Not given how many years she had hoped and been disappointed. It would be nothing short of a miracle.
Her heart felt too full of joy for mere words. While he seemed unmoved.
‘You aren’t pleased?’
His thin lips curled in a smile that had an edge of cruelty. ‘I am delighted to have cuckoo in my nest.’
It took a moment for the words to sort themselves into meaning. ‘A—What?’ Despite a wave of dizziness, she shot to her feet. ‘How dare you?’
Surprise widened his eyes. ‘Dare? An interesting turn of phrase when I know very well Mrs B. took precautions as did I, ergo...’
Now the man was spouting Latin in the same breath as he was speaking of that place? ‘Ergo,’ she snapped, ‘I must have been with child prior to our first meeting. Is that what you think?’
She wanted to throw something at him. Too bad she could not reach the soap. Or the rinsing water.
He inhaled a breath through his arrogant nose. ‘Precisely.’
‘Well, you are wrong. I am not with child. I cannot be with child. I am barren.’
At the sight of his stunned expression, she sank down on the sofa. She closed her eyes against another wave of dizziness. ‘I am sorry,’ she said dully. ‘I should have told you.’
‘You are sure of this?’ His voice was arctic and she could not meet his gaze.
‘My husband dragged me from one accoucheur to the next. The best money could buy.’ One humiliating interview after another accompanied by nasty inspections and questions. And ever-increasing fury from her husband. It made her shudder to recall it. ‘Each and every one of them agreed that there was no hope.’ She wanted to cry and she wanted to rage against fate. But most of all she wished she had told him right from the beginning.
After a few moments’ silence, she risked a peep. He was staring down at her with sympathy. ‘Julia, I’m sorry. But it doesn’t concern me all that much. I have an heir.’
‘Not an heir of your body,’ she muttered, relieved at his reaction, but unable to rejoice in it.
An odd look crossed his face. Chagrin? Disappointment? And then it was gone as he crouched down beside her. ‘Really. It doesn’t matter.’
She did not believe him, but she was grateful for his kindness. ‘I’m useless as a wife.’
‘Julia.’ The note of command in his voice had her looking up. There were white lines around his mouth, his lips were a straight line. ‘You need to rest. We will talk of this later, when you feel better. I will send your dresser up to you.’ He bowed and left.
Chapter Nine
Alistair pounded his fist into the wall and welcomed the pain in his hand even as he winced and shook it out. He needed to get a grip of his feelings where his wife was concerned.
Seeing her in the tub, her skin white, her lips tinged with blue, for one awful moment he’d thought she was in extremis. Devil take it, he could barely speak the words in his head, let alone out loud and in English.
How could anyone sleep in water so frigid? Likely only a woman exhausted first by riding all around the countryside and then his carnal needs overcoming good sense even though he knew she’d been ill. But she wasn’t expecting a child. A tremendous relief flooded his veins. Something he’d tried not to show, as he could see it made her unhappy.
Barren. What a surprise. If it was true. What reason would she have to lie? Had she guessed he did not want children and sought to trick him? It hardly seemed likely. And the sadness in her eyes when she told him did not lie. She wanted a child.
A throat cleared behind him. ‘Your Grace.’ The voice was male and tentative.
The study wall looked no worse for wear, but his knuckles were bruised. He turned to meet the worried gaze of his amanuensis. ‘Lewis.’ He clasped his hands behind his back, ignoring the flush of heat in his cheeks. A duke did not explain himself to anyone. ‘You found one?’
‘No, Your Grace. I took the liberty of ordering one from the jeweller.’
Lewis’s face took on a strained expression. ‘I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but I must hand in my notice effective immediately.’
‘What the devil?’ He reined in his temper and looked closely at his secretary. He had never seen Lewis looking so dejected. ‘Something has happened.’
‘My father is ill. I must go.’
‘You hie from somewhere in the west, do you not?’
‘Devonshire, Your Grace.’
‘You should have sent me a note and gone straight there.’
‘Sackfield is not far out of my way and I wished to tell you in person. Also...’ he lowered his voice ‘...I gather the Dowager Duchess has left town for the summer. Visiting family, I understand.’
The only family who would invite her to visit was Luke, who had already imparted the news as a warning, or a threat.
‘It is good of you to take the time to let me know, Lewis. I appreciate it. You will stay here tonight and be on your way first thing in the morning, refreshed.’
‘Thank you, Your Grace.’
‘Since you are here, I wonder if I might impose on you for an hour or two. There are matters among my correspondence that would benefit from your assistance.’ Not to mention that the man looked as if he needed the distraction. As did Alistair. Or he’d be dwelling on what this latest development with his wife might mean for their future. All sorts of possibilities fired his imagination and his blood. ‘If you don’t mind?’
‘I would be glad to help, Your Grace. I cannot tell you how badly I feel at deserting the ship.’
‘We are not sinking yet, Lewis. You will join the Duchess and me for dinner, I hope?’
Usually, when he was in the country, he and Lewis dined together. Lewis was, after all, the grandson of an earl and a gentleman. He was also good company. Just because Alistair had a wife, there was no reason to change things. He grimaced at his cowardice. Using Lewis to keep him from lusting after a wife who apparently was the perfect choice for a man in his situation, once she recovered from her illness.
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