Owen nodded, his lips trembling. “Is Mama…?”
Pulse pounding, Marcus tore off his gloves and gently examined his wife. Her eyes were closed, but there was no blood. Nothing broken as far as he could tell. Her pulse was weak but steady.
“Penny, love,” he said urgently. “Open your eyes.”
Nothing. His gut clenched.
Pounding footsteps marked the arrival of Jamie and Ethan.
“Is Mama all right?” they blurted as one.
“She’ll be fine.” Hoarsely, Marcus said, “Wake up, Penny. You don’t want the boys to worry, do you?”
An eternity seemed to pass before her lashes fluttered up, revealing dazed violet eyes.
Thank God. Thank bloody God.
“Owen…?” she whispered.
Marcus forced the words through the fierce constriction of his throat. “He’s fine. It’s you we have to worry about.” With utmost care, he lifted her into his arms. “All right?”
“I’m fine. Just the wind… knocked out of me,” she said, her voice breathless. “I can walk.”
His heart knocking against his chest, Marcus carried her to the house, their sons following behind.
Chapter Thirteen
“Are you certain I can’t get you anythin’ else, milady?” Jenny said as she cleared away the breakfast tray. “Another pillow, more blankets—”
“I’m perfectly fine,” Penny assured the ginger-haired maid. “There’s no need to fuss.”
“Well, you gave us a fright, you did, milady. All o’ us. Waitin’ for the doctor to finish with you last night, I ne’er saw the young masters so still and somber like. And ’is lordship nigh paced a trench in the drawing room.”
Warmth unfurled in Penny’s belly. “He was worried for me?”
“Beside ’imself, ’e was.” Jenny smiled, her eyes brightening. “The kind o’ worry that puts water ’neath the bridge, if you don’t mind my saying.”
Penny wasn’t surprised that Jenny had noticed the rift between her and Marcus. After all, the maid was used to walking in and finding Marcus in Penny’s bed. His absence and the tension between them outside the bedchamber must have caused speculation, and Penny wondered what the staff thought of the chill between master and mistress of the house.
“Is there much talk below stairs?” she asked.
Through the years, the maid’s loyalty had proved unwavering. Penny trusted the other not only to be discreet but to tell her the truth. Jenny was worth her weight in gold.
“Some, milady,” Jenny admitted, “but ev’ryone knows ’ow much the master dotes upon you, so most think it’s a tiff. The kind that’s part an’ parcel o’ any marriage. And like I said, ’is lordship’s wearing out the carpet with ’is worry over you as we speak. ’E wouldn’t do that if is ’eart weren’t true, would ’e now?”
Hope flickered in Penny. “Thank you, Jenny. And I don’t want the boys or my husband to worry, so please help me get dressed. The saffron wool, I think.”
“But milady you ought to rest some more—”
An imperious rap on the door cut the maid off.
Penny’s heart sped up. “Come in,” she called, a trifle breathlessly.
Marcus strode in. He was in his shirtsleeves, his stark navy waistcoat molding to his lean torso, charcoal grey trousers hugging his muscular legs. The concern in his gaze stopped her breath altogether and made heat prickle behind her eyes.
She’d feared that he would never look at her this way again.
“Milord.” Jenny dipped her knees. “I’ll, um, just go get your toilette ready, milady.” With a smile on her face, the maid scurried off and closed the door behind her.
