Prologue

Three years prior

Julian Rollins waited outside the bedchamber of his wife and viscountess, Eliza, wearing out the floorboards of the polished mahogany floor as he walked back and forth with his hands clasped behind his back and chewed on his bottom lip. Their third child was on the way, and he was both thrilled and nervous.

Through the thick door, he could hear urgent, dampened whispers of the physician and the midwife, though he could not hear what they were saying. Each minute that passed felt like its own eternity, just as it had with their previous two children. Yet Julian could not escape the mounting trepidation that crept into his mind. Had it taken so long with Henry and Elizabeth?

To keep himself occupied, he turned his chaotic thoughts to what the future would bring for his growing family. He and Eliza adored each other, as much as any noble couple in the ton had ever loved one another. They had welcomed both their children, six-year-old Henry, and four-year-old Elizabeth, with overflowing joy and love.

In the years since Elizabeth’s birth, Julian had believed he could not be happier. But with the arrival of their third child, Julian’s heart was ready to burst. Both their older children were thrilled to have a little brother or sister. And Julian hoped there would be many more additions to their loving, wonderful family. He had his heir, which was vital to his family’s legacy. But he had found that being a father, apart from being a husband, was his favorite and most important role of all.

He smiled as he imagined himself holding the tiny infant in his arms. He pictured the face of his dearly beloved Eliza, tired from the laborious task of birthing their third little miracle but lit with the radiant glow of happiness at welcoming another perfect child into their household, smiling up at him with all the love in the world in her eyes. He pictured the two of them sharing the sweet kiss that only those riding the rush of renewed parenthood could.

Despite the gnawing worry, he smiled to himself. Everything is perfectly fine, he assured himself. Dr. Brown is a commendable physician, and Eliza is a strong woman. Mother will be out any moment now to tell me that it is time to see my new baby.

As he allowed the thoughts to take root in his mind and grant him comfort, the door to his wife’s bedchambers opened slowly behind him. He whirled around to see that Augusta Rollins was indeed exiting the room. He rushed over to his mother with eager anticipation. But the smile faltered on his lips as he looked down into his mother’s pale, ashen face, and tear-filled eyes.

“Mother?” he asked, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Pray tell, what ails you?”

The dowager viscountess shook her head, not speaking for nearly a full minute.

“Julian, darling,” she said, her voice trembling and filled with heartbreak. “I am so very sorry.”

Julian shook his head, not understanding. Or perhaps, he did not want to understand.

“Mother, what is it?” he asked. “How are Eliza and the infant faring?”

His mother took a moment to wipe tears from her cheeks and take a deep, trembling breath.

“They are gone, Julian,” she said. “There was a terrible complication. Dr. Brown did everything he could. But there was so much blood... We lost them both, sweetheart.”

Julian shook his head once more, firmly, as though he could erase his mother’s words and make them untrue.

“I do not understand,” he said. “Eliza is healthy. The baby is strong. There should not be any complications.”

The dowager put a hand on her son’s shoulder and looked at him with sorrowful eyes.

“I am so sorry, darling,” she said.

Julian felt his entire world tilt. The edges of his vision turned black, and he held onto his mother to maintain his balance. Could what his mother was saying be true? Was there some cruel twist that had allowed him to mishear her?

“No,” he whispered, willing the universe to correct itself and realize it had made a terrible mistake. But when the physician came out of the room, carrying his medical bag in his arms and wearing an expression identical to that of the dowager’s, Julian choked.

Dr. Brown approached him hesitantly, patting him firmly on the back.

“I am so very sorry for your loss, Lord Rollins,” he said. He continued speaking, but Julian could not hear a word. He opened his mouth to argue with the physician, to order him back inside the bedchambers and save his wife and child. But no sound came out. At least, he did not hear any sound.

He was unaware that he had been screaming unintelligible gibberish until his mother wrapped her arms tightly around him, holding her close to him and sobbing. Then, the sound returned to the world, and his screams reverberated throughout the entirety of Rollins Manor.

