Captain Durant's Countess

chapter 30


June 1821

Reyn was bent over one of the ledgers scratching in information. It had been difficult to settle down to work at his desk, remembering what had occurred on his office floor a week ago. All he could see in his mind’s eye was Maris, her head over him, lovely lips on his cock, her dark lashes fluttering as she took him as deep as she dared.

It had been heaven, and now it was hell. He’d heard nothing from her since he left her with that bounder David. Maris had sent Ginny a proper thank-you note for her hospitality the next day, but there was no secret message therein for Reyn. He had not been able to stop himself from riding to the copse of trees every day, sometimes twice. There had been no token from her tied on a tree branch, no letter professing her love tucked into a hollow, no schedule when he might expect to be schooled by the woman, Miss Holley. He had checked, mooning about in the grass until he felt like a complete fool.

Mr. Swift had seen her, however, and by the time he’d arrived after Reyn sent him, David Kelby had gone. Left for London, in fact. At least Maris wasn’t being tormented by the man.

Until his next visit.

Blast. There must be something he could do to protect her from Kelby. Reyn threw the pen down, splattering ink across the pages. He looked down as his work-roughened hands, curling his fingers into his palms, raising the thumbs and turning them until his knuckles met. b was on the left and d was on the right—or was it the other way around? It was hopeless.

He might have stared at his hands indefinitely except he heard the knock on his office door. Hurriedly he closed the ledger. “Come.”

It was young Jack, bearing a crisp white piece of stationery, folded but unsealed. Double blast.

“What have you got there?”

“A message from Hazel Grange, Captain. One of the footmen brought it. Said he couldn’t stay but a second to deliver it. Had to get to the village before something else happened.”

Reyn’s throat dried. It was much too soon for the baby. “Something else happened? He didn’t say what?”

“No, sir. In a right tizzy he was. Road off like his life depended upon it. Aren’t you going to read it?”

The pristine paper bore Jack’s smudged thumbprint. Reyn opened it and struggled to read it. To him, it looked like You hab detter come at once. The Countess neebs you. A.

Reyn ran the words through his head, translating what he saw into what was meant. “Aloysius brought this?”

“He didn’t say his name, sir. He was just a footman. But he wasn’t wearing a fancy white wig or even a bit of braid,” Jack sniffed, dismissive.

“Saddle up Brutus for me.”

“That devil?”

“Aye, that devil. Do as you’re told, sharp.” Reyn ran an inky hand through his long hair. Maris would have to take him as she found him. If she was in trouble, she wouldn’t care if his hair was unkempt and his tie entirely absent. He rolled his sleeves down, grabbed his old tweed jacket from the back of the chair, and went to help Jack with the tack.

Jack said Aloysius had taken the road, but Reyn rode over the fields hell for leather. When he spotted Hazel Grange over the ridge, all seemed normal. Pastoral. A lazy curl of smoke came from the kitchen chimney. Windows gleamed in the bright June sunshine. Urns of pale pink geraniums flanked the columned portico. The house looked like a gentlewoman’s home, and Reyn in his present state was unfit to enter it through the front door.

No matter. He rode around to the kitchen, Stephen Prall huffing to keep up with him and take Brutus’s reins.

“Is the Countess well?” Reyn asked as he dismounted. “I received a message.”

The man’s eyebrows knit. “Far as I know, sir. They’ll know more in the house.”

Reyn entered the kitchen, much to the alarm of the ladies present. They seemed to be assembling a towering tea tray with dozens of little treats, reminding Reyn that he’d been too busy to eat breakfast or lunch. “Good day. I’ve come to speak to Aloysius. Is he about?”

The maids looked to Margaret, Maris’s housekeeper. “I believe he’s gone on an errand, Captain Durant,” she said.

“Yes, to fetch me,” Reyn said, trying to smile. “Do you know what it’s about? His note indicated it was urgent.”

“Well, I don’t know as I would call it urgent, but I’m glad you are here, and that’s a fact. My lady has guests.”

“Guests?”

“Aye. A person who claims she is the Countess of Kelby, who seems to think this house should be hers. And a boy. Poor lamb to have such a mother.”

Not David Kelby, then. Reyn allowed himself to relax a fraction. “Has Mr. Woodley been sent for?”

