Colin hurried to their sides. “Father?—”
“I’m fine. Stop your fussing and dance with your bride.”
After depositing Lord Stratford in a comfortable chair by the refreshment table, Colin led Anne back to the dance floor. “Finally. I’ve been jealous of every man here. It’s a good thing they’re all happily married.”
“Except for Mr. Grey and Mr. Ford,” Anne reminded him.
Colin gave her a wink. “I think you’re safe from them as well. Besides, unless you want to become a widow, I don’t think I’ll be challenging Grey anytime soon.”
Anne’s gaze slid to her husband’s cheek. The wound had healed, and only a faint pink mark remained. A wicked part of her hoped it would leave a little scar, making Colin more dashing than he already was.
With that, Colin pulled her into his arms for the waltz, andthoughts of fathers-in-law, other dancing partners, and dashing scars flew from her head as Colin spun her around the dance floor.
As Colin held his wife—hiswife!—in his arms and twirled her around the dance floor, his head spun as well. Married within a few short weeks, practically strangers with the petite woman, he couldn’t believe how his life had changed so drastically.
And by all accounts so far, it had changed for the better.
Would Anne support him in his run for MP, even with the long hours and time away from home? When he’d first considered the idea, he’d only had himself and the girls to think about, and frankly, the idea of burying himself in work had appealed.
Burying?Had he really thought of it that way? He supposed he had, and Alice Weatherby’s words came back to haunt him. He truly had tried to commit emotional suttee.
But now, he had Anne. Petite though she was, she possessed an energy and vitality that literally stole his breath. Qualities that promised the owner a long and healthy life. Except for the risks of childbirth. As much as he needed an heir, would pregnancy put Anne at risk?
Rather than slip into worst-case scenarios and mar his happiness, he evaluated the possibilities so he could prepare and take charge of the situation. Ashton was an excellent physician and practiced more modern techniques than men like his father’s current doctor. And if he were an MP, they would be in London more often and near quality medical care.
“Colin? Is something wrong?” Anne stared up at him with those crystal-blue eyes and brought him back to the present.
“Only imagining our future, little nymph.”
“Is it unsavory? You were frowning.”
“Not unsavory. Simply?—”
A woman’s scream rent the air, and Colin jerked away from Anne. The voice sounded eerily familiar.
He turned, fearingthe worst. “Mother!”
On the side of the room, his mother stood next to his father, who slouched in his chair.
Couples on the dance floor parted as Colin raced through them and toward his father, completely forgetting Anne.
The man’s face appeared gray, and he held his hand against his stomach.
“Father, can you hear me?”
Honoria appeared at his side. “Colin, Ashton is here. Give him room.”
As Ashton took charge and loosened his father’s cravat, he shouted into the crowd, “Someone get my medical bag from my room.”
Reluctantly, Colin stepped aside. The lost, helpless feeling he’d fought all through Margery’s illness engulfed him anew, and he desperately searched for something, someone to anchor him.
Outside the circle of concerned guests, Anne stood alone, her face as pale as milk and her eyes wild.
Colin weaved his way through the crowd toward her. As much as he needed her, she appeared to need him as well. Perhaps they could support each other.
“Is he . . .?” she asked, her voice whisper-quiet.
Dead? Alive? Unsure what she wished to ask or how to answer, he hoped for the best. Yet, fear froze the word in his tongue, and he shook his head.
