Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Her Grace is with child.”
For one suspended moment, Emmeline did not understand the words.
She stared at Dr. Arbuthnot, at his kind, lined face and the black bag set neatly beside his chair, and waited for him to correct himself.
Surely, he would smile, clear his throat, and say he had meant something else entirely.
Beside her, Rowan went utterly still.
“With… child?” Emmeline repeated, and her voice sounded too delicate, as though it belonged to some other woman lying in her bed, pale and weak and foolish enough not to know the shape of her own body.
Dr. Arbuthnot inclined his head. “Yes, Your Grace. It would explain the faintness, the sickness, the distaste for certain foods, and the fatigue. Early months can be trying, but none of what you have described is uncommon.”
A child.
The word bloomed inside her with such force that fear followed immediately after, swift and cold. Her hand moved to her stomach before she could stop it, fingers pressing lightly over the place that had seemed only hollow and unsettled for days.
“I did not know,” she whispered. “I did not realize I had… I had missed my courses.”
Her cheeks burned. She looked to the physician almost helplessly, searching his face for some sign that her ignorance had already harmed what was inside her.
Dr. Arbuthnot’s expression softened. “It happens more often than ladies imagine, particularly when there has been stress, travel, changes in household, or emotional distress. You must not torment yourself. The sickness may be eased with rest, light meals, ginger if you can tolerate it, and fresh air when you feel strong enough. I shall send a tonic as well, though not too strong. We do not wish to bully the body when it is already doing a great deal of work.”
Emmeline tried to nod.
Rowan’s child.
The thought sent a strange, helpless warmth through the terror. She felt his body beside hers, and fear struck again. He had lost one wife, and the shadow of it had shaped his whole life after. Catherine’s suffering, her illness and death. Aaron’s fear. Rowan’s terror turned into control.
He would hate this.
No. Not hate the child. She did not think that. But he would fear it. He would fear her and the risk of loss before it had even come near them.
The physician rose. “I shall call again tomorrow, Your Grace. For now, she must rest. No agitation, no long walks, and certainly no more arguments, if such things can be avoided.”
Rowan’s mouth tightened. “They will be avoided.”
The physician gave him a look over the rim of his spectacles, one that suggested he had attended enough noble households to know better than to trust a husband’s certainty. “See that they are.”
Emmeline almost laughed, but it came out as a weak breath instead.
Rowan stood and took the physician aside near the door. He spoke low, but Emmeline saw the purse he pressed into the man’s hand, too heavy for a simple visit. Dr. Arbuthnot looked as though he might protest, then met Rowan’s expression and thought better of it.
A moment later, the door closed.
Silence filled the room.
Emmeline looked down at her hands, where they twisted together over the counterpane. Her heart was beating too fast.
“I am sorry,” she said quickly.
Rowan turned back to her at once. “What?”
“I did not know.” The words tumbled out too fast, because if she slowed, she might cry.
“I should have paid better attention. I know this is not… I know it must be difficult after Catherine, and after everything that happened, and I have been unwell and foolish, and I should have understood sooner, but I did not think—”
“Emmeline.”
“I do not expect you to be pleased,” she continued, her voice thinning despite her effort to steady it.
“Truly, I do not. I know what this must bring back for you. I know you may feel frightened, or angry, or perhaps you think this is another complication, but I shall do exactly as Dr. Arbuthnot says, and I shall not endanger the child if I can help it, and—”
“Emmeline.” This time his voice broke through.
He sat beside her on the bed, close enough that the mattress dipped beneath his weight, and took her hand before she could twist her fingers raw. His palm was warm, firm, enclosing hers with such careful strength that the breath caught in her throat.
She looked at him at last. His face was almost ruined.
“I am not angry,” he said.
She searched his eyes, not trusting the words. “You are not?”
“No.” His thumb moved once across her knuckles. “Terrified, perhaps. But not angry.”
The honesty struck her so deeply that she could not answer.
Rowan looked down at their joined hands, and when he spoke again, his voice was lower, rougher, stripped of his usual authority.
“I owe you more than I know how to say.”
Emmeline’s chest tightened. “Rowan—”
“No.” He lifted his eyes to hers. “Let me speak. I have been very good at demanding that everyone else listen. But I have failed at speaking when it matters.”
