“Sometimes dignity is all that’s left to us. You’ll send for me if there’s any change in his condition?”

“Of course.” Vivian showed him out and felt keenly the silence in the house in the wake of the morning’s developments. She had to face her husband’s approaching death, but how, exactly, did one face such a loss? She mentally put the question to her Maker, but no almighty answer rained down from the puffy clouds in the pretty September sky. Not knowing what else to do, Vivian fetched her son, had a rocking chair moved into William’s room, and brought the baby with her so she could sit by William’s bedside and pray for his full recovery.

* * *

Valentine Windham had agreed to accompany Darius to the christening in exchange for Darius’s promise to attend the opening concert of the symphony season. Darius had updated his wardrobe, procured a rattle in the shape of a scepter for the baby, and ordered flowers sent ’round to the new mother.

All that remained was to call upon Lord William—as a courtesy—the day before the christening. A simple social call had never caused a grown man so much trepidation or so much dithering over his attire.

“Good afternoon, sir,” the butler said, handing Darius’s hat and cane off to a footman. “The Honorable Mr. Darius Lindsey?”

“Yes. If you’d take my card to Lord Longstreet?”

“Lord Longstreet is likely not at home.” The butler’s brow puckered as he led Darius into the library. “Shall I let Lady Longstreet know you’re here?”

“I don’t want to bother her,” Darius said. Calling on William was one thing; calling on Vivian just weeks after she’d given birth wasn’t as easy to explain.

“You’re sure?”

“I am.” Darius took a minute to glance around the parlor. The wainscoting was dark, the walls done in a forest green, the gilt kept to a minimum. A comfortable, masculine room with well-padded chairs—probably William’s preferred territory.

“If you’ll just wait a moment, sir.” The butler bowed slightly. “I’ll retrieve your hat and cane.”

“Certainly.” Darius nodded, not at all displeased to have a few minutes to study this little piece of Vivian’s world, and just perhaps, to hear the sound of a baby crying elsewhere in the house.

He heard the butler’s dry tones and a softer voice, the words indistinct. Without warning, the door opened, and Vivian stood there, her expression surprised. “Mr. Lindsey?”

“Viv—my lady.” He didn’t approach her, but he wanted to. God in heaven, he wanted to. “A pleasure to see you.” A pleasure and a towering relief, also the answer to myriad heartfelt prayers for the lady’s well-being.

“I didn’t know you’d come calling.” She took a few steps into the room, paused, and turned to close the door. “Dilquin suggested William might like me to read something besides Muriel’s diaries, but he neglected to mention we had a caller.”

God bless Dilquin. “I thought a call the day before the christening might be courteous. I gather William is from home.”

“He’s… unavailable.” Vivian looked away, her expression bleak. “Would you like some tea?”

“Tea sounds good.” Bilge water would sound good, provided he could drink it in Vivian’s parlor, in Vivian’s company—though William’s situation sounded not good at all. Darius held his ground while Vivian went to signal a footman. His eyes traveled over her as discreetly as he could manage, silently cataloging the changes: Her figure was once more in evidence, but more lush. The waistline of her dress was raised, though Darius could tell her breasts were fuller, her hips a little rounder, her backside a touch more generous.

The sight of her made his mouth go dry, she was so lovely. There was a softness about her, a maturity that made what had been pretty before beautiful now—despite the fatigue he could see in her eyes, and in the way she moved a little carefully to the sofa and took a seat.

She raised her gaze to his. “Will you join me?”

He could not tell if he was supposed to be Darius or Mr. Lindsey today, but he accepted the invitation and sat beside her, leaning close enough for a little whiff of her scent. “The baby is well?”

The exact right question to ask a new mother, and the answer a new father very much needed to know.

Vivian smiled broadly. “Healthy as a little piglet. He’s perfect, Darius. Just… perfect, and when he smiles, it’s impossible to believe there’s misery or strife anywhere in God’s creation.”

“You’re smitten with your own offspring,” Darius accused, returning her smile. “He’s keeping you up nights, I’d guess.”

“He’s growing.” Vivian smoothed a hand down her skirts, and Darius was pleased to note that with him, she did not blush. “Growing boys need sustenance.”

“You’re not using a wet nurse?”

“My mother didn’t endorse it, and neither does Angela, and all four of hers are thriving. I don’t want to hand my son off to a stranger, not until I have to.”

Our son, Darius mentally corrected her, though he hadn’t the right. “What does that mean?”

“‘Boys go into men’s hands,’” she quoted, “though I have a few years before that happens.”

She had those years, while Darius did not, and yet he didn’t begrudge them to her—exactly. “I’m glad you’re not using a wet nurse. If nature is any guide, it’s a peculiar practice at best, but is there something you’re not telling me, Vivvie?”

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.