Stolen By the Duke of Stone (Stolen by the Duke #13)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

“Rebecca?” Jessamine asked softly. She pushed slowly at the thick wooden door, the bottom whispering across the carpet.

Inside, Rebecca Dunston, the Dowager Countess of Cartwell, lay propped up against pillows, a soft bundle in her arms. To one side, a physician washed his hands in a bowl of steaming water.

Jessamine ignored him, paying attention only to her friend. Rebecca’s face was pale—paler than Jessamine had ever seen it—with eyes red-rimmed with exhaustion and a gentle, contented smile on her face.

“It’s all right,” she said, turning that smile to Jessamine. “You may come in.”

Jessamine crossed the room to her side in an instant. “How do you feel?”

She couldn’t forget the echoing sounds of the screams. The entire Minerva Club had been listening, all the ladies sitting downstairs and doing their best to calm themselves through the inevitable worry that attended childbirth.

“Well,” Rebecca said. “Tired, but well.”

She tilted the blankets in her arms, revealing a small, red face. Jessamine’s heart pinched at the sight of his tiny, closed eyes and pinched lips. He slept peacefully, untroubled by the world he now found himself in, held by his mother.

“He’s beautiful,” Jessamine breathed.

“I hope he resembles his mother more than his father.” For an instant, Rebecca bit her lip.

Jessamine rested her hand over Rebecca’s. “He will. After all, his father… My father…” she added, for the baby in Rebecca’s arm was her half-sibling, “is no longer here. And he will have the very best of mothers to take care of him.”

“And the very best of godmothers.” Rebecca sat up a little further, her mouth in a firm line now. “Say you will be his godmother, Jessie.”

Jessamine’s heart squeezed so violently she thought she might crack a rib. Her nose stung. “Are you quite certain?”

“You accepted me when I told you the very worst thing I had done. What else can I do but want you in my son’s life forever?”

“A little boy,” Jessamine said in wonder.

“He is that,” Rebecca confirmed with a proud smile. “I’ve decided to call him William.”

“It’s a fine name.” Jessamine reached out, brushing just one fingertip across William’s wrinkled forehead.

He was truly the most precious, wondrous of beings, and even though he was not technically hers, she felt as though she had been loving him long before he was born, and now that love finally had somewhere to be.

“Of course I will be his godmother,” she answered at last. “I would be honored.”

“Thank you.” The sternness on Rebecca’s face fell away, and she looked back down at the bundle in her arms. “He’s so tiny and so precious. And the world can be so cruel. What if—” Her lip trembled.

“Nothing will happen to him,” Jessamine said, more forcefully this time. “You are a countess. And my brother-in-law is a duke. We’ll help you through everything.”

“Thank you… Thank you, my friend.” Rebecca tucked her finger through the baby’s minuscule hand, an expression of adoration crossing her face as William held on. “I love him so, Jessie. More than anything I’ve ever loved in my life.”

“Yes, I know.” Jessamine leaned forward and kissed her friend on the forehead. “Just enjoy being with him.”

“Yes, but—” Rebecca coughed, the motion shaking her frame, and her skin paled even further.

Red dampened the sheets by her legs.

The physician moved from where he had been keeping watch at the side of the room.

“Lady Jessamine,” he said with the cultured yet urgent voice of a man who required immediate obedience.

“Please leave the room.” He took the child from Rebecca, handing her to a nearby maid, and drew the covers up.

“Be still, Lady Cartwell,” he said with far more gentleness. “It will be all right.”

Rebecca let out a wail of desperation, as though she had communed with the gods and knew something Jessamine did not.

Jessamine hesitated in the doorway, torn between a desire to obey the physician and her need to be there for her friend.

The physician looked up at her, his face tight with strain. “Now, Lady Jessamine.”

Jessamine fled the room, and the door slammed behind her.

An hour later

Jessamine pressed her fingers into her eyes so forcefully they ached, but nothing prevented the flow of tears.

This grief felt as though it came from some place far beyond her, opening a cavernous hole in her heart and letting her bleed out.

She rocked back and forth on the uncomfortable wooden bench, attempting to hold the full force of her pain inside. The physician stood before her, blood on his perfectly white shirt, his sleeves still rolled to reveal his lightly haired arms.

“Dead,” Jessamine repeated, the ugly word resonating through her body.

Surely Rebecca could not be dead. Not her lovely, lively friend who had so much—so very much—love to give. Beautiful, vivacious Rebecca with a laugh that could light any room, and a smile that put the sun to shame.

