Chapter Eighteen
Happily returned to Kirkston Place for weeks and weeks now, Duncan marched up and down the line of servants he had ordered assembled in the large sitting room, glaring at them, willing them to quake in their shoes. “Which of ye made my wife cry?”
The butler, Barclay, and the housekeeper, Mrs. Barclay, exchanged shocked glances.
“Made her cry, yer lordship?” Mrs. Barclay turned to the string of maids alongside her. “What do any of ye know of this? What have ye done to make our lady unhappy?”
All the maids, their eyes wide with fear, shook their heads.
The cook, Mrs. Oxworthy, wrung her hands in her apron. “Lady Merry is brighter than sunshine, my lord. None of us would do anything to dim her light.”
“What is going on here?” Merry asked from the doorway. “Duncan?”
He tipped a nod at the servants. “Which of them upset ye? Tell me so I might release them without any references.”
“Duncan! Never say such a horrid thing.” She hurried over and inserted her petite form between him and the line of his employees. “Each of them is loyal and true. They do an excellent job of caring for us.”
He leaned closer, determined to discover the culprit. “Then what brought on yer tears?”
More of the worrisome things welled in her lovely blue eyes, but she blinked them away and stamped her foot.
“I do not know. For some ridiculous reason, I am on the verge of tears constantly, and I hate it.” Without turning, she shook a finger in the direction of the servants.
“But I will not have you bullying our fine people, so just stop it.”
“I was not bullying them!” Could she not see that he was merely trying to protect her?
She marched over to Mrs. Barclay and Mrs. Oxworthy. “Was he bullying you?”
“No, my lady.” Mrs. Barclay hurried to shake her head. “His lordship would never browbeat us. He was merely worried about yer welfare and treatment.”
Mrs. Oxworthy rubbed her nose and glanced from side to side as she stepped forward. “I noticed ye changed yer wishes for breakfast to weak tea and dry toast, my lady. Might ye not be feeling well in the mornings?”
With both hands pressed to her middle, Merry made a face. “I certainly do not.” Then her eyes flared open wider. “Surely, you do not think? So soon?”
The cook beamed with a knowing smile. “Might ye be checking with yer maid about certain appointments that may have been missed?”
“What appointments?” Duncan was bewildered about how he had lost control of this situation, which he had pulled together to help his precious Merry. “Since when does Jenny keep yer diary? I thought ye managed it yerself.”
“Jenny keeps track of more personal appointments.”
“What kind of personal appointments?”
“Appointments I am unwilling to discuss in front of all our people,” Merry said. “Should we not beg their forgiveness and allow them to return to their duties?”
Duncan dismissed them with a curt upward jut of his chin. “They know I value them.”
The servants dispersed, the women scurrying away with smiles on their faces, smiles that made Duncan frown. “What the devil do they know that I do not? All but Barclay looked like one of Mother’s cats that had just finished all the cream in the larder.”
“I truly need to speak with Jenny and confirm my suspicions.” Merry’s tears had disappeared. Mischief and delight now danced in her eyes.
“I am going with ye.”
With a put-upon huff and a roll of her eyes, she took his arm and grudgingly tugged him alongside her. “You might regret it.”
“Why would I regret any conversation ye might have with yer maid?”
“We will be discussing womanly things, and I am not speaking about needlepoint, pianoforte, or which book I am currently reading.”
A subtle leeriness dawned on him. Womanly things. Courses and their timing. Feckin’ hell. Had it happened already? He halted at the base of the stairs and took hold of her, turning her to face him. “Are ye with child?” he whispered.
With more compassion and understanding than he ever thought existed, Merry reached up and touched his cheek. “It will be all right, Duncan. I promise.”
“Ye canna possibly know that.”
“I have six sisters, five of whom have successfully brought forth healthy babies. My mother had eight children with no issues.” While caressing his cheek, she grazed her thumb along his bottom lip, making him yearn to catch her up against him and protect her from every possible evil.
“It will be all right,” she repeated. “Fight your fears, my champion. Don’t let them take you over. ”
“I canna lose ye,” he said, his voice cracking. He gave in to his needs, gathering her into his arms and holding her tight. “I could never bear it.”
She hugged him back just as tightly. “I am healthy and strong, and your strength makes me even stronger. Look how happy we have been since you shunned the horrible memories of your past and told them to be gone.”
