Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
“Does he have a fever?” Andrew asked when he visited last thing at night before going to bed.
Days passed. Andrew did his best to keep himself to himself, while still checking in on William every time he thought Jessamine might be elsewhere.
As time went on, however, it seemed whenever he entered the nursery, Jessamine was there, cradling William and singing to him.
“No.” Jessamine’s eyes were ringed with shadows, but she forced a smile. “But he’s being a little crotchety.”
William squalled in her arms. Andrew looked down at the babe in not insignificant alarm. “Is something else wrong with him, then?”
“Not that I can tell. Lucy tells me that children sometimes go through periods like this.” Jessamine deposited William on her lap and rubbed her forehead. “He is fed, changed, and I am doing my best to soothe him, but there is nothing to be done. All we must do is wait this out.”
“Surely there must be something. He would not cry for no reason.”
She laughed. “You cannot apply your formidable sense of logic to a baby. Some babies just get colicky, and there’s not much to be done about it.”
“Colicky?”
“Colic. Where a baby cries for no reason.” Jessamine sagged against the wall, the screaming babe in her arms. “Exhausting, I grant you, but nothing of concern. It happened plenty during my time in Scotland.”
“How many babies did you encounter there?”
“It was a small village, and everyone pulled together. Very different from here,” she added dryly. “When someone had a baby, we all did what we could to help. I saw plenty of colic, and I helped out plenty of exhausted mothers. This will pass, I assure you.”
“How long?”
“It differs from baby to baby, but hopefully only a few more weeks.”
Andrew’s jaw snapped together. “Weeks? Will you be holding him the entire time?”
“Lucy will take a little of it, and after all, I can hardly feed him. So I must take some breaks.”
“And sleep?”
“This chair is perfectly comfortable.” She nodded toward a chair that was, in Andrew’s opinion, not in the least suitable for sleeping. “I’m perfectly all right, husband.”
She did not look perfectly all right. She looked exhausted, but there was a jut to her jaw that told him any attempt on his part to compel her into bed would result in another argument.
“I can hold William if you would like to sleep,” he said stiffly.
“Oh.” Jessamine peered at him, a smile crossing her face. “I can handle this, thank you. Particularly with Lucy’s help.” She hefted the infant a little further up into her arms.
The boy had been growing quickly, although he was still so small.
Whenever Andrew saw him crying like that, he felt another wave of helplessness.
Now he was the duke; he could do a great many things, but he could not fix whatever ailed William.
He could not provide the things that Jessamine—or Lucy, even—could.
None of his connections, rules, wealth or influence could make the slightest difference to a boy who knew nothing except the arms that held him and the breast that fed him.
Abruptly frustrated with himself and the situation in which they now found themselves, Andrew strode out of the room and into his bedchamber, where he spent a very indifferent night listening to the distant sound of a baby’s cry and knowing that Jessamine would not be sleeping.
The colic continued for the next week straight. Andrew increasingly ate meals on his own, sending trays to the nursery that came back largely uneaten. Whenever he visited, William was invariably crying, and Jessamine was invariably attempting to comfort him in the soothing embrace of her arms.
Whatever magic she had wielded in the past made no difference to the child now. And practically underneath Andrew’s gaze, he saw her growing increasingly pale and thin, as though he watched her waste away.
No more of this.
When at dinner the next day she once again failed to arrive, he made the now-familiar trek to the nursery. Once again, William was crying, and once again Jessamine was jiggling him about the room, singing under her breath.
Her voice was hoarse. Dark circles ringed her eyes, and her movements were heavy with exhaustion.
“Jessamine.” His voice rang out, making her jump, but he’d had quite enough of her stubbornness; he would not be taking no for an answer. “When was the last time you ate?”
“I—” Her brow furrowed, and she stopped her pacing. “I imagine I had breakfast.”
“You did not,” he said grimly. “At least, none that could be discerned from the full tray you returned downstairs.”
“You are keeping watch on me?”
“You are my wife,” he returned, hearing the sharp note in his voice. There was nothing to be done about that. If she made him angry, then she would have to face the consequences. “If you are actively starving yourself, I think I deserve to know. Don’t you?”
“I’m not starving myself.”
“Then tell me, when was the last time you ate?”
“If not breakfast, then yesterday.”
“During which you barely touched the food I had sent up. If I hadn’t sent anything up, would you have come looking? I doubt it.” He advanced now, taking the babe from her arms.
He stirred, his cry growing ever louder at having been disturbed.
Jessamine had made it plain that nothing she did could soothe him—he was beyond being soothed—so there was no need for her to remain in this stuffy room.
“Lucy,” he ordered, and the door opened, revealing the nursemaid. “You will assume responsibility for William for the next three hours.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” She opened her arms for William, whom Andrew handed to her.
“Three hours?” Jessamine protested. “That is far too long. I can’t be separated from him for that long!”
“You can and you will.” He took her hand and attempted to lead her downstairs. “Dinner is waiting, and you will eat, wife.”