Reyn had had a very discreet dealing with the old earl’s solicitor. The emerald was not his only payment for his brief time at Kelby Hall. Woodley professed he did not know the details of the private arrangement Reyn had entered into with Henry Kelby, but had paid him in full.

“Aye. Aloysius was riding into Shere after he went to Merrywood to get word to him by post. But who knows when Mr. Woodley will get here with the proper papers?”

“Perhaps I can help. This woman is not mad, is she? Dangerous?”

“She hasn’t whipped out a pistol. But she’s making quite a fuss. In her delicate condition, the poor countess should not be bothered.” Margaret blushed, recognizing that to discuss such a thing with a strange-ish man was not done.

“I’ll just follow you in with the tea tray, shall I?”

“Hold still.” In for a penny, in for a pound. As long as Margaret had begun to walk on the edge of impropriety, she smoothed Reyn’s windblown hair down and handed him a linen napkin to wipe the sweat off his face. “You’ll do, I suppose.”

“Thank you, madam.”

Who was the guest of Maris’s who thought she could move into Hazel Grange? Something very odd was afoot. He followed Margaret and one of the maids up a short flight of stairs to the main floor. Maris’s parlor door was open, and a woman’s voice immediately grated on his ears.

“If I cannot have Kelby Hall yet, I see no reason why Peter and I shall not have this house.”

“Mrs. Kelby,” Maris said patiently, then broke off as Reyn and the servants entered the room. She rose in an instant. “Captain! This is a most unexpected visit.”

Reyn went to her and kissed her hand, something he’d not done in this sort of context. There was no secret squeeze or sweep of his tongue. “Lady Kelby, please forgive me in all my dirt. I was just passing, and remembered you wished to discuss the renovations of your stable block as soon as possible. Have I come at a difficult time?”

“Oh, no. You are always welcome. That is to say, I know how valuable your time is. If you could join us for tea, I’m sure we can discuss it once my guest and her son leave.”

Reyn glanced at the other inhabitants of the room. A youth had risen at his entry, a lad of no more than fifteen or sixteen whose plump cheeks had not yet seen a razor. Though he’d not lost his puppy fat, the boy was tall, with a mop of auburn hair and dark eyes. There was something about him that was vaguely familiar.

His mother remained seated. She was a faded blonde with a great deal too many curls for a woman her age, and possessed of an unremarkable figure. Her blue eyes settled on him with shrewdness. He felt a little like a chop in a butcher shop window.

“And who is this, Maris?”

Reyn saw Maris flinch at the use of her Christian name. “May I present my neighbor, Captain Reynold Durant? Captain, this is my niece-in-law, Mrs. Kelby and her son, Peter. My husband’s nephew David’s wife and son. My, what a mouthful that is.”

Reyn felt the room shift. “How very happy I am to meet you,” he said blandly. He found a seat before he fell into it. “I was not aware Mr. Kelby was married.”

“Do you know my husband?” From her tone, it was clear that any friend of David’s was an enemy.

“A passing acquaintance only. I met him at Kelby Hall when I was doing some work for the late earl.”

“What kind of work was that? Stable renovations? I saw no evidence of new construction when I was there.”

“Inventorying his antiquities collection. I regret to say I did not complete the task before the earl passed away. An opportunity arose to alter my career path, and so you find me the owner of Merrywood Farm. I raise horses.”

Though a trifle pale, Maris was pouring tea and passing plates as if she entertained David Kelby’s wife every day of the week. Reyn took a bracing gulp from his cup.

“Peter is horse-mad, aren’t you, darling?” The boy blushed as he bit into his seed cake. “We haven’t been able to afford a suitable mount for him, but all that will change now that David will be earl. God willing. No offense to you, Maris, but you must realize we pray for the delivery of a healthy girl.”

“Mrs. Kelby—Catherine—I do hope your wishes will come true,” Maris said, her voice soft.

“Well, I’m due something after the way David has treated me. Treated us,” she said as her son’s blush darkened. “And if my hopes are dashed, I can always move here. It’s nothing to Kelby Hall, of course, but better than the rectory, isn’t it, Peter? My father is a man of the cloth,” she added for Reyn’s benefit. “No doubt he’d miss us, but it is past time we had property of our own.”

Poor Peter said nothing, looking much like a chubby trapped fox.

