She was saved from answering by the arrival of the tea service, which gave Darius further opportunity to study her. There was an agitated quality to her, in her movements, around her eyes and mouth. He’d seen Vivian in many moods, from uncertain to angry to passionate, but she’d always had a quality of self-possession.

She passed him his tea, prepared with both cream and sugar, and Darius watched while she poured her own.

“You’re tired, Vivvie,” he said, “and maybe a little frayed around the edges from the birth and delivery. Was it very bad?”

“Bad?” She set the teapot down but kept her fingers wrapped around the handle, as if a little porcelain pot might steady her.

“I thought of you.” He set his teacup aside and saw his hand was reaching forward to rub a slow circle on her shoulder. She looked in want of cuddling to him, in want of comfort. “I thought of you constantly. Childbirth is legendarily uncomfortable. That you suffered… I would wish it otherwise.”

Was he the only man in all creation who would have borne a child to spare the mother her travail?

“I have a healthy son.” She spoke as if reciting from a copybook. “William has his heir, and it was worth it. Angela said her first took twice as long as little Will did.”

“You’ve named him William? The quintessential good English name. I like it.”

“Wilhelm, actually.” She turned a faint smile on him. Had she wondered what he’d think of the name? “Wilhelm Fordham Longstreet, after William’s grandmother, Wilhelmina, who came over with the court of German George.”

Darius’s smile faded, though he didn’t drop his hand, because Vivian wasn’t protesting the contact. “Interesting middle name. Your idea?”

“William’s.” Vivian slanted a puzzled look at him over her shoulder. “He chose the names, and I like them. Your brother’s eldest is named Ford, isn’t he?”

“Fordham. After his uncle, Darius Fordham Lindsey.”

“Oh.”

She looked so completely nonplussed, Darius put aside the burning need to meet Vivian’s son—his son, too, in a sense—and cast around for something, anything, to keep the conversational shuttlecock aloft. “Have you hired a nurse yet?”

“I’m borrowing one from Angela,” Vivian said, looking relieved at the change in topic. “She’s here only during the daylight hours, and a baby requires care ’round the clock.”

“Vivvie, I know how this works, because I’ve been through it before. You want to be a good mother, and I know you are, but that means you’re reluctant to let anybody, save perhaps your sister, deal with the child at all. Because you’re not using a wet nurse, you must be up and down all night with him, and then you’re trying to run William’s household by day as well. This is how women end up with nervous exhaustion.”

“You know too much.” Vivian hunched forward, but she didn’t shrug off his hand, so he continued to rub her back. “Angela scolds me similarly though.”

“She isn’t scolding. She’s trying to look after you.”

Vivian scowled at him over her shoulder. “You shouldn’t be doing that.” Now she aimed a look at his hand where it rested on her shoulder.

“I’ll bargain with you. You nap at least in the afternoon when the child naps, and I’ll leave off dunning you.” Though of course, he had nothing to bargain with and wouldn’t be on the premises to dun her—or rub her back or cuddle her or anything.

The current of bleakness common to all their dealings widened, threatening to engulf even his joy in being with her.

Until Vivian gave up a sigh, a tired sigh to Darius’s ears. “I could. I could go to sleep right now, in fact.”

“Is the baby asleep?”

“I hope so. You say John’s mother went through this?”

“I had to practically move her bed into the nursery. She never really recovered from the childbirth, and she was terrified the child would not thrive.”

Vivian nodded. “I can understand being terrified.”

“For God’s sake, Vivian, you’ve said the baby is healthy and growing, the delivery was uncomplicated, and you’ve got at least a day nurse.” Darius sat forward to slide his arm around her waist. “You’re a good mother, I’d stake my life on that, and all you need is a little more rest.”

“I do.” She let her head rest on his shoulder, and Darius rejoiced to offer her even that passing comfort. William should be doing this for her, restoring her spirits, assuring her of her competence, but he was likely too involved with the opening of the fall parliamentary session, or maybe too damned dignified.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” Darius asked.

“Of course, though I doubt William will attend.”

“Not attend the christening of his heir?” Darius shifted to consider Vivian more closely. The tension underlying her fatigue was William’s doing, Darius would bet his horse on it. “He’s unwell, then?”

