“Nothing consequential.” Darius patted her hand and led her toward a shady path. “You’re feeling well?”
“I’m feeling like a hippopotamus out of water,” Vivian said, and that confiding this was so easy was a pleasure to Darius, even as he wished he could take all the ungainly, hippopotamus sentiments onto his own shoulders rather than leave Vivian to endure them alone.
Love made a man daft—even a man who was trying only to be a good friend.
“Angela says it gets like this, so you can’t wait to be free of your burden, and then you realize you
“If she says that after four children, it’s likely true.”
They strolled along in silence until Darius spoke up again. “I’m going to have to depart soon for Surrey, but I’m leaving my direction with the Belmonts, and I’ll leave it with you as well.”
“And then?”
“And then there’ll be a christening to attend, God willing.”
“Or a funeral,” Vivian said softly. She turned into him, and his arms came around her.
“He’s ready to go, Vivvie. We don’t want to let him go, but he’s ready.”
She nodded against his chest. “He is, but why now?”
Darius didn’t answer, just stroked her back and let her be a little weepy and hoped none of the tears were because they were parting. Again. When she was more composed, he resumed their walk, keeping his arm around her shoulders.
“William thinks you’ll be safer delivering in Town where there are physicians at hand.”
“I agree. And Angela is there. She’ll attend me.”
“That’s good, then.” Darius realized they’d soon be within sight of the stables, and rather than turn loose of her, he drew her to a bench beneath an ancient oak. “I can’t write to you, and I can’t call much once you’re in Town, but know that I’ll be thinking of you and praying for your safety.”
She nodded, looking down at where her hand lay in his against his thigh.
“We’ve had an odd summer,” she observed. “Becoming friends.”
“It’s what I can offer you now,” he said, wondering at his own words. They were true, so he charged forth into more truth. “I’ve enjoyed this summer. You are good company, Vivvie Longstreet, and a good wife to your husband.”
“Hold me.”
She pitched against him, giving him little choice, but he was more than willing to oblige. He loved the ripeness of her shape, the subtle luminance of her skin, the maternal secret lurking in all her smiles. To see her here at Longchamps had been a privilege beyond imagining.
“We’re going to get through this, aren’t we, Mr. Lindsey?” She offered him one of those smiles now, a little sad, a little pained, but genuine.
“Yes, my lady.” He kissed her cheek and drew her to her feet. “We’ll get through this too.”
When she waved him on his way at the mounting block, Vivian was the picture of serene grace. She patted his horse good-bye and took his hand one final time.
“Leah has enjoyed your letters,” Darius said quietly, mindful of the grooms. Vivian’s brows rose, and Darius saw she’d taken his point.
“And I enjoy hers,” Vivian said, her smile not at all maternal. “Safe journeys, Mr. Lindsey, and my regards to your sister.”
He touched the brim of his hat with his crop and nudged Skunk into a canter, knowing if he lingered one more moment, he’d be off the horse, arms wrapped around William’s wife, unable to let her go.
“It’s a belated lying-in gift.” Angela set the little package on the table by Vivian’s sofa. “From William, who looks positively beamish these days.”
Vivian smiled at the bundle in her arms. “A man his age should look beamish when he has a newborn son. Will you hold the baby?”
“Come here, wee baron.” Angela scooped the child up. “I swear he’s smiling already, Viv, and growing like a weed.”
“I’ve the sore parts to show for it.” Vivian frowned briefly, only to find her sister regarding her with a pragmatic intensity.
“Has the bleeding slowed down?”
“It has stopped,” Vivian reported, used to Angela’s blunt speech about female functions. “And I’m eating my steak and kidney pies, and drinking a great deal of chamomile tea.” She tore at the wrapping on the package and found two books, slim little volumes in Muriel Longstreet’s hand.
Angela shifted to sit on the couch next to her sister. “He said they were from Muriel’s confinements and her years of early motherhood.”
“Oh, Angela…” Vivian traced the leather binding and peered at a random page. “William treasures these, and I can’t…”
Angela met her sister’s gaze and smiled in sympathy.
“You can,” she said. “Our mama is not here to offer her support, but William can give you this much from a woman who took your interests very much to heart. He’s still down in the breakfast parlor, if you’re thinking to thank him.”
“I’ll take the baby and give my husband a scold he won’t soon forget.”
Angela bit her lower lip. “You might consider thanking him instead. William wants you and this child to be happy, and he can’t stop what’s coming any more than you can.”
“He can fight it.” Vivian set the books aside and slipped on a pair of house mules. “He can at least pretend having this child gives him a reason to live, not an excuse to die.” She stopped and looked away, only to find Angela passing her the handkerchief from her bodice.
“It’s like this,” Angela said in sympathy. “You think the child is safely born, and all will be well, and it will be, but nothing is the same, and that takes getting used to.”
“I’m all right.” Vivian dabbed at her eyes then passed the handkerchief back. “How do you manage as if you’ve five hands, Angela? I’d have dropped the baby by now.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” Angela said with peculiar gravity. “You’re his mother, and that means, on some level, you’ll never let him go. Now, let William dandle his son, and then I must be back to my own brood.”
“You’re good to keep checking on me.” Vivian leaned over to kiss her sister’s cheek and accepted the baby back from Angela.
“That reminds me: Is Ainsworthy keeping his distance, or does he presume to check on you too?”
Vivian glanced up from the baby. “He presumes. He was here less than a week after the baron was born, carping at me regarding my future, as if my husband weren’t alive and breathing under the same roof as my son.”
Angela’s normally serene features creased with distaste. “Thurgood Ainsworthy is a snake. Another benefit of being married to a publisher is that Jared doesn’t mince words, and I probably fell in love with my husband the day he forbid Ainsworthy from calling on me.”
Vivian gave a little shudder and hugged the child closer, because Ainsworthy had been regarding her lately with an all-too-satisfied proprietary air, and yet he’d shown the baby no regard whatsoever.
Angela tucked her handkerchief back into her bodice. “No more talk of that wretched weasel. Let your husband and your son enjoy a little of each other’s company.”
Vivian accompanied her sister down the steps, saw her on her way, and found William reading his paper in the breakfast parlor.
“Good morning, William.” She kissed his cheek and took a seat before he could rise and hold her chair. “I’ve brought a visitor.”
William set his paper aside. “How is the lad this morning?”