Reyn saw his chance to assist. “I was under the impression, Countess, that Hazel Grange is not part of the entail. Didn’t your husband purchase it specifically for you and any daughters that might result from your marriage?”

“Exactly so, and that is what I’ve been trying to explain to C-Catherine. Hazel Grange is mine outright. Mr. Woodley can explain it all.”

“That fussy old woman?” Catherine Kelby scoffed. “He tried to turn me out of the Hall yesterday, but I know my rights. It is David’s family home, and we are David’s family, whether he acknowledges us or not. I have the marriage lines. No one will dare say my boy is a bastard.”

“Mama!” Peter Kelby was in agony.

“Stop interrupting, Peter. You’ve done nothing but contradict me at every turn today. What will the countess think? You’ve been most impertinent, talking out of turn.”

Pot, meet kettle. Reyn found Catherine Kelby outrageously outspoken. For a clergyman’s daughter, she was not meek or mild.

“Would you like another biscuit, Peter?” Maris asked kindly.

The boy nodded, mute and miserable.

What a trial it must be to have two such awful parents, Reyn thought. Kelby Hall’s butler Amesbury would have a fit if Maris bore a daughter and David and Catherine moved in to ruin the tone of his household.

Reyn caught Maris’s eye. The smile she gave him was so dazzling—so loving—he was knocked back into his chair.

She might have wanted to thwart David, but depriving young Peter Kelby of his future was an entirely different proposition. An honorable woman like Maris could never do such a thing.

Maris set the china tea pot down. “Captain, do you remember the proposal you made to me the other day?”

“The proposal?” Reyn asked, his tongue suddenly thick.

“Yes. I’ve been giving it a great deal of thought, and realized I was thinking overmuch. I find I am very agreeable to your suggestion. In fact, the sooner we can plan the renovations, the better. Before the baby comes, certainly. I might not have time to make all the necessary arrangements once the child is born.”

Reyn knew his mouth was hanging open.

“Why would you care about making improvements to Hazel Grange if you may wind up back at Kelby Hall?” Catherine asked, helping herself to a sliver of candied ginger.

“I have no intention of returning to Kelby Hall.”

Catherine Kelby’s mouth joined Reyn’s. For once, she was wordless.

“Not return?” asked Peter once he had nearly choked on his vanilla-infused biscuit. “What about all those magnificent artifacts? Great-Uncle Henry’s Etruscan finds? The library? It’s all museum-worthy. I’ve never seen the like!”

“Do you know, Peter, it was my husband’s fondest wish to turn part of the Hall into a museum and open it to the public. He wanted me to be the curator, can you believe it? I spent most of my life working toward that ideal, but now I have other things to occupy me. It’s time the Kelby Collection found a new curator. Henry would be so pleased with your interest. Your father tells me you’re quite a scholar.”

Peter blinked. “He did? My father spoke of me?”

Maris nodded. “He came to war—inform—me that you both might come to pay me a visit, and I’m so glad you did. There’s enough at Kelby Hall to keep you busy and expand your classical education for a lifetime. By the time you become earl, you might actually have everything organized.”

Catherine put her cup down with a clatter. “I’m afraid I don’t understand you, Lady Kelby.”

“No, I don’t expect you do. There are some days I hardly understand myself. Please enjoy your tea, and if you wouldn’t mind terribly, see yourself out when you’re done. You must be anxious to get back to the Hall before dark, and there are things I must discuss with the captain. He is so busy, you know. Very much in demand, which is why he rackets about the countryside half dressed and with no neck cloth, but no matter. There is a . . . problem with one of my horses. Captain, you’ll accompany me to the stables?”

Reyn stood, a bit unsteadily. “Of course.”

Maris stood, too, speaking directly to Catherine. “I’m sure Mr. Woodley will get in touch with you about the particulars of this property. Give my best to David when you see him. Peter is a fine young man. He—you both—should be proud.”

The boy was scarlet. “Thank you, my lady.”

It was clear Catherine Kelby did not know what to make of Maris’s little speech. The last Reyn saw of her, she was frowning, reaching for a strawberry tart.

He hurried alongside Maris as they left the room. “What—?”

“Hush. Not yet.”

