Page 35 of Stolen By the Duke of Stone

“No, no.” Lady Marwich waved a hand. “But summon your husband, if you would. This involves the two of you.”

Jessamine rang the bell for Andrew, and he arrived shortly after, looking devastatingly handsome in his navy coat. He dressed with reserve, but always well, and always in a manner that drew attention to his broad shoulders and trim waist. Some men employed padding to achieve this effect; Andrew achieved it effortlessly.

He nodded at her, offering what was, for him, a smile. Things had changed over the past week or so, ever since he had carried her down for dinner. He was not soft, precisely, but he felt as though he had softened toward her.

Or perhaps the change had occurred earlier. Perhaps even when they had first kissed, although she had not discerned in him a desire to kiss her again.

That was probably for the best. She dismissed the thought.

“Andrew, Lady Marwich wishes to speak to us both.”

“Lady Marwich. A pleasure.” He nodded, and folded his large body into an armchair, lacing his hands together as he waited. “What is this about?”

“It’s about young William.” Lady Marwich fixed Andrew with a stern look. “You expressed an intention to adopt him and name him as your heir.”

“I have already had the lawyers adjust my will,” he said.

“That is all very well and good, but what of the world at large? You must adopt him so the ton knows you have an heir. And the boy must be christened. Give him your name in a public way.”

Jessamine glanced at Andrew, whose face had turned inscrutable. “Very well,” he said. “We will christen him and present him to the world, although I think we may fall short of bringing him to any balls or other social events.”

Jessamine turned her snort into a cough. “Yes, indeed, I think we may have a little time before that is necessary.”

Lady Marwich glowered at them both. “You may think this is a laughing matter, but the world is talking about you, you know. Those who have seen you recently can confirm you were not with child, Jessamine dear, but with talk of the duke and his heir, there is a lot of assumption around, you know.”

“I have claimed that William is my cousin’s child,” Andrew said.

“But everyone has yet to see him,” Lady Marwich said. “Some doubt even the boy exists.”

“Well, we shall prove them wrong, shall we not?” He rose, looking directly at Lady Marwich. “Did you have anything else to say, my lady?”

Lady Marwich was not one to be intimidated; she merely smiled at Andrew as she placed one hand on her cane. One day, Jessamine swore, she would be just like Lady Marwich, unaffected by anything she did not choose to give her attention to.

“Not in the slightest,” she said cheerfully. “I have said my piece, and all I may do now is hope you take my advice. It was kindly meant, Your Grace.” She placed a motherly hand on Andrew’s arm, and to Jessamine’s surprise, his face softened slightly.

Foxwell emerged as though summoned to escort the dowager from the house, and Jessamine looked at Andrew.

“It’s a good idea,” she said. “William must be christened, and the sooner we do it, the sooner we can counter any talk of his not being legitimate, or worse, being mine.”

“No one with any sense will think the boy yours,” he said with a touch of impatience. “But yes, you’re right. We ought to find godparents for him. An additional layer of legitimacy and security.”

Jessamine laced her fingers together. Though some time had passed, thinking of Rebecca still made her chest tighten uncomfortably. “Before she died,” she said quietly, “Rebecca asked me to be William’s godmother.”

At the sound of his cousin’s name, Andrew flinched, striding across the room to the window. Jessamine stared after him, wishing she could find a way of healing the wound that still very clearly lingered in his heart. When they’d first met, she’d blamed him for Rebecca’s predicament, but that was unfair.

What could he have done from the army? He was younger than Rebecca by two years; he had not yet reached majority when she married, and had no independence of his own.

Then there was the way he adored William; it was more than she’d believed a man could love a child he had not sired. It was genuine love.

“I see,” he said, after the silence had stretched too far and too thin.

“Do you disapprove?”

“No. If that is Rebecca’s wish, then it ought to be upheld.” He cleared his throat and turned back to face her. “My cousin chose well.”

Jessamine pressed a hand to her throat. “Thank you. That means… thank you.”

“Lord Mirthby can be the godfather,” Andrew said. “Rebecca knew him a little, but more to the point, I know he will advocate for William where it is required.”