manner calm. “Did he say why?”
My maid butted in, her face white. “Oh milady, it’s your little boy. He’s took sick.”
Chapter Eleven
In the carriage I pumped my terrified maid for more detail. What kind of message? Was baby Jasper ill? Was it serious? Did His Lordship say anything else?
Was my baby still alive?
She cringed back against the seat. “He didn’t say, milady. Just sent for his horse and rode off.”
Left to me, I’d have ridden off too, but I had the household to consider. We must call back at Endale House to warn the servants. I needed traveling clothes.
Jacquard’s secretary met us at the door, his face grave. “I gather it’s serious, ma’am. His Lordship sent word that if you follow him, I’m to take charge of your jewels. You won’t be safe on the roads with a fortune around your neck.”
In my rooms I changed swiftly into daywear and a cloak, snapping at poor Annie when she fumbled with laces and ribbons. I scared her so much that she took twice as long.
Then I relented, seeing she was upset too. We wasted yet more time comforting each other with a warm hug.
At last we were underway and headed for the road out of town.
My portrait, Jacquard’s despair—my fresh plunge into scandal, possibly bringing ruin on his ancient family name—all were forgotten as I gazed out into the darkness and silently wept for my son.
I’d frolicked all summer while he lay sick? How could I?
Life became all stops and starts. We sped through the night or stamped with impatience while the horses were changed at remote country inns. I raged inside with guilt and worry.
Now a new fear gripped me. If Jacquard thought I dallied with the prince, would he throw me out? Bar me from the house? Forbid me entry to all his homes?
Even if my baby lives, I may never see him again.
I’d so looked forward to my first Season, to tasting the delights of the most exclusive set in the world on the arm of my stunning, distinguished husband.
I thought taking on the ton would be fun.
Teasing Jacquard would be even better—show him I could hold my own among the haughty ladies of the capital, with their flounces and fine manners and even make my own decisions.
All I’d done was bring him to despair and me to ruin.
For long, weary miles I slumped in the corner of the carriage, limp with misery.
At last, after a wretched day and a long, sleepless night followed by a chilly dawn, we came in sight of Endale Hall.
Early mists had cleared, the sun shone, birds sang. I craned out of the window, wishing I could leap out, run the rest of the way and hurl myself into the nursery.
At the same time, I dreaded what I’d find there. A cot draped in black? A physician with a black bag and a long face?
A tiny coffin?
What I did find, in the early-morning sunshine slanting over the park and through the tall windows, was a deserted entrance and a forsaken cradle.
Still garbed in my traveling dress and badly in need of a wash, my hair escaping from my maid’s hasty pins, I stood and stared around.
The drapes fluttered where the windows opened onto the lawns at the back of the house. Through them I heard voices—first a baby’s throaty chortle then a gust of hearty male laughter.
Jacquard? I peered out, my heart thumping.
My gorgeous, lordly husband was in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat. He crouched on all fours on the fine sweep of the lawn. Toddling out of his reach as fast as he could on his little fat legs, my baby boy shrieked with laughter every time Jacquard gave a roar and lunged at him.
A cluster of servants still in aprons, and footmen minus their wigs, had come out to watch. They stood looking on with doting expressions.
As I watched, father and son rolled over together on the grass, then Jacquard sprang to his feet and hoisted little Jasper up onto his shoulders.
At that moment both saw me and waved, my son’s eyes full of glee—his father’s, cool.
The scene blurred as my tears
My maid butted in, her face white. “Oh milady, it’s your little boy. He’s took sick.”
Chapter Eleven
In the carriage I pumped my terrified maid for more detail. What kind of message? Was baby Jasper ill? Was it serious? Did His Lordship say anything else?
Was my baby still alive?
She cringed back against the seat. “He didn’t say, milady. Just sent for his horse and rode off.”
Left to me, I’d have ridden off too, but I had the household to consider. We must call back at Endale House to warn the servants. I needed traveling clothes.
Jacquard’s secretary met us at the door, his face grave. “I gather it’s serious, ma’am. His Lordship sent word that if you follow him, I’m to take charge of your jewels. You won’t be safe on the roads with a fortune around your neck.”
In my rooms I changed swiftly into daywear and a cloak, snapping at poor Annie when she fumbled with laces and ribbons. I scared her so much that she took twice as long.
Then I relented, seeing she was upset too. We wasted yet more time comforting each other with a warm hug.
At last we were underway and headed for the road out of town.
My portrait, Jacquard’s despair—my fresh plunge into scandal, possibly bringing ruin on his ancient family name—all were forgotten as I gazed out into the darkness and silently wept for my son.
I’d frolicked all summer while he lay sick? How could I?
Life became all stops and starts. We sped through the night or stamped with impatience while the horses were changed at remote country inns. I raged inside with guilt and worry.
Now a new fear gripped me. If Jacquard thought I dallied with the prince, would he throw me out? Bar me from the house? Forbid me entry to all his homes?
Even if my baby lives, I may never see him again.
I’d so looked forward to my first Season, to tasting the delights of the most exclusive set in the world on the arm of my stunning, distinguished husband.
I thought taking on the ton would be fun.
Teasing Jacquard would be even better—show him I could hold my own among the haughty ladies of the capital, with their flounces and fine manners and even make my own decisions.
All I’d done was bring him to despair and me to ruin.
For long, weary miles I slumped in the corner of the carriage, limp with misery.
At last, after a wretched day and a long, sleepless night followed by a chilly dawn, we came in sight of Endale Hall.
Early mists had cleared, the sun shone, birds sang. I craned out of the window, wishing I could leap out, run the rest of the way and hurl myself into the nursery.
At the same time, I dreaded what I’d find there. A cot draped in black? A physician with a black bag and a long face?
A tiny coffin?
What I did find, in the early-morning sunshine slanting over the park and through the tall windows, was a deserted entrance and a forsaken cradle.
Still garbed in my traveling dress and badly in need of a wash, my hair escaping from my maid’s hasty pins, I stood and stared around.
The drapes fluttered where the windows opened onto the lawns at the back of the house. Through them I heard voices—first a baby’s throaty chortle then a gust of hearty male laughter.
Jacquard? I peered out, my heart thumping.
My gorgeous, lordly husband was in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat. He crouched on all fours on the fine sweep of the lawn. Toddling out of his reach as fast as he could on his little fat legs, my baby boy shrieked with laughter every time Jacquard gave a roar and lunged at him.
A cluster of servants still in aprons, and footmen minus their wigs, had come out to watch. They stood looking on with doting expressions.
As I watched, father and son rolled over together on the grass, then Jacquard sprang to his feet and hoisted little Jasper up onto his shoulders.
At that moment both saw me and waved, my son’s eyes full of glee—his father’s, cool.
The scene blurred as my tears
Similar Books