The footman Phillip opened the front door for them and Reyn followed her outside. The sky was blue and cloudless. Maris’s little black lace cap fluttered in the warm breeze as she led Reyn to the rear of the house and a gated garden. She turned the key in the iron lock, moving quickly on a mown grass path to sit down on a shaded bench

Reyn remained standing. “I see no horses.”

“I lied. Thank you for coming. Who sent for you? Betsy?”

“Aloysius.”

“Bless him. That Kelby woman is insufferable. But I see great promise in her son.”

“His mother wouldn’t let him get a word in edgewise.”

“I had the chance to speak to him alone while Margaret gave his mother a tour of the house. A long tour, or as long as it could be in a house of its modest size. I begged off.” Maris winked, placing a hand on the black fabric that covered her stomach. “Too exhausting for a woman in my state. So I sat in a comfortable chair and coaxed him to talk while his grasping mother probably pilfered my jewel box, not that there’s much in there. The boy is very smart and seems to have inherited neither of his parents’ objectionable qualities.”

“What are you saying, Maris?”

“I’m going to marry you—if you’ll still have me. I must talk to Mr. Woodley about the legalities, but I believe any child born into wedlock will be acknowledged to be my husband’s, no matter how brief the marriage. We can raise our child together, Reyn. No more deceit. Henry would have liked Peter, I’m sure of it. If he’s managed to remain as pure as he has with that harpy for a mother, we can only imagine how well he’ll turn out with some schooling and Mr. Woodley looking out for his interests.”

“What about David?”

Maris shrugged. “He may rise to the occasion. If not, how much harm can he do? He should have his hands full keeping his wife under control. Poor man.”

Reyn sat beside her and took her hand. “I disagree. How can you feel any sympathy for him? A secret marriage? Deserting his own child all these years?”

“Exactly. One should never desert a child. That was your concern all along, wasn’t it? Why you didn’t want to follow through with Henry’s plan.”

“At first. But now there is the small matter that I fell in love with you and can’t bear to think of living without you.”

She looked up at him, her eyes damp. Damn, but her tears always slayed him. “You won’t have to.”

“Are you sure, Maris?”

“Oh so very.”

Kissing her seemed the right thing to do. The only thing to do. They were to be married, after all, and if anyone saw them through the ornate iron fence, what did it matter? Reyn touched his lips to hers and was lost.

It was all too good—the kiss, the weather, the neat solution to their dilemma. But he had never been one to look for trouble. It had usually found him . . . if he waited long enough, anyway. If Maris thought she could leave her old life behind and marry him, he wouldn’t try to talk her out of it.

Or talk to her at all—just kiss—although, to be honest, there was nothing just about it.


First Epilogue


September 1821

“I cannot bear it. How can she?”

“Now, Captain Durant, your wife is doing beautifully.” The midwife, Mrs. Lynch, handed him a clean damp cloth.

Reyn had lost count of how many clean damp cloths she’d given him over the past twenty hours.

“If you are to remain—it is most indecent of you, really, although it seems Mrs. Durant wants you, though why she does is anyone’s guess as you’ve done your part already and gotten us all into this mess—you must put a smile on your face and wipe hers.”

Reyn gave it his best shot, which was more grimace than smile.

“Not like that. You look like you’ve eaten something nasty. Be brave for the lass as she’s been brave for you.”

After a career in the army, Reyn had thought he knew what bravery was, but he had been mistaken. Maris was braver than anyone. After almost a day’s labor, the baby was not slipping into the world easily, despite Mrs. Lynch’s efforts.

There was a reason men were barred from their wives’ side at such a time. A reason they drank themselves into a brandified stupor waiting downstairs after listening to the wailing from above. Maris had done her share of wailing, and each cry had pierced Reyn’s heart.

“We should send for Dr. Crandall,” Reyn whispered as he blotted Maris’s brow. Her eyes were closed and she was white as the sheets she lay on, her brown braid soaked. She had given up screaming some time ago and was silent. He thought he much preferred the screams.

“Too far. He’ll never get here in time. It really won’t be long now.”

“Dr. Sherman, then.”

Mrs. Lynch tsked. “The man’s a drunkard. Be patient, Captain. There’s my girl. I think we’ll get you up to walk again, my dear. How does that sound?”

Maris’s bloodless lips barely moved in response. “Whatever you think best.”

