She was summoned at last to the dowager’s bedchamber. When she entered, Nellie fought to hide her shock. There was the odor of sickness in the room. The dowager looked frail. She lay back against the pillows as if her neck weren’t strong enough to hold up her head covered in its lacy cap.
Nellie sat by the bed and took her cool hand in hers.
“How anxious you look, Nellie. Is there something wrong?”
“Only concern for you, Mother.”
“Oh, do call me, Catherine, Nellie, please. You have a mother, and I rather hope we might be friends. Life is too short for formality.”
Nellie smiled. Catherine was such a pretty name. If she ever had a daughter… “Is there something I can do for you?”
“No, thank you, my dear. I know I don’t look well, but I have no intention of departing this earth until I see my grandchild.”
“Jason and Beverly are keen to oblige you.”
“I had hoped you and Charles might bring happy news.”
“I’m afraid we have not yet been blessed.”
“You haven’t been married long. Don’t lose heart.” She squeezed Nellie’s hand.
Nellie felt a nervous fluttering in her belly as she cast her mind back over the past weeks. Could she possibly have missed her monthly menses? With the wedding and all that had happened since, she’d failed to notice. Ordinarily, she was as regular as clockwork. She felt her face grow warm and lowered her gaze to her hands, not wanting to give Catherine false hope.
After a moment’s silence, Nellie glanced up. Catherine might be ill, but she hadn’t missed Nellie’s reaction. Her blue eyes, so like Charles’s, met hers. “Perhaps there might soon be an added incentive for me to remain on God’s earth.”
“I do hope so. I want a baby very much.” Overwhelmed by the possibility of a baby, Nellie fought not to place a hand on her stomach. Could it be? She and Charles had not made love for weeks.
“Forgive me, my dear.” Catherine’s head sank back onto the pillows. “I am weary. I’ll sleep a little. Send Charles to me after my nap, will you please?”
Charles had not told his mother of his intention to fetch Dr. Chapman. “Of course. But have a good rest.” Nellie kissed her cheek.
With a fervent prayer, Charles would soon return. Nellie slipped from the room.
Catherine’s personal maid, Jane, hovered outside the door, fidgeting with her handkerchief. “Her Grace has decided to sleep awhile,” Nellie said gently, aware of the maid’s distress.
In the gallery, Nellie paused at the long window. She stared out at the incessant downpour. It was growing late, and dusk would soon be upon them. Was Charles on his way home? She could not tell him about the baby until she was sure. She would hate to give him false hope, not now when he was so upset about his mother.
She descended the stairs to the library in search of a book to distract herself. The lofty room smelled of polish, leather, and the musty odor of old tomes. Gilt-edged books filled the shelves around the walls. A leather sofa faced the marble fireplace with a pair of comfortable armchairs on each side of it. Above the mantel hung a framed portrait of the old duke, a big man with solid shoulders and a square jaw. She could see some resemblance to his sons in his features, but his gray-streaked hair was light brown, and his green eyes looked weary and sad, as if life had defeated him.
Nellie crossed the exotic carpet and stood before Charles’s carved oak desk. His correspondence was stacked neatly on its polished surface. She ran an admiring finger over the wood and examined the walnut letter opener, the handle carved with putto amongst acanthus. A pounce pot and his silver wax seal were lined up along the top next to standish. A black feather quill perched in the inkpot.
With a brief smile, she moved the inkwell farther to the left, confident that Charles would move it back. She turned and picked up the newspaper left on a small table, finding the edition was several weeks old. Charles’s name featured. It wasn’t unusual, he often appeared with the Prince of Wales or the prime minister or some mention of a bill. She sank down onto the leather sofa and began to read it.
Jason strolled through the door. “No sign of Charles?”
“No.”
He sat beside her. “What have you there?”
“I was looking for something to read. Charles is mentioned.”
“May I see?” Jason took The Morning Post from her and began to read it. “Ah, yes, I knew about this. The altercation outside Parliament. Charles defended Lord Ogelsby against scurrilous lies written by Lord Montrose. His friend was desperately ill at the time and has since passed away. This is the retraction. A feeble effort, it is, too.” Jason read it out: “This newspaper wishes to apologize for a misinterpretation of the incident between the Duke of Shewsbury and said journalist outside parliament. Lord Montrose admitted in court that he had thrown the first punch, and the duke then responded. He regrets publishing what has since been proven to be less than the truth concerning Lord Ogelsby, now deceased, and apologizes to the Duke of Shewsbury and Lord Ogelsby’s family for the upset he has caused them.”
“Charles would have been upset for his friend.” Nellie sighed. Marian had shown her Montrose’s article before Nellie and Charles met. She had worried that he might be a bully. How wrong she’d been.
“I would have knocked the journalist’s head off.” Jason tossed the newspaper onto the table. “My brother is a stickler for correctness. Which makes it hard for lesser mortals such as I
