Over the years Albert had applied for more patents than Martha could count and was currently constructing a second larger, factory several miles outside London. While he made his permanent home in England, he still visited them three or four times a year and always brought his employee and dear friend—Daniel Charters—with him on his trips.
Last year Albert had invested money in yet another of Magnus’s ventures, a school that would teach older children both practical skills as well as mathematics and sciences.
Hugo dropped into the chair beside her with a sigh, and then patted his knee. “Come here, Fergus old boy,” he cajoled. “She didn’t hurt you—well, maybe your pride,” he amended with a chuckle as the old dog walked stiffly toward him.
Hugo scooped him up and Fergus immediately settled in for a nap, the first of several he’d take today.
Hugo turned to her. “How are you feeling, darling?”
“Big.”
He chuckled and set a hand on her belly. “And Annette is sure it’s not twins?” he asked, not for the first time.
Annette was the woman who served as midwife and nurse for the little village that was only a mile from the chateau.
Martha set her hand over her husband’s and squeezed. “She is certain it is just one very large boy.”
Like her other pregnancies, this one had been free from sickness or discomfort—until this past month. Not only was it full summer, but she was already one week past her due date. She was ready to have this baby.
“When is Cailean supposed to return?” she asked him.
“I made him promise to be back two full hours before dinner.” Hugo picked up the newspaper he’d been reading before he’d gone to rescue Fergus from Yvette.
Cailean had taken the older children—those five to eleven—out to the large barn at the edge of the property. In the years since London, he’d expanded his menagerie exponentially.
The barn was his animal hospital, where he kept anywhere from twenty to fifty or more animals at any given time. Most of the animals were those he rescued—dogs, cats, and wild creatures like rabbits and birds—but the people of the village had begun bringing him farm beasts several years ago when they heard about his facility for healing.
Twice a week he took a group of children—including their daughter, Elizabeth—with him to help. Martha suspected that having seven little humans underfoot was more of a burden than any great help, but Cailean loved the children and they adored him.
He still rarely spoke, and when he did, it was usually to one of his patients, rather than a person, but Elizabeth could always get a word or two out of him. At almost six years of age, she was her father’s daughter when it came to her gregarious, fearless spirit.
“Oh,” Hugo said, removing the glasses that he’d finally admitted he needed on his thirty-ninth birthday. “I forgot to tell you that Mel wrote to say Laura finally agreed to marry that blacksmith—I can’t recall his name—”
“Jacques.”
“Yes, that was it. Mel said the man’s daughters adore her and she is enjoying being a grandmother.” He turned back to his paper and Martha smiled. She was both relieved and amused by his attitude toward the woman who’d stolen his business and sent him on a journey to New South Wales that had ended on an island in northern Scotland.
The third year they’d been in France, Hugo had sought her out one day when she’d been working in the nursery, her favorite part of the job.
“There you are!” He’d been breathless, as if he’d run to find her.
“Is anything wrong? Is it Elizab—”
“No, no, nothing like that. She’s fine—Cailean’s watching her.”
Elizabeth had been almost two at the time and the French women had dubbed her Mlle Comète because of her comet-like speed when it came to shooting through a room.
“I just thought of something.” Hugo had lifted her to her feet and slid his arms around her.
“Oh, Hugo—I can’t right now, I’m the only one here watching the—”
“Not that, my wicked wife.”
As ever, she’d blushed when he teased her about anything intimate.
“No, I was just thinking about seeing Laura when we go and visit Melissa and Magnus next month.”
“Oh, Hugo—I was hoping you were getting less angry with her. You know that we—”
He’d laid a finger over her lips. “What I wanted to say, is that I should probably be thanking her for what she did.”
“What?”
“If she hadn’t sent me on that dreadful journey, I never would have met you.”
Martha had immediately teared up. “I think that’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”
She still remembered his lovemaking that evening. He’d been intense—even more passionate than usual—and she was convinced they’d conceived their younger daughter, Amelia, that night.
Ever since then, he’d seemed to take almost a proprietary interest in Laura’s life.
Martha was grateful that he’d let go of his anger, no matter how justified. Anger, jealousy, envy—and a raft of other negative emotions—were always more corrosive to the bearer than the target.
Hugo wasn’t the only one who had wrestled with such problems over the years.
Martha had suffered through terrible months during their first year of marriage, unable to forget all the beautiful and skilled lovers Hugo had enjoyed before her. She’d been stunned by her capacity for jealousy—an emotion she’d not had much experience with until then.
It had been Melissa who’d helped her accept her husband’s past.
“Hugo and I are very much alike,” the beautiful redhead had said after Martha finally broke down and asked the other woman if Magnus, her husband, had ever been jealous of the men in her past. “It was always a job to us,” she explained. “I knew other women—and a few men—who fell in love with their clients, or came to care for them, but that never happened to either of us. I know it is difficult for most people to understand, but the act of physical love is meaningless if there is nothing else to go with it.” She’d