“Lean on that strong, handsome husband of yours. Well done, dear. Just to the chair and back. And again. And again.”

Reyn felt as if they were marching back and forth to their doom. His wife slumped against him, her body shaking, each step a massive effort. He had never felt so useless. If this child was ever born, he’d never touch her again.

“It will be easier with the next baby,” Maris said, causing Reyn to stumble.

“Planning a large family, are you?” Mrs. Lynch asked.

“Yes.”

“No!” Reyn growled.

“At least one more after this. We wouldn’t want him or her to get lonely.” Maris gave him a watery smile.

“You are impossible, wife.”

“So you have told me. Oh! Oh!”

Reyn panicked at her sharp intake of breath, but Mrs. Lynch smiled. “Ah, well done, Mrs. Durant. We’ve started up again. Just a few more turns around the room and I’ll have you get back into the bed and sit up. Captain, plump those pillows and give her your hand to squeeze. Don’t be surprised if she breaks some bones, and anyway, you have another hand, don’t you?”

Reyn shut his eyes so he wouldn’t see Maris’s mouth twist in pain. The contractions were steady now, and very close together. Maris went back to groaning, then screaming. Mrs. Lynch murmured encouraging words, directing Betsy, who had been making herself small in a corner of the bedroom, to help her.

He would never forgive himself if something happened to his wife.

They had been married by special license by Mr. Swift, who was somewhere downstairs with Ginny and Miss Holley, probably not partaking of any brandy while they waited. It had been a quiet wedding in the gated garden of Hazel Grange, with only their servants and his sister as witnesses. Neither Reyn nor Maris cared what the neighbors had thought of the sudden, scandalous union. In time, the gossip would die down and people might even forget that Maris was ever a countess.

Reyn had no idea yet what they’d tell a son or daughter. He only hoped he’d be equal to the task once the time was right.

The Durants had decided to make their home at Hazel Grange. Once Ginny was married to her vicar, the Swifts were welcome to live at Merrywood, if they could stand the comings and goings of horses and foals at all hours.

What had Reyn been thinking of, volunteering for this duty? Just because he’d delivered a few foals did not make him an expert. But Maris had implored him, her eyes huge and wet. He had never been able to resist her tears, not from the first day he met her.

“Lovely, my dear, just lovely. Give a push now, there’s a good girl. Yes, just like that. Isn’t she doing a splendid job, Captain?”

“Splendid.” Reyn felt light-headed.

“Look there. The babe’s crowning, Captain.”

Reyn was used to following orders, but he was very much afraid the sight of the coming child would be his undoing. Instead, he looked at his wife. “I love you, Maris.”

“And . . . I . . . you . . . oh!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Reyn saw something dark and bloody slither onto the bed. His heart stopped.

“Reyn, you are hurting my hand.”

Mrs. Lynch moved her hand over Maris’s stomach. “Betsy, the twine and scissors, if you please. You have a pretty little girl, Mrs. Durant. Just one more hard push and we’ll have the placenta out and your baby ready for you to hold. Isn’t she sweet, Captain?”

His daughter made a tiny snuffling sound. Reyn thought babies were supposed to be slapped across their buttocks so they would give a lusty cry. This little scrap looked barely alive.

“Is she all right?” Reyn croaked.

“Of course she is. They both are. Buck up, sir. You’re white as a ghost.”

There was more blood and mess. Reyn had been in battle countless times, but nothing had prepared him for this. Mrs. Lynch massaged the umbilical cord until she was satisfied, then tied it in two places and snipped between them. She gave the baby to Betsy to clean and wrap up while she tended to Maris. A lifetime seemed to pass before his child made her presence known, objecting to Betsy’s ministrations.

“A daughter. Jane. I’m so glad, Reyn.”

He was, too. There would always have been some lingering regret and confusion if Maris had born a son.

“You’ll have your boy next time.” Mrs. Lynch winked at him, and Reyn decided it would be most improper to strike her. To have Maris go through all this again was simply not to be imagined.

“Here she is, my lady.” Betsy was beaming. According to her, she’d helped her mam with several confinements and knew all about babies.

Reyn watched as Jane nestled into the crook of Maris’s arm.

“The wet nurse is downstairs, I expect,” Mrs. Lynch said.

“She is, but I’d like to try myself first.”

