Page 32 of Stolen By the Duke of Stone

“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?”