His aunt kissed his cheek. “I’m going to check on my niece before I leave.”
Before she could turn, he scooped Lady Shrewsbury up in an embrace. “Thank you,” he said to her silvering blond curls and lacy mobcap.
“What’s that for, Daniel?”
“A great many things. And an admission that I still welcome my aunt assisting in some of my problems.”
“That’s a big admission for you.” She smiled at him. “Will you also admit that you see the need to continue the Widow’s Grace?”
“If you are asking if I will continue to assist you, I can’t, but I can still look the other way as long as you can keep your ladies from danger and running amok. Can’t convince you to retire with me?”
“Retire? Daniel, you are in your prime.” She held on to his hand, “You are thinking about making radical changes again?”
He didn’t know what he wanted other than to walk into that bedroom and see Jemina’s face and know she recognized his. “I might think about a house in the country with no stairs. Maybe an estate sprawling with land for horses.”
“Daniel, why not go make your guests something to eat? I think Mrs. St. Maur is hungry. I told her a story about your mash.”
With a nod he trotted down the stairs to the kitchen. Even if he had to court her all over again, he would. For Jemina St. Maur was the woman who needed to be his mistress, his wife, and new mother to his child. The order of titles was the only question that remained.
CHAPTER 28
JEMINA—A LITTLEHOPE
Patience finally went to bed. She hovered about me, washed my face, working herself too hard.
I barely opened my eyes when Ashbrook came in with his sweet-smelling bowl of fruit. I sent him away. I didn’t want his lecture about how reckless I’d been.
I knew it was careless and foolish, to run in a tangle of sheets.
If he understood what it was to lose a child, your life, your future, then he’d know I couldn’t bear to see it happen again.
Maybe men couldn’t understand. Maybe—
The bed shook.
I looked in the low candlelight expecting to see the earl’s pug but saw Hope. She’d crawled inside my room.
“Are you better, Friend?”
Putting one hand to my head, I massaged the lump on my crown. “A little.”
“Good. Not gone. I don’t want Friend gone.”
The child should be in her bed. I wasn’t steady enough to take her, not that I knew where her room was. Would Ashbrook be considerate and have floorplans lying about?
“I sorry, Friend.”
Her little face held such a deep frown.
It ached to do so, but I lifted my hand and waved to her. “Why don’t you come up here with me?”
She crawled fast, then pulled up, holding on to the blankets. She took the doll stuck under the crux of her arm and handed her to me. “This is Mrs. Feebs. She watches over me.”
“Please to meet you, Mrs. Feebs.” Setting the doll—a beautiful wooden one with brown yarn hair, and dots on her face—by my side, I stretched and lifted Hope to me.
She snuggled into the blankets but instead of lying near, she snuggled onto my stomach with her head on my chest. “I like your heart.”
The sweet little thing yawned and fisted the buttons of the nightshirt I wore.