Reyn had been aghast when his countess insisted on feeding her own child, but Maris had reminded him she wasn’t a countess any longer. Her fingers shook as she attempted to unbutton her night rail.

“Let me, my love. Undressing ladies is my specialty.”

“You’d better not be undressing any lady but me.”

He kissed her damp forehead. “I wouldn’t think of it. Are you really all right?”

“How can you doubt? Look at Jane and tell me she is not the most beautiful thing in creation.”

Reyn was not entirely in accord with his wife, but he was wise enough to nod. No doubt someday Jane would be a great beauty and drive everyone to distraction, especially her father. She had already frightened him half to death.

“We’ll go down and tell the others and give you a little privacy,” Mrs. Lynch said. “But Mrs. Durant will need her rest, Captain. Do not tire her out.” The midwife and Betsy left them alone in the sunny room.

Reyn didn’t even know what time it was. “She’s as bossy as you are.”

His wife and child began their acquaintance. Jane’s little mouth hovered, then latched on with all its might. “Hush. You know I’ve always got your best interests at heart. How very odd this feels, Reyn. It is nothing like when you kiss me there.”

Reyn suppressed a groan. How would he endure abstinence? But how could he not?

Well, there were always French letters. And withdrawal. He’d managed all his life not to get anyone pregnant.

“Reyn, whatever is the matter? You are looking quite gothic.”

“Nothing. There is absolutely nothing wrong. I am the happiest man in the world.”


Second Epilogue


January 1822

Maris was so happy she thought it might be criminal. She examined each tiny toe and fingernail once her daughter had drunk her second breakfast. Jane was perfect, with the Durant dimple already visible and a head of midnight hair. Lots of it. Reyn called her his little monkey, which Jane wouldn’t like at all once she was older, and so Maris told her husband.

Her husband. Once, she had never expected to marry. Somehow, she’d found two good men to love her. Her life had really unfolded in a most unexpected way.

Mr. Woodley had not batted so much as an eyelash when she’d explained her plans last summer. He had assured her Henry’s financial arrangements for her were secure and her widow’s jointure—including Hazel Grange—were untouchable by the new Countess of Kelby. He shuddered a bit when he mentioned the name, but perked up when discussing young Peter. The boy had been enrolled at Eton and had a good head on his shoulders, no thanks to either of his parents.

Mr. Woodley had visited several times since. He told her Catherine’s father had retired from his parish and was living at Kelby Hall. He was a scholarly fellow who had volunteered to poke around the attics to make himself useful now that he was no longer tutoring his grandson. What might he find in the abandoned boxes? Maris realized she didn’t much care.

The new earl preferred to stay in London, which was best for everyone concerned, except perhaps for any young women whose hearts he might break. How long David could play Lothario now that it was known he was married was anyone’s guess.

“Your father will keep you safe from any men like him,” Maris said to the baby in her arms. “I daresay he is just the man to recognize a rake, as he used to be one before he met me.”

“What’s that nonsense you’re telling our daughter?”

Maris looked up to see Reyn in the doorway. He was splattered with mud and blood, his cheeks chapped red from the cold.

“How did it go?”

Reyn grinned. “We have a fine colt.”

“The second this week! Brutus must be proud.”

“Not as proud as I am of our little filly. How is Miss Jane today? I won’t come in to see for myself.”

“It’s too soon, but I think she is cutting a tooth.” Jane had been frantically chewing everything in sight, including Maris’s poor breasts.

“Of course. She is advanced for her age. She takes after her mother.”

“But is the image of her father.”

“Poor monkey. Let’s hope the Durant nose skips a generation. Well, wife, I’ve been up all night and dead on my feet. I’ve ordered a bath in my dressing room. Do you think you might join me in a nap this morning once I clean myself up?”

“A nap, Captain Durant?”

“You say that as if I have an ulterior motive to get in bed with my wife.” He made a show of yawning. Maris wasn’t fooled a bit.

“I confess I’m tired too. Jane was fussy last night.”

“Excellent. I won’t be long.”

“Good. Because I’m very tired.”

“You are incorrigible, aren’t you?”

Maris smiled. “I was instructed by a master.”

Reyn disappeared down the hall, his whistling of a bawdy tune belying his exhaustion. She rang for Jane’s nursemaid, rose from the chaise, and went to her dressing table.