Surely Rebecca could not be dead.

It simply did not make sense with the world as Jessamine knew it.

“I’m very sorry,” the physician said. “I did everything I could.”

This was just like Percy, the baby brother she’d lost. Jessamine could remember the day like it was yesterday, the scar it left on her memory now tearing open all over again.

She recalled how it had felt to hold the tiny body in her arms—and how different such things had felt as a child rather than now as an adult—and to know that he was her brother, before her mother had gone into spasms.

The same thing, almost, had happened here. Jessamine had entered, and the mother had died.

“Did I…” She cleared her throat. “Was I the cause of—”

“No,” the physician said, almost too quickly.

“Not in the slightest, Lady Jessamine. I’m sure Lady Cartwell was relieved to see you.

She said often that she was glad William would have a godmother who would protect him.

I’ve seen the condition before, I’m afraid.

Sometimes, the strain of giving birth is too great, and tensions within the body rise too high.

In cases such as these, there is nothing anyone can do about it. ”

Jessamine’s throat felt thick and painful, as though she had swallowed broken glass. “I see.”

“The ladies downstairs are waiting to hear. I will send William down when I have finished examining him.” He nodded briskly, rose from his knees, and left, calling to his assistants as he did.

A kind man, but a busy one, and not one prepared to take on the task of assigning care to an infant.

Jessamine rose. She felt as though she had nails in all her joints. How strange that grief could do this, make her feel as tired and achy as if she were an old woman long before her time.

She took the stairs slowly, making her way through the townhouse to where the other ladies were gathered.

The Minerva Club was a collection of ladies of the more radical bluestocking variety, most of whom believed there was more to life than merely marrying and siring a dozen babies for one’s husband.

Though they were not, in general, opposed to marriage itself, if one could find a gentleman worthy enough.

The Dowager Marchioness of Marwich, for instance, had been married before her husband died, and she was the patroness of the club.

Jessamine had only joined because of Rebecca, and she had not been a member for very long; she had not been in London very long. And now, Rebecca was dead, and somehow, she had to find a way to explain how this could possibly have happened to all Rebecca’s closest friends.

She stepped into the room, and all eyes turned to her, ladies freezing in their variety of activities. Some had books in their lap, some embroidery, one lady was writing letters, and several were pacing, but none, Jessamine was sure, were focused on their tasks.

“Well?” Lady Marwich demanded.

She had half risen, one hand on her stick, but her expression indicated she already knew the answer.

Jessamine shook her head, her eyes burning all over again. No matter what she needed to do, she could not stop crying. “She is…” Her voice failed her.

Temperance Sutton, one of Jessamine’s friends and one of the youngest members at twenty, came forward with her hands outstretched. “I’m so sorry, dearest. Rebecca is—was… She was one of the best of us.”

Jessamine drew in a deep breath, squeezing her friend’s hands. “She named her son William.”

“The child survived?” Lady Marwich said, eyes narrowed. “Then the Dunston name lives on.”

Considering Rebecca had, against her will, married an earl many, many years her senior, Jessamine doubted she cared in the slightest whether the Dunston name lived on. What was important was that her son lived on.

“We must decide what to do with the child,” Miss Evelyn Walters said, shaking her head slightly. “That is our first priority. Once he has a home, we may grieve Rebecca as she deserves to be grieved.”

“Quite right,” Lady Marwich said. “The poor boy.”

“He has no mother or father,” Temperance mused, a frown drawn between her brows. “Who will take him?”

Jessamine rubbed her temples. A headache loomed, but she did not have time for that right now. There were more important things to think about.

And only one solution that she could see.

She stepped forward. “I will take him.”

Silence greeted her. Lady Marwich’s eyes narrowed into slits. “You?”

“Rebecca named me William’s godmother.”

“But you are a child,” Lady Marwich said.

“I am one-and-twenty,” Jessamine said, folding her arms. “Above the age of majority. Besides, I have no guardian who would deny me.”

“You have us,” Lady Marwich said.

Temperance winked. “Are you not fortunate?”

“Quite, Lady Temperance.” Lady Marwich leaned both hands against her cane. “Have you thought this through, Jessamine? You are unwed and living with your sister and brother-in-law. This could ruin your reputation. And affect theirs.”

“If I think it will harm Irene,” Jessamine said, “then of course I will act. But consider, my dear Lady Marwich: I am accustomed to the wilds of Scotland. What care I for the harsh words of the ton?”