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Her gaze swept over Juliet, who hastily remarked, “Not me. I’m not even married.”

“But you will be, mark my words.” Winnie shot Sebastian a mysterious look. “And sooner than you think, I warrant.”

When he raised an eyebrow at her, her eyes filled with merriment. If he believed in such things, he’d think the Welshwoman had a touch of the second sight. But more likely she hoped to see him married and had fixed on Juliet as the best prospect. One thing he’d give Winifred—she had excellent taste.

Subjecting Lady Rosalind to her scrutiny, Winifred pursed her shriveled lips. “So you’re the one. You certainly look healthy enough for childbearing. What about your husband? Is he young and spry enough to get a child on you? Are your courses regular?”

Sebastian choked back an oath. “Winnie, why don’t you and the ladies go inside to discuss all this? I’ll remain with the sleigh until you’re done.”

“In this cold?” Winnie said. “Wouldn’t you rather come in by the fire?”

And listen to them talk over the intimate details of Lady Rosalind’s female troubles? No thanks. “I’ll be fine out here.”

As if she’d read his mind, she laughed. “You’d best get used to such talk, m’lord, if you intend on taking a wife.”

“When the time comes, I’ll be sure to consult you, but until then I pray you show me some mercy.”

She flapped her hand at him. “Oh, go on with you then—you and your manly squeamishness. Wait until you’ve had your own six wee ones. Then you’ll have a real reason to beg for mercy.” She opened her cottage door and beckoned to Juliet and Lady Rosalind. “Come along, m’dears. We have a goodly bit to discuss, and we don’t wish to make his lordship uncomfortable.”

“Too late for that,” he muttered under his breath. And what did she mean, “your own six wee ones”? As if it were already planned. By thunder, she’d better not have the second sight. He intended to have children, but for God’s sake, six?

Still, the thought of Juliet heavy with his child held a surprising appeal. She’d be a wonderful mother, warm and loving, the sort of mother he’d never had himself. If any woman was meant to have six children, it was Juliet.

Then he remembered how small and fragile she was, how her own mother had died in childbirth, and that gave him pause.

To take his mind off the disturbing idea of Juliet suffering through childbirth, he paced the perimeter of Winnie’s cottage, noting whatever repairs might be necessary. He had a certain fondness for the old woman, despite her nonsense. He might never have been born if not for her. So he looked after her when he could, especially now that her husband was dead and buried.

It appeared that the thatch would need replenishing this spring, and a shutter had come loose since his last visit. He’d send Henley over later. Or Tompkins, so Winnie could admire the man’s “nice muscles” some more. God knew the woman had few enough pleasures at her age.

He’d finished his inspection, had circled the cottage half a dozen times more, and was beginning to wonder how much longer all this would take when the cottage door opened and Juliet strolled out. Lady Rosalind followed close behind, cradling a large canvas bag in her hands as she continued her conversation with Winifred.

“Now tell me again so I can make sure you have it aright.” Winifred took Lady Rosalind’s hand to halt her beside the sleigh.

“I’m to drink red raspberry leaf tea every day for a week. The red clover blossoms are best in an infusion with mint. I can drink that whenever I please and have it with chamomile tea if I want.”

“That’s the way of it. But remember, the herbs will do you no good if you don’t relax, m’lady.” Winifred patted Lady Rosalind’s hand. “Think of yourself as a strawberry blossom opening to the bee. The blossom don’t slap at the bee, nor close its petals in fear of a sting. It lets the bee fly right in and drink its nectar. And that’s the only way to have the sweet strawberries in the spring, ain’t it? So don’t let anxiousness make you fight your destiny. Embrace it, take it into your bosom. And there it will bear fruit.”

It sounded like a lot of twaddle to him, but what did he know of such things?

Lady Rosalind threw her arms about the older woman’s neck and planted a kiss on her papery cheek. “Thank you ever so much!”

“You’re very welcome, m’lady. And you must tell me if it works, d’you hear? Send me a letter from London. His lordship will be happy to bring it to me.”

He stifled a smile. Leave it to Winnie to relegate him to the role of footman. Apparently there was one woman on the estate whom he didn’t terrify.

He helped the two ladies into the sleigh. After he’d climbed in after them, Winifred cried, “Wait! I forgot one more thing, m’lady. Does your husband bathe daily?”

Lady Rosalind gazed over at her, perplexed. “As it happens, he does. And please don’t tell me he shouldn’t or we’ll never have children, because I won’t let him within ten feet of me.”

Sebastian and Juliet both chuckled.

“No, the bathing is fine,” Winnie said, “it’s the heat of the water he should beware. It mustn’t be too hot, you ken?”

“But Griff loves hot baths!” Lady Rosalind wailed.

“Love it or no,” Winnie remarked with a dire look, “they drain the strength from a man’s seed. ’Tis very bad. You’d best not let him take any more of those.”

Lady Rosalind slumped in her seat. “However am I supposed to prevent it?”