Vivian nodded, so Darius waited, hoping she’d elaborate.

“Under the weather,” was all she said. “He caught a cold this winter at Longchamps and struggled to throw it off for most of the spring. He’s lost ground, Darius, and lately he’s very weak.”

“I was afraid he’d give up when the child arrived. It appears that’s the case.” The irony of it, that Darius should have spent years wishing his own father into the ground, and now grieve William Longstreet’s imminent passing, was not lost on him.

“Give up?” Vivian lifted her cheek from his shoulder to regard him. “I could just… I’m not ready for him to leave me alone with this baby to raise, a huge estate to see to, several other properties. The title is old, Darius, and the properties are many and complicated, and then too, William had investments, and I don’t know his man of business, and the solicitors are almost as old as William. I hardly know how to go on now as things stand, and if William dies…”

“When he dies”—Darius stroked her hair, hating the anxiety riding her so hard—“he’ll have made generous provision for you in his will.”

“He told you this?”

“He hasn’t discussed it with me, no, but the man wasn’t going to put you up to providing him an heir then ignore the magnitude of your sacrifice, Vivian.”

“Sacrifice?” She snorted and got up to pace. “I should just ask him, I know that, and he’d tell me, but it seems so… callous, like something Portia would do.”

“Portia Springer?” Darius rose too. “Not somebody whose company I’d seek. Come here, Vivian, and let me hold you a moment, and then I’ll be on my way. It doesn’t do for me to be closeted with you here for more than a few minutes, and you need to be napping in any case.”

And didn’t he just sound like the soul of avuncular wisdom, when what he wanted was to stand guard at her bedroom door, ensuring she wasn’t disturbed until she damned well caught up on her rest.

He held her, the way he’d held John’s mother when she was so tired and worn and bewildered as a new mother. The way he’d wished somebody had held him on more than one occasion.

“I’ll wish you good day, then,” Vivian murmured, though she remained quiet against him. Her shape was different than it had been over the summer. To Darius, it was wonderful in a whole new way. Still Vivvie, but even better, even more holdable, and worth cherishing.

“Walk me to the door, Vivvie,” Darius said, dropping his arms. “Then go upstairs and take a damned nap. You’ll feel worlds better, and the nurse will summon you if Will gets fretful.”

Will, his son, named Wilhelm Fordham. Decent of Lord Longstreet to do that, beyond decent.

Vivian paused before they left the library. “I’m glad you came. More glad than you know. If the baby hadn’t just gotten to sleep—”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Darius assured her. He’d see her tonight in his dreams too, of course. “You’ll rest now. Promise me.”

“I promise.” Vivian tried for a smile, but it was a shy effort.

Darius kissed her cheek, only her cheek. “Get as much rest between then and now as you can.”

She leaned in, her forehead on his chest as if she were drawing strength, then straightened and took his proffered arm. Dilquin met them at the door, handing Darius his cane and hat.

Darius eyed the older fellow. “I’m telling your butler you’ve promised to nap. I will trust his discretion to see you keep your word.”

“The housekeeper and Mrs. Ventnor’s nursery maid will abet me in this cause, sir,” the butler volunteered. “Her ladyship will look in the pink tomorrow when she takes the baron about for the first time.”

The baron. Darius’s son already had a courtesy title and was going to sit in the Lords one day. It boggled the mind of a plain mister, it did, but Darius found himself smiling as he walked back to his rooms.

He could afford better now. Wilton’s death not a month past had released some funds in trust, and Averett Hill was turning a steady profit. Then too, all the jewels Darius had been given—had earned—were of good quality and had been sold so the funds could be invested along with the final installment William had provided. All in all, Darius was well on his way to thriving financial health.

So he considered where a man ought to move, if he wanted quarters suitable for the occasional visit from his one and only… godson.

Seventeen

“You are as nervous as a bridegroom,” Valentine Windham said. “Hold still, or you’ll be looking as tumbled as one.”

“Men are not tumbled,” Darius retorted, but he raised his chin so Val could retie the knot in Darius’s cravat. “Nothing elaborate, if you please. This is a sober occasion.”

“You’re not the kind to show it when you fret.” Val finished with the knot, then moved on to reposition the boutonniere gracing Darius’s lapel. “What has you so nervous?”