Fortuity caught the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth and shrugged. “I am afraid I cannot recall. Merry is the youngest, and I was only four years old when she came along. I vaguely remember all of us walking with Mama round and round her bedchamber, but then the midwife shooed us out, and we sat with Papa in the parlor. Seri or Chance would know better than I. They were six and seven at the time.”
“Good heavens,” Matthew said, “I never realized the lot of you are like stair steps, one right after the other.”
“Yes. Each of us is only a year apart from the next one.”
As an only child, Matthew couldn’t imagine a house filled with so many children at the same time. His parents had despised each other so much that once his mother had fulfilled the requirement of producing an heir, they had rarely occupied the same residence. “However long it takes, we shall stay and keep you company,” he assured Thorne.
Fortuity poured a cup of tea, then paused with the teapot hovering over another cup and saucer. “Spirits or tea?”
“Not tea,” Thorne said, “thank you.”
“I shall pour for us, my love. Enjoy your tea.” Matthew used the pair of glasses that the butler had so thoughtfully provided along with the decanters.
The way she smiled and meandered over to gaze out the window as she sipped her tea gave him pause.
“Excuse me, old man.” He handed an overflowing glass of port to Thorne, then joined his wife at the window. “Fortuity? Are you all right? Are we not…better than we were?”
Frowning, she shifted with a deep inhale, then exhaled with a heavy sigh. “I worry for her,” she whispered after stealing a glance back at Thorne, who was once again staring at the ceiling. “I sent up a quick prayer. Do you think the Almighty heard me?”
“I am sure He did.” He brushed her golden curls back from her cheek and tucked them behind her ear. “We must hold fast to positive thoughts and look forward to meeting the newest little Knightwood. A house filled with love and light should greet the little one.”
She smiled while looking out the window once more. “Little Starpeeper Knightwood. I shall miss that name whenever she or he is christened with a more appropriate one.” She shifted and rested a hand on his chest, then started plucking at the folds of his cravat, a thing she did whenever struggling to find the proper words for whatever she wished to say. “After the baby’s christening, might we go to the country manor house rather than wait until late June or July? The city tires me of late. I long for the quiet of the country.”
“Is this about the continuing issue with the shameless Olandra or the debacle with your book that just entered the world?”
“Both, I suppose.” She twitched an unhappy shrug. “Gossip is sure to heat up even more when thetondiscovers you are an author of romance.”
“If anyone inquires about my name on your book, I will simply tell them what Mr. Newman suggested.”
“Which was?”
“We did it as a marketing ploy to avoid the bias against stories written by women. Once readers fall in love with your work, they won’t care that you are a lady. They will simply wantyour next novel.” He cupped her face in his hand, then slid his fingers deeper into the silkiness of her hair. “And I have an idea about how to deal with Olandra, if she insists upon sending more notes and publicly eyeing me like a jilted lover.”
Hopefulness shone in Fortuity’s eyes like a candle piercing the dreariest night. “What will you do?”
“It is a surprise, my love.” He chuckled. “I am almost certain you will approve.”
“I hear a multitude of thumps and slamming doors,” Thorne complained while circling the parlor and scowling upward. “What in heaven’s name is happening up there, and why is no one informing me of anything?”
“They are caring for your wife and child,” Matthew said, then glanced at Fortuity to make sure he had the right of it. Her amused look and slight nod encouraged him. “As soon as anything is certain, someone will come and fetch you. At least”—he stole another look at Fortuity—“I would assume so.”
“I am sure they will,” she confirmed. “Their concern at the moment is Blessing and little Starpeeper.”
“I suppose that makes sense.” Thorne blew out a great gust of air, then drained his glass.
An enormous black-and-white cat traipsed into the parlor and took a seat in front of Thorne as if granting him a royal audience before sweeping the room with her bored, golden-eyed gaze and flipping her tail.
“The baby is coming, Hera,” Thorne told the cat. “You cannot be in the room at the moment. Go to Mother’s room and keep her company.” He watched the cat amble off. “Perhaps I should speak with her and let her know what is happening. She hasn’t been the same since her fall.”
“Holding her grandchild will bring her around.” At least, Matthew hoped it would. During his last visit, Lady Roslynn hadn’t recalled who he was, and confusion had clouded herdancing eyes. But she always remembered the names of each of her many cats. That gave them all hope she would somehow regain her strength and her memory.
“Shall I help her into her chair and wheel her in here so she can wait with us?” Fortuity asked.
“Gads, no.” Thorne gave a hard shake of his head. “Her maid accidentally rolled it over one of the cats’ tails, and now Mother thinks it is the throne of Satan. It was all I could do to keep her from firing the poor woman over it.”
“She loves her cats fiercely,” Matthew said. “But does that not make her bedridden?”
“Occasionally, she allows our footman, Mr. Donnelly, to carry her into the garden or the parlor and settle her on a pillowed chair.” He grinned. “Mr. Donnelly has a way with the ladies, and Mother is not immune to his charm.”