He closed his eyes, fighting to regain control and send his panic packing. “What do we do to keep ye as safe as possible?”
“We live and enjoy life.”
“It canna be that simple.”
“And we do not threaten the servants.”
“They made ye cry.”
“They did not. My condition made me cry.” She shifted with a delighted giggle. “You had best pray that I do not become like Blessing whenever she is in the family way. The devil himself fears her.”
After meeting Merry’s strong-willed sister, Duncan thoroughly understood why, but decided it prudent to keep that opinion to himself. “When will it happen? The bairn. It’s coming.”
“That is something Jenny and I shall have to discuss. She keeps up with the dates and such with much more accuracy than I do.”
“Ye will tell me when ye know?”
She stared at him as if he had suddenly sprouted a second head. “Well, of course I will tell you. As the father, you need to know what to expect.”
Renewed panic filled him. “We dinna have a nursery. Or a room for a nurse, a nanny, and a wet nurse.”
She smoothed her hand down her front, which appeared as flat as ever. “We have time to prepare. These things do not happen overnight.”
“Maybe not, but these preparations take time—and they’ll need to not only be completed here in London but in Galkirk as well.”
With a plotting thoughtfulness he had already learned meant trouble, she slowly nodded. “Probably Galkirk first. Will we not be in the country during Yuletide and the first of the year?”
“We will be wherever ye wish us to be.” He urged her upstairs, his thoughts awhirl with names of architects, builders, and designers. “Talk to yer Jenny, aye? I’ll be needing a date to give to the workers for when I wish everything to be ready.”
She caught hold of his hands and squeezed. “Breathe, Duncan. Everything will be fine. I am certain of it.”
He wished he possessed her certainty. All he had right now was something akin to what he had felt during the war right before riding into battle. “Speak with Jenny and then come straight away to the library. I’ll be there drafting letters.”
After pecking a kiss to his cheek, she scurried up the stairs as if floating on a cloud—and she probably was because her dream was coming to fruition.
It wasn’t the dream that frightened Duncan, but the nightmare of possibly losing her.
*
Six Months Later…
Galkirk
Lowlands of Scotland
Merry lay in the bed, stroking her enormous belly, unable to believe how large she had already become, when, according to her and Jenny’s calculations, the baby shouldn’t come until close to the end of December. “I am bigger than your horse.”
“Nay, love. Ye are perfect. Perfect in every way.” Duncan kissed the mound of their child, then rested his cheek against it, smiling as the little one moved, making her middle roll and shift like a mountain housing a sleeping dragon. “What a fine, braw lad he is. Look how strong!”
“Or a lassie,” she gently corrected him, even though she felt certain that she carried the next Marquess of Kirkston. “What will you do if we have a little girl?”
“Love her as much as I love her beautiful mother.”
Proud of him for tamping down his fears—or, at the very least, not voicing them—she combed her fingers through his dark hair as he rested his head on her middle. “I love you,” she whispered. “So very much.”
“I love ye more, my own, more than ye will ever understand.” He lifted his head and gave her a tender kiss. “Ye healed my heart and soul and gave me a happiness I never thought I would know.”
“You are going to make me cry.” She blinked faster, batting away the tears.
“Nay, dinna cry,” he said softly in that deep Scottish brogue of his that still made her heart beat faster. He kissed her again, then gently brushed her wild, disheveled hair back from her face. “We only allow happiness in this house, ye ken?”
“They would be happy tears.” She trailed a finger along his jawline, tickling her way through the dark stubble. Something had been troubling her for a few weeks now, and her heart nudged her that it was time to help Duncan prepare. “You remember Remy and Gwynnie? Grace and Wolfe’s twins?”
“Aye.”
“Well…before they were born…Grace became quite large with them.”
“Aye, she would. What with carrying the two bairns rather than the one.” He went still, staring at her for the span of several heartbeats before shifting to stare at her belly. “No.”
“I am not certain, mind you, but it is a possibility. After all, you were a twin—and just look how enormous I am, and it just being September.”
He rose from the bed and started pacing; the lamplight set his glorious nakedness aglow. “Two,” he kept muttering while raking his hands through his hair. And then he halted and turned to her. Even from across the room, she saw the terror in his eyes. “There canna be two. Two doubles the danger.”