“Damn.” There was a new silver hair poking up through the loose brown waves at her temple. She ripped it out and unbraided her hair, brushing it until her arm became weak. What was taking Reyn so long? She really was tired, and would relish falling asleep in her husband’s arms.

When they finished loving each other.

He’d been very silly after Jane was born. The poor man had got it into his head that she should never suffer through childbirth again. It had taken some convincing and a consultation with Dr. Crandall, but Reyn had resumed his marital rights a month ago. Maris had missed their intimacy more than she could have ever expressed. For a woman who had mostly lived within proper boundaries, she was afraid she had strayed into wanton territory.

And was glad of it.

She saw him behind her in the mirror, his hair damp and slicked back. He smelled of soap and man, no trace of horse. Reyn raised one wicked black eyebrow and held out a hand. Maris didn’t hesitate for a second.


Third Epilogue

September 1826

It was better this way. Reyn stared gloomily into a glass of whiskey. Still his first, when it should have been at least his seventh. One for every hour of agony upstairs.

He was a dog. A right bastard even if his parents had been married. Somehow he had been unable to keep his vow to himself. For the fourth time in five years, he was waiting for a new child to be born. Jane and her two brothers would shortly—God, if only it would be shortly—be joined in the nursery by another little Durant.

This child would be the last of the line. Although she would clout him to say so, Maris was getting too old for this sort of thing. They would just have to be more careful in the future.

Reyn snorted. Good luck with that. It seemed everything he touched resulted in fecundity. His horse farm was a great success. His laborers were building a new barn over at Merrywood even as he sat there not drinking his whiskey.

Childbirth business did not seem to get any easier with practice for him, although Maris uttered not one word of complaint. It was she who had seduced him from his good intentions, and he had to say she made a wonderful mother, as she was wonderful at everything in their domestic sphere. At the age of four, Jane could read already, thanks to her mother’s lessons, with none of her father’s difficulty. It remained to be seen how Henry and Matthew would fare, but both seemed like bright little boys. Reyn was hopeful for their future.

Perhaps he should go up. It was not his fault he’d fainted when Matthew was born. He’d missed breakfast and lunch and was simply hungry. Mrs. Lynch had banned him this time, but this was his home, after all. Surely he had a right to be present at the birth of his own child?

“Reyn! Maris wants you.”

His sister Ginny was at the door of his study, quite near the end of her own term. She had requested to be with Maris to know what to expect in two months. She and Arthur had finally been successful in conceiving. She looked none the worse for wear, but Reyn experienced his usual misgivings.

“Is she all right? Is the baby here?”

“You may see for yourself once you stop asking such silly questions.” The little baggage stuck her tongue out at him.

Reyn took the stairs two at a time. A baby was crying, the most beautiful sound in the world to his ears.

Maris sat up in bed, her glossy hair tucked up under a nightcap. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled. One would never know she’d been writhing in agony for seven hours. “A girl this time, Reyn. Isn’t she pretty?”

Reyn peeked at the tiny bundle lying in the cradle. She was clean and pink, and Reyn felt a spasm of guilt. Maris knew how the sight of blood and gore on his newborn babies absolutely terrified him. Odd that he was so adept when it came to equine infants.

“She’s a beauty, like her mother.” Reyn sat on the bed, noting the sheets had been changed too. He was pathetic, he really was, but the idea of Maris in pain paralyzed him.

There was a word for him—uxorious. He had come across it in a book he was making himself read, and had not known the meaning at first. It meant excessively devoted to one’s wife. Guilty as charged.

She was radiant, and his heart swelled. “Thank you, Maris, for everything.”

“I should be thanking you.” She grinned, looking half her age. “I can’t wait until I’m well enough so we can—”

“No!” Reyn held up a hand in alarm. “Don’t say it! Don’t even think it!”

“Have a picnic in the garden with the children? Surely you can have no objection to that. The leaves will be turning, and if everyone dresses warmly, we should be fine, even little Juliet. We can bring her along in a Moses basket. I do so love the fall.”

Reyn shut his eyes. His wife surprised him daily with her cunning. He was very sure that was not what she had intended to say at all.

Ah, well. He’d worry later. At the moment, he was going to kiss his countess.