She resisted him. “Send a tray up, and I assure you I will eat it all.”
“No. Everyone must have a break from their duties at regular intervals, and you have not been taking your breaks.” He eyed her sternly.
“I did not schedule any of my soldiers to be on duty for longer than twelve hours at maximum, and you have been at this tyrant’s beck and call for over a week now. ”
“Andrew—”
Unwilling to suffer any further objections, he took hold of her waist and flung her over his shoulder, the way he had carried more than one fallen man in his time.
She struggled, protesting, but he ignored her, hooking his arm over her knees to hold her steady.
Her hands braced against his lower back.
“Do you intend to carry me around your house like—like some sort of pantomime villain?” she demanded.
“Is that how you see yourself? The distressed damsel?”
“No! But you can hardly protest that your behavior is gentlemanly.”
“Within my walls, I am at liberty to be rather less than a gentleman, if I so choose.” He ignored Foxwell’s slightly startled gaze.
“William is precious to us both, but there is nothing you can do for him, and there is plenty you can do for yourself. Eating, for one.” He finally deposited her in the dining room, where dinner still sat, waiting for them.
“And then sleep. You’re dead on your feet. ”
She swayed a little, proving his point, then placed a hand against his chest, supporting herself. “You are extraordinarily high-handed, Your Grace.”
“If you had adopted sensible practices when it came to caring for William, I would not need to be so.” He took her hand, trying not to think about the smallness of her fingers wrapped in his, or how soft her skin was, and led her to the table.
“If the only way you eat is through my high-handedness, then rest assured I will continue to be high-handed. And if you dislike that, there is only one solution.”
Her stomach audibly growled, and she sighed. Her eyelashes fluttered as she looked down at the spread before them. Her shoulders relaxed, and he knew he had won. “Very well, but let it be known that I will not stand for being thrown over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t have taken such care with potatoes,” he assured her, drawing a smile from her.
She sat at the head of the table, serving herself, and he did the same opposite her. This was the first meal they had shared in what felt like weeks, but there was a distinct lack of awkwardness.
Perhaps his kidnapping of her had broken what ice remained between them. She spoke idly in between bites of her food, telling him a little of her life in Scotland. There was affection in her voice, but he had the impression it had been a lonely time.
“I hadn’t wanted to return to London, you know,” she said.
“Why?”
“Well, because I had my life up there, and I was…” She hesitated, her gaze briefly meeting his before glancing away.
He suspected she had been about to tell him she’d been happy, but couldn’t quite make herself believe it.
“I liked the slow pace of life,” she said, and this was indeed the truth; he could feel her sincerity.
“And I loved the people. In London, everyone has something they want and a goal they have in mind, and so they do things specifically to achieve that goal. I always wonder if the things I say will be somehow taken out of proportion and used against me.”
“You have friends here.”
He made no mention of the Minerva Club. He knew of it only tangentially; Rebecca had been a member, and so had Jessamine, although she made no mention of it now. He saw no harm in it, so long as she did nothing to threaten his reputation.
“And you made an excellent marriage,” he added.
Her lips twitched. “How modest.”
“Is being a duchess not better than living in obscurity in the back of beyond?”
“Well.” She considered the point, her head tilting to one side like a bird. “It certainly has its perks. I could not have known or cared for William if I had still been in Scotland.”
“Is that all?”
“You know I never aspired to an excellent marriage like this. Nevertheless, you have a very lovely home,” she added politely.
“So you would have been just as satisfied if a villager had offered for your hand?” he asked, unoffended but curious. “Did you have a beau there?”
“Oh, no!” She flushed. “I had no thoughts of marriage while I lived with my aunt.”
“I see.”
“Please don’t think me ungrateful,” she said quickly. “I know I have not always been appreciative of what you’ve done for me, but I am thankful that you gave me this chance to be your wife and William’s mother.”
He almost laughed at her earnestness, as though she feared she might have hurt him. If theirs had been a love match, then perhaps it would, but she had made her reservations about the marriage clear from the very beginning.
Now, all he needed to do was get her from his head.
“You need have no fear of offending me,” he said, rising and offering her his hand.
“Now it’s time for bed. Don’t argue with me, Jessamine.
You may tell me anything you please from your past, and I will have no qualms about it, but if you cross me, I shall find a thoroughly wicked way to make you pay. ”
She looked up at him shyly, placing her fingers in his once again. “And if I were to protest?”
“Protest while you’re sleeping,” he said curtly, and was rewarded with a smile that made his chest feel lighter.
He hadn’t known a smile could do that, and he quashed the feeling as ruthlessly as he dared.
So much for keeping his distance from her.
He ought to have known from the start, from her defiance and her beauty and her love of William, that it would have been an impossible task.
No one could resist her for long, not even him.
Not even when he believed it to be the best thing for both of them.
Although now, he wondered if that were even the case, or if there could be some form of future for them, after all, in a way he hadn’t considered before.
Partners.
Perhaps even… friends.