Julian drew in a painful breath, his throat raw and growing hoarse. He tried to enter the bedchambers to see for himself, desperate for any way that he might prove Dr. Brown and his mother wrong. But the dowager grabbed onto him once more, surprisingly strong in her grip.

“Darling, do not go in there,” she said. “It will haunt you for the rest of your life.”

Julian’s heart was shattered. He did not think that seeing his wife one last time, no matter in what state, would be any more haunting than the fact that he would never see her again after that day. But the numbness of shock that had kept him on his feet was giving way to the crushing grief that he knew would burden him for the rest of his days, making him weak and unsteady on his feet.

He staggered backward, falling away from his mother, and tumbling torso into the banister that separated the second floor of the manor from the first. His mind was reeling. Just that morning, he and Eliza had awoken, filled with joy and future plans. Now, the life the two of them had built with such care and delight was forever changed.

Julian did not feel either his valet, Alexander, or his butler, Wyatt, come running to his aid. They flanked him, grabbing onto each arm and turning him away from the banister. It was only as they were pulling him toward his chambers that he understood they had likely saved him from a horrible accident. I wish they had let me fall, he thought with a numb bitterness that would become too familiar to him.

Alexander took it upon himself to dismiss the butler when they reached Julian’s bedchambers. Wyatt bowed, but Julian hardly noticed. Alexander had to drag Julian, who felt as though all his limbs had become completely paralyzed, to the bed. The valet gently undressed his master, helping him into his night dress. But Julian offered no aid. He sat like a child’s doll, only moving with the assistance of the puppeteer and utterly useless otherwise.

“Milord,” Alexander said as he gathered up Julian’s clothes. “May I provide you with anything?”

Julian shook his head, amazed that it felt so heavy, as if it had been replaced by a bag of wet sand.

“No,” he said.

Alexander’s brow furrowed.

“Lord Rollins, you must eat,” he said. His warm, gray eyes were filled with concern. But Julian merely shook his head once more.

“No,” he said, doubting that he would ever eat again.

The question was repeated thrice more, and Julian’s response was identical twice. The third time, he sat staring through the wall in front of him, feeling his reason and sanity balancing on a tenuous rope.

At last, Alexander exited, leaving Julian alone with his thoughts. Immediately, the images he had concocted as he had waited for Eliza to deliver their unborn child flooded his mind. Eliza’s smile, the face of their sleeping newborn, a kiss and a shared bonding moment with his wife and newest child all haunted him now as though their ghosts had taken up residence in his mind. He did not remember lying down on his bed or falling asleep. But when he awoke, he was screaming Eliza’s name at the top of his voice.

For the next week, Julian did not open the door to his chambers. He ignored every knock and every plea for him to either come out or let someone in. He lay in bed for the first four of those days, staring at the white canopy above during the merciless hours when sleep would not allow him reprieve. His sleep was without nightmares, and he supposed he could thank his mother for that. Had she not stopped him from entering Eliza’s chambers that day, his dreams might have tortured him into illness.

However, his sleep was not dreamless. The true torment lay in the dreams where he was waiting outside Eliza’s door and the physician came out smiling, delivering the news to Julian that he and his wife had twins, or sometimes, triplets. He could hear every sound, smell every scent, and feel the soft, downy skin of his newborn babies’ cheeks beneath his fingertips when he touched them. Waking from those dreams was like losing them all over again, and the agony and rage compounded each time.

On the eighth day after Eliza’s horrific passing, Julian’s attention was drawn to a sliding sound against the wood floors of his chambers. He looked up to see an envelope coming to a stop just beyond the threshold of the door. He listened, waiting either for a knock or for the sound of retreating footsteps. After a brief pause, he heard the latter, and he cautiously pulled himself out of bed. He grabbed the letter, opening it and casting aside the ripped envelope. He opened it, and for the first time in over a week, he almost smiled.