“He told me I cannot have everything,” Amy said in a tiny voice.
“Colin said that?” Aunt Elizabeth sounded incredulous.
“No, Papa said it.”
“Oh, balderdash. My brother was a lot of things, but open-minded wasn’t one of them.”
Amy flinched with a sudden cramp in her middle. “Yet it’s true, isn’t it?” she said when the pain eased. “I’m with Colin now, and I have so much. I must learn to live with the fact that I cannot have everything.”
“Poppycock. Hugh couldn’t possibly have foreseen your future. He’s dead, Amy. The shop is gone.” Her voice gentled. “You’re a countess, child. Were your father here today, do you honestly think he’d withhold his blessing?”
“I don’t know.” Amy dropped onto Colin’s chair. “Goldsmith and Sons was everything to Papa.”
Sighing, Aunt Elizabeth stood up. “You can have everything, if you’ll but listen to your heart. You need only speak with Colin—”
“About this? He’s already told me—”
“He’s not your father. Talk to him. You can live up to your vow—perhaps not literally, but the spirit, child. You can live up to the spirit of your vow, if you’ll only approach your husband with open trust. He deserves that much, Amy.”
She walked around the desk and leaned to kiss Amy on both cheeks. “Think about it. Now, I’m an old woman who has traveled many miles, and I think I need a nap.”
Sniffling, Amy ventured a shaky smile. “Good heavens, Auntie. An old woman, indeed!”
Another cramp shot through Amy, but that didn’t mean the baby was coming. He couldn’t be coming—Colin had left to spend the whole day inspecting the estate.
Besides, she’d been having cramps for nearly eight weeks now, and they’d never meant anything before.
GREYSTONE HUMMED with productivity. Colin rode toward the fields at the far end of the property, certain the sheep and crops would prove as well maintained as the lumber operation and quarry already had. Amy was a talented estate manager. Almost as talented as she’d been a jeweler.
A jeweler…
He looked down to his hands on Ebony’s reins, at the band of white skin that marked where his signet ring used to rest. After all these months, he felt almost naked without it. And Amy…
Amy could make him another.
He smiled to himself, remembering her pride in her craft, the glow in her eyes when she shared the treasures in her trunk. Her joy at discovering the origin of her wedding ring. Her fingers absently caressing the necklace she’d worn to Whitehall Palace.
For certain, she’d enjoy making him another ring.
He reined in as the realization stole his breath away.
Hang it, what an idiot he’d been! She missed her craft—it was in her blood, as much a part of her as her amethyst eyes and her quick smile. She’d make him another ring, and then…
He knew how to make her happy.
Colin wheeled round toward the castle. The rest of the estate could wait for an inspection. He couldn’t wait to see Amy’s face when he told her. The distracted, sad look would leave her eyes. She’d throw her arms around him, kissing him all over his face in that exuberant way of hers.
He dug in his heels, urging Ebony into a gallop.
EIGHTY
“MY LADY,” Lydia called from the study door. “Dinner is ready.”
With a fierce effort, Amy opened her eyes and unclenched her fists.
“Milady?” Lydia’s eyes widened until they were round blue circles. “Is it the baby?”
“No.” Amy leaned against the desk. “It’s only another one of those little cramps I’ve been having.”
“Are you quite certain?” Lydia walked closer. “This looks…rather different.”
“Yes, I’m quite certain,” Amy snapped, her face impassive although her middle knotted in the most painful cramp yet.
Dear heavens, it felt like a steel band were squeezing the very life out of her.
“I’m quite certain,” she repeated through gritted teeth. “But I believe I’ll take dinner in my bedchamber. I could use a nap.” She began to walk from the chamber.
“Milady,” Lydia called, alarm in her voice. “You’re waddling.”
Amy whirled around. “I am not waddling. There’s nothing wrong with my legs. Waddling is for pitiful pregnant ninnies who want to draw sympathetic attention to themselves.”
She was glad no one was in the corridor to see her, because it was rather impossible to make it to the bedchamber without waddling. She fell awkwardly onto the bed, but before she could get comfortable, a pale straw-colored, sweetish fluid gushed out of her.
She knew what that meant. Lydia had related every detail of her previous five ladies’ birth experiences with maximum drama, leaving Amy in a wild state of alarm. Then, last night, Aunt Elizabeth had explained everything in a very calm, informative manner. Amy didn’t quite know what to believe, but one thing was clear: When the bag of waters burst, the babe was coming.
No question about that.
Hot tears squeezed from beneath her closed lids as she curled herself into a ball. The babe couldn’t come now. Colin wouldn’t be here for hours. And she hadn’t talked to him yet; Aunt Elizabeth was right—she had to talk to him. She had to trust him.
She wasn’t ready for this baby.
The fact that her son was ready, that Aunt Elizabeth had said he’d come this week or next, was beside the point entirely.
When another white-hot spasm clenched her insides, she moaned in pain and frustration. All at once, Lydia barged into the bedchamber, a dinner tray in her hands.
“I knew it!” she exclaimed, staring at the sopping mass of sheets. She dropped the tray forthwith, and Amy would have laughed had she been able.
But her womb tightened more. “He isn’t coming out now,” she forced through clenched teeth. “I won’t let him. I’ll keep my legs stuck together.”
“But, my lady—”
“My body wouldn’t betray me this way,” Amy snapped. She’d never felt so out of control. Determined to put an end to this madness, she struggled halfway up as the pain subsided.
Then the truth dawned in a
