Chapter 14

14

R oland did not carry Grace down the stairs to dinner, but it was a near thing. Though her intention had been to convince Roland to take care with his own safety, she had not managed to convey more than she would be passing her confinement in Alnwick. Meanwhile, Roland seemed to think she had been possessed of sudden fragility. He had insisted Grace take his arm on the stairs, and even when they reached the bottom, he did not relinquish his hold.

Grace bit back the urge to pull away, for she despised being treated like a frail creature. Roland could not help himself. As an only child, the poor man had no experience with younger siblings, nephews, or cousins. He had not met his half-brother until he was near grown.

In time, she was certain he would settle down. Even if he did not, she would not hold it against him. She had heard far too many tales of men who sent their wives to the country house, to bear the burdens of pregnancy and childbirth on their own. Roland would never leave her.

And so, as they made their way to the drawing room for pre-dinner drinks, Grace leaned closer to her husband. She was going to cherish every moment of their new, unexpected but welcome, adventure.

Joyous children’s voices spilled into the hallway. Roland and Grace entered the drawing room to find the Sprouts clamouring for Thorne’s attention. They each had a new toy in hand and were desperate to show their finds to him. With the holiday decorations on the mantle and candles burning bright around the room, one could have been forgiven for thinking it was Christmas morning. Even Grace’s emerald wool gown was holiday appropriate.

The children, however, were in much less a charitable mood. Willa was the first to hear their footsteps. She turned to see who was coming, providing Wes the chance to bump her out of his way. The young girl careened backwards, nearly tumbling into Grace.

“Sorry, miss,” she mumbled, her head turned the other way to stick her tongue out at her brother.

“Are you hurt?” Roland asked, his hands skimming over Grace’s side.

“I am fine, dearest,” she assured him, speaking only the truth.

Roland was not listening. He shifted one way and then the other in his effort to see her safely settled out of further harm’s way. “Sit down over here. Wait, let me get a cushion.”

“Is aught amiss?’ Thorne asked, taking the children in hand. He tugged them back to give Roland more room. “Lady Grace, have you hurt yourself?”

Roland froze in place, his eyes darting her way. Though they had not discussed when to share their news, it was obvious that the secret would soon out itself. If her changing shape did not give it away, Roland’s strange behaviour certainly would.

Grace offered her hand to Roland and gave him a nod of encouragement. His breathing eased as he settled beside her, his face beaming with pride. He cleared his voice and then made his announcement to the room.

“Grace and I are delighted to share the joyous news that we are expecting an addition to our family. God willing, we shall welcome our child in the early summer.”

“Truly?” Thorne asked, looking to Grace for confirmation.

“Yes, and before you ask, I am fine. I have been spared the usual litany of ill-effects. There is no need to treat me any differently,” she said, casting a glance at her husband.

“So. You are breeding after all,” a gruff voice called from the doorway. With a thump of his cane, the Breaker came into the room. He studied Grace through a narrow-eyed gaze. “Good. I wondered.”

Grace stiffened, preparing herself for some further remark, but for once, the old man had nothing else to say. He sniffed and then carried on to the other side of the room, where his favourite chair and a glass of golden sherry awaited him. The room was so large, they could almost forget he was there.

Roland held out his hands to invite the Sprouts to come closer. Like the duke, the children also seemed to have lost their tongues. “Come, children, surely you must have some interest in our news. Will you welcome a new occupant into the nursery?”

The twins exchanged weighted glances. They carried on an entire conversation in silence, being of such a shared mind as twins that they had no need of words. Willa clung tight to the doll she and Grace had found upstairs. Wes scuffed his shoes on the carpet, refusing to meet Roland’s questioning gaze.

“We haven’t been there for long, sir. We won’t make any trouble.”

“Trouble?” Roland reared back and then turned his mystified gaze on his wife. Grace could not make sense of it either.

It was Thorne who came to their rescue. “The Sprouts think you mean to move them out.”

“We ain’t family,” Wes mumbled half under his breath.

Grace’s stomach clenched at the pain in his little voice. This poor child, orphaned, abandoned, and fearful of finding himself back on the street. Grace shifted forward, her hands stretched out, urging the boy to come closer. “We do not share a bloodline, but you both will forever have a place in our hearts.”

