“What are we going to do with him?” Sarah asked sadly as they flew home again. “It’s incredible to think he was born in France and grew up here, and all he wants to do is stay in England.” He was her only child now, and it pained her unbearably to lose him. No matter how busy she was here, she always had time for him, but he seemed to have very little interest in them. And the only thing France meant to him were memories of the Germans, and the lonely years without his father.

“Whitfield must be in his bones,” William tried to comfort her. “He’ll grow out of it. He’s ten years old, he wants to be with his friends. In a few years, he’ll be happy back here. He can go to the Sorbonne and live in Paris.” But he was already talking about going to Cambridge, like his father, and in some ways Sarah felt as though they had already lost him. She was still depressed about it over the New Year when they went back to the château, and she caught a dreadful cold. She’d had another one the month before, and she was incredibly tired and rundown after all the dashing about they’d done just before Christmas.

“You look terrible,” William said to her cheerfully, as she came downstairs on New Year’s morning. He was already in the kitchen, making coffee.

“Thank you,” she said gloomily, and then asked him if he thought Phillip would be happier there if they bought more horses.

“Stop worrying about him, Sarah. Children have their own lives to lead, independent of their parents.”

“He’s only a little boy,” she said, as tears filled her eyes unexpectedly. “And he’s the only little boy I have.” She started to really cry then, thinking of the little girl she had lost during the war, the sweet baby girl she had loved so much, and this boy who no longer seemed to need her. She felt as though her heart would break sometimes when she thought about it. It seemed so awful to have him so far away, and not have any more children, but she had never gotten pregnant again since William had come back from Germany. The doctors said it was possible, but it just hadn’t happened.

“My poor darling,” William soothed as he held her. “He’s a naughty boy for being so independent.” He himself had never gotten close to him, although he’d tried. But it had been awfully difficult coming back from the war, meeting a six-year-old child, and striking up a relationship with him at that point. In some ways, William knew that they would never be close now. And he also sensed that Phillip would never forgive him. It was as though he blamed William for going off to war and not being there for him, just as he blamed Sarah for the death of his sister. He never said exactly those words after his outburst at the funeral, but William always sensed that those were his feelings, and he never mentioned it to Sarah.

William made her go back to bed with some hot soup and hot tea that day, and she stayed in bed and cried over Phillip, and made drawings, and eventually dozed, while he came upstairs to check on her. He knew what was wrong with her, she was absolutely exhausted. But when the cold went to her chest, he telephoned the doctor to come and see her. He was always worried about her. He couldn’t bear it when she was ill, it was as though he was always afraid to lose her.

“That’s ridiculous I’m fine.” She argued with him, coughing horribly, once he told her he had called the doctor.

“I want him to give you something for that cough, before you wind up with pneumonia,” William said sternly.

“You know I hate medicine,” she said querulously. But the doctor came anyway, a sweet old man from another village. He had retired there after the war, and he was very nice, but she was still annoyed that he had come, and she repeated to him that she didn’t need a doctor.

“Bien sur, Madame … but Monsieur le Duc … it is not good for him to worry,” he told her diplomatically, and she relented as William left the room to get another cup of tea for her, and when he came back Sarah looked very subdued, and a little startled.

“Well, will she live?” William asked the doctor jovially, and the old man smiled and patted Sarah’s knee as he stood up to leave them.

“Most definitely, and for a very long time, I hope.” He smiled down at her and pretended to grow stern. “You will stay in bed, though, until you feel better, n’est-ce pas?”

“Yes, sir,” she said obediently, and William wondered what he had done to make her so docile. All the fight had suddenly gone out of her and she looked very calm and very quiet.

The doctor hadn’t given her any medicine, for all the reasons he’d explained to her while William was out of the room, but he urged her to drink hot soup, and hot tea, and continue just what she was doing. And after he left, William wondered if he was too old and didn’t know his business. There were a lot of medications one could take these days so one didn’t wind up with pneumonia, or TB, and he wasn’t sure soup was enough. It almost made him wonder if he should take her to Paris.

She was lying in bed, looking out the window pensively as he came back upstairs, and he moved his wheelchair close to her, and touched her cheek. But the fever was gone, all she had was that ghastly cough, and he was still worried.

“I want to take you to Paris tomorrow if you’re not better by then,” he said quietly. She was too important to him, to ever risk losing her.

“I’m fine,” she said quietly, an odd look in her eyes as she smiled at him. “I’m perfectly fine … only very stupid.” She hadn’t figured it out herself. For the past month she had been so busy, all she could think of was Christmas and Whitfield’s. And jewels, and nothing else. And now …

“What does that mean?” He frowned as he looked at her, and she rolled over on her back with a grin.

She sat up in bed and leaned close to him, kissing him gently in spite of the cold, but she had never loved him as much as at this moment. “I’m pregnant.”

Nothing registered on his face for an instant, and then he stared at her in amazement. “You’re what? Now?”

“Yup.” She beamed at him, and then lay back against her pillows again. “I think it’s about two months, I’ve been so completely absorbed by the shop that I forgot everything.”

“Good Lord.” He slumped back into his wheelchair with a grin, and took her fingers in his own, and then leaned forward again to kiss them. “You are amazing!”

“I didn’t do this by myself, you know. You must have given it a bit of help sometime too.”

“Oh, darling …” He leaned close to her again, knowing full well how much she had wanted another baby. And so had he. But they had both given up after the last three years when nothing happened. “I hope it’s a girl,” he said softly, and he knew she did, too, not to take Lizzie’s place, but to be a balance to Phillip. And William had never even seen his little girl, never known her before she died, and he longed to have one. Sarah secretly hoped, too, that in some way, the birth of the baby might heal Phillip. He had loved Lizzie so much, and been so different, and so angry, and so distant once they lost her.

William pulled himself out of his wheelchair, and laid down beside Sarah. “Oh, darling, how I love you.”

“I love you too,” she whispered, holding tightly to him, and they lay there together for a long time, thinking how blessed they were, and looking forward to the future.






Chapter 19





’M not sure.” Sarah frowned as she looked at the new pieces with Emanuelle. They had just been delivered from the same workshop Chaumet used, and Sarah wasn’t sure if she liked them. “What do you think?”