She went still.
He drew a breath, and she saw how much it cost him. This man, who could command rooms and households and fortunes with a glance, looked almost uncertain with her hand in his.
“When Catherine nearly died bringing Aaron into the world, I told myself that the terror was the price of duty,” he said.
“When she grew frightened afterward, I told myself control would keep her safe. Then she died anyway, and I decided that wanting too much from life was dangerous. A wife. A child. A home that felt warm rather than merely well ordered.” His mouth twisted faintly.
“I decided I was better suited to managing things than loving them.”
Pain moved through Emmeline, deep and aching.
“And then you came,” he said.
Her eyes burned.
“You came into my house and did what I could not. You made Aaron laugh without forcing him to be brave first. You made him speak because you gave him room to take his time. You brought a dog into my hall, argued with me in my own rooms, looked at me and saw a man, not the duke.” His grip tightened.
“You made my life better. His life better. This entire house better. And I was too proud to admit that you had become necessary.”
The word stopped her breath.
For a moment, Emmeline could only stare at him, her fingers tightening around his until the bones of his hand pressed hard against her palm.
Her lips parted, but nothing came out. Something in her face must have changed, because Rowan’s thumb stilled over her knuckles, and his eyes searched hers with sudden, raw attention.
She looked down before he could see too much.
“When I learned you had kept Juliet’s secret,” he continued, “I was hurt. I will not pretend otherwise. But my anger was not only about the lie. It was fear that I had trusted you and could not survive needing you. If I allowed myself to depend upon you, I would lose you too. So, I did what I have always done when something starts to matter too much.” His eyes held hers, unguarded now.
“I tried to put distance between myself and the danger.”
“I was the danger?” she whispered.
His face tightened. “No. You were the happiness.”
The tears spilled then, silent and hot.
Rowan lifted his free hand as though he meant to touch her face, then stopped, waiting. The hesitation hurt her more sweetly than any certainty could have. She leaned into his palm before pride could interfere.
His hand cupped her cheek.
“I saw you fall,” he said, his voice shaking now.
“I saw you go white in that corridor, and for one moment I understood exactly what my life would be if you were taken from it. Empty. Unbearable.” His thumb brushed beneath her eye, catching a tear.
“I want you, Emmeline. I want this child. I want the life you have been building while I tried to pretend I did not need it. Because I love you.”
Emmeline stared at him, trembling beneath the weight of it.
She had imagined those words, feared them, buried them, told herself she could live without them. And now they were here, rough and imperfect and more precious because they had cost him bravery.
“I love you,” he said again, quieter. “I should have told you before fear made a coward of me.”
A sob almost escaped her, but she held it back long enough to speak. “You forgive me for keeping Juliet’s secret?”
He nodded. “Yes, my love.”
She smiled, “Thank you,” she exhaled. “But… if we are to be together, truly be together, you cannot shut me out again. You cannot punish me with coldness every time loving me frightens you. And I vow that I will always be honest with you. Wholly.”
“I know,” he said at once. “I will fail sometimes, Emmeline. I am not foolish enough to promise I will become an entirely different man by morning. But if you will have me back, I will spend every day learning how not to make you pay for my fear.”
Her heart trembled. For one heartbeat, she held still.
Then she reached for him.
Rowan made a sound low in his throat as she wrapped her arms around his neck, careful of her weakness but desperate all the same. He gathered her against him, one arm around her back, the other cradling her head as though she might vanish if he did not hold her properly.
“I love you,” she whispered against his shoulder.
His breath shuddered. “Say it again.”
She drew back just enough to look at him. His eyes were dark, desperate, no longer hiding. “I love you, Rowan.”
He kissed her.
It was slow, savoring. His mouth pressed to hers as if an apology could be given in touch, as if every tremor of his lips might undo the silence he had placed between them.
Emmeline answered with a soft, broken sound, her fingers sliding into his hair, and the heat that rose inside her was tangled with relief, tenderness, hunger, and the impossible sweetness of being chosen.
When he drew back, his forehead rested against hers.
“I love you,” he said. “Both of you.”
Her hand moved to her stomach, and his followed, covering it gently.
A knock came at the door.
They both froze.