“And in our home,” Roland added.

Wes abandoned his stilted posture and threw himself into Grace’s open arms. She hugged the child tight and patted his back. He stayed still for only a few moments, practically an age for a child so young, before he righted himself and stepped clear. Grace let him go, crossing the room to repeat the same action with Willa. Both children thus reassured that they were not going anywhere before they were ready, Grace suggested they turn the conversation on to a happier topic.

“Sir Nathaniel will be an uncle. Will you help us decide how he should be called? Sir Uncle? Uncle Nathaniel?” she asked.

“Uncle Bastard,” Roland murmured with a grin fit to crack his face.

“Roland!” Grace gasped, spinning around, with her hands on her hips, to glare at her husband. “Not in front of the children!”

“Perhaps I might get a vote?” Thorne asked drolly.

The children took the game just as Grace had imagined. The scene was so sweet, so unexpected, and so emblematic of her married life, that tears threatened to spill. They would be tears of joy, but Roland would no doubt act first to rush to her aid and ask for an explanation later. Grace eased away, moving closer to the fireplace on the far side of the room. There, she pretended to warm her hands to give herself time to blink any hint of moisture from her eyes.

The side of her face began to burn, not from the heat of the flames, but from the weight of someone’s gaze. She adjusted her stance and found the duke staring at her, only a few feet from her side. She had not meant to stray so far from the others, nor to infringe on his privacy. Yet, now that she was there, she could hardly run away.

As before, he remained mute. Their eyes met for only a moment before he shifted his to look in the other direction.

She should have left well enough alone. but she suddenly had a pang of sympathy for the old duke. He was alone. Both his sons dead before him. Isolated from friendship by power. Despite the shared name, despite his presence, he was not truly part of this celebration. Nathaniel, Roland, and even the Sprouts had become a family. He stood upon the threshold of their warmth, neither accepted nor spurned, watching as the chance to become a part of it passed unheeded.

She wandered closer, taking her time so as not to catch the attention of the others. The duke was not more than a half dozen steps away. She stopped shy of his chair, leaning against the tall back of another nearby.

“You are welcome to join us and talk,” she said quietly. “You are a part of our family.”

The duke remained quiet, and Grace wondered if he heard. He did not so much as glance her way. “Look at them.”

From here, the similarities between Roland and Thorne were evident. It went beyond their shared broad shoulders and wide foreheads. When they laughed, their shoulders shook in near unison. They both cocked their heads to the side at the same angle. It was more than learned. It was innate.

Grace turned to make a remark, but noticed that the duke’s focus was elsewhere. He was studying Willa, who had climbed into a chair and was cuddling her baby doll in her lap. She whispered quiet words to her doll, lost in her own imagination.

They were too far away to hear Willa’s whispers, but Grace did not mind. Seeing the child behaving in such an unguarded manner was like having a window into both her soul and future.

The duke was equally entranced by the scene. For a moment, his stance softened. He rested his chin on his hand, seemingly lost in the view of the little girl sitting in his midst… or at the doll she held in her hands.

No one else was paying attention to them. Grace kept her voice pitched purposely low to keep from pulling him from his reverie. “Your Grace, who was Hannah?”

“My sister. Sometimes you remind me of her.”

Grace could hardly contain her shock that he had answered her at all. Perhaps that is why she dared to ask. “You had a sister? Where is she now?”

Those words, however well meant, broke the spell. He shook his head to clear his thoughts, then swung around to glare up at her.

“Dead. Dead and forgotten, by all but me.” He grabbed his cane and struggled to rise from his chair. He waved off Grace’s hand with a growl, finding the strength to do it on his own. Or the stubbornness, Grace thought.

He left the room without a backwards glance, his heavy tread alternating with the thumps of the cane, growing more and more distant.

Roland’s gaze met Grace’s from across the room. He raised his eyebrows, querying what had happened and whether she was well. She found herself at a loss for a reply. Though she was unharmed in both body and spirit, it would be a long while before she stopped hearing the raw pain in the Breaker’s voice.