Page 4 of Stolen By the Duke of Stone

“Call the carriage,” she said, holding William tight. “I will inform my sister of this evening’s events.”

Irene was pacing the drawing room when Jessamine entered, William still in his basket by Jessamine’s side. She rushed across the room to Jessamine, and Henry entered from an adjoining room, hurrying to stand beside his wife.

Irene, Jessamine’s elder sister, had married Henry, the Duke of Setton, recently, and once she had done so, she had invited Jessamine to stay with them. Their father had made them grow up apart, sending Irene away to an aunt before Jessamine was born. After their mother’s death, Jessamine herself had been sent away to another aunt in Scotland. Their father never cared to rejoin the family. But now that their father was in prison and Irene was married, they were reunited.

Now, Jessamine couldn’t imagine her life without Irene in it.

Irene leaned over to peer into the basket, and she gasped, her hand going to her stomach. It was still flat, with no signs of the child she carried, but Jessamine knew it would begin to show any week.

“Why,” Irene asked, her voice constricted, “do you have a baby in that basket, Jessie?”

“We got your note that Rebecca went into labor at the club,” Henry said, his brows coming together. He was handsome in a way that struck Jessamine a little like Adonis, all golden hair and muscles. “But…”

“Oh no,” Irene whispered. Her other hand went to her belly, stroking slowly.

Jessamine shook her head, her voice failing her. She knew she ought to explain everything in a calm, collected manner, and that although Irene was not far along, stress could not be good for the baby. She ought to be minimizing that as much as possible.

And yet she could not find the words to explain that she had seen Rebecca, and then Rebecca had died.

“There was nothing the physician could do,” Jessamine said at last, her voice cracking. “He tried, and I believe him.”

Henry looked down at the basket and the babe within. “I’m very sorry to hear that,” he said, “but what are you doing with the infant?”

“I am his godmother.” Jessamine raised her chin. This was the hardest part, and the part she had been dreading telling them the most, but she had to. Rebecca had intended to tell them, and Jessamine would not fail in her duty. “And he is also our half-brother.”

Silence followed this proclamation. Henry’s forehead wrinkled.

“Surely not,” Irene said.

“Our father… he approached Rebecca and seduced her. That was before I’d met her. And well… you know what he was like.” Jessamine shook her head bitterly.

The few memories she had of her father were less than favorable; he had been the one to send her mother to her death, and he had also sent Jessamine away from home. Scotland, as it happened, had agreed with Jessamine, but losing her mother had not.

“I doubt he was,” Jessamine said. “Rebecca briefly thought herself in love with him before he was arrested for his crimes and she saw the light.”

“But why did she never tell us?” Irene asked, chewing on her lower lip. “Why did you never tell us?”

“Rebecca told me in the