Jane nearly choked on a bite of bread.
Mrs. Scott smirked. “Blushing to your roots, you are, my lady. And here I thought his lordship had cured you of modesty by now.”
“I am not blushing,” Jane lied.
The older woman ignored her. “Keep it up and you’ll give little George a brother or sister in no time. Don’t you worry, they’re rich enough, you can have as many as you like.”
Jane covered her face with one hand. “Mrs. Scott…”
“Oh, hush. You may wonder why I say it, but I’ll tell you—you do nothing wrong by making him sweat a bit. It’ll do him good to learn his place.”
Jane lowered her hand, her eyes wide.
Mrs. Scott leaned in slightly, voice dropping as she picked up the empty tray. “Only… if last night’s any indication, he’ll put another baby in you sooner than you’d like.”
Jane opened her mouth. Closed it. Her face burned. And for the first time in what felt like months, she laughed. It burst out of her in a helpless, startled sound, and she had to set down her knife before she dropped it.
Mrs. Scott looked back over her shoulder with a wink. “Aye, that’s better. You laugh more, my lady. And don’t give up on that foolish boy.”
She paused at the doorway, her tone softening. “He’s all jealous, for no good reason. Thinks he’s got to hold you tight or lose you. He’ll get there. Just be patient with him, my lady.”
Jane sat very still, her laughter faded—but not her smile. “I’ll try.”
“Good,” said Mrs. Scott, with a nod. “And don’t let him forget what he’s got.”
* * *
The discussion was in full swing when the parlor door opened and Mary stepped in, cheeks slightly flushed, posture rigid with nerves.
“The Most Honorable the Marquess of Blackmeer, Major-General in His Majesty’s Army, Knight Grand Cross of the Most Honorable Order of the Bath…” She paused, brow furrowed.“Colonel-in-Chief of… something. I forgot, my lady—I recited it three times with no mistake, I swear.”
Lady Charlotte turned in her seat with a frown. “Mary, what in God’s name are you doing?”
“I am announcing his lordship, my lady,” Mary said, flustered but resolute.
Charlotte stared. “My brother is here?”
Jane, seated on the sofa beside Mr. Colborn with little George nestled in her arms, looked up calmly. “Apparently he is. Did you expect him?”
Charlotte gave a short laugh. “Oh yes, I must have asked him to collect me in his barouche. Though he never does what I ask, so I had quite forgotten. I suppose today he chose to be obedient.”
Mr. Colborn glanced up, intrigued. “Perhaps he’s come to patronize one of my poets. Mr. Matthews—”
“I doubt he would favor Mr. Matthews’ style,” Jane said mildly, cutting him off without looking away from her son, who was cooing at her, bubbles forming at the corners of his mouth.
“Mary,” she added, “do not keep his lordship on the doorstep. Show him in.”
A moment later, William entered in full ceremonial uniform—dark blue, with gleaming gold epaulettes and polished buttons, not a hair out of place. Broad-shouldered and commanding, he cut a striking figure. He nodded at Charlotte and gave a formal bow to Jane, who kept her expression neutral, though her heart clenched at the sight of him in all his glory.
“Mrs. Strathmore,” he said evenly.
There was no seat beside her. Nor did she look inclined to accommodate him in any way. She was speaking animatedly with Mr. Colborn, whose posture leaned a fraction too close for William’s liking. He thought he saw the man’s fingers brush her sleeve—his lips, perhaps, at her ear—as he bent in to murmur aremark. The baby made a contented sound, utterly unaware of the tension thickening the air.
Charlotte, ever the diplomat, rose and said lightly, “You came too soon, William. You can’t expect me to leave just yet.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied, his voice cool. “I am far too interested in modern verse.”
One of the ladies, Miss Fielding, tittered. “Oh, but surely you must read aloud for us, my lord. Do you write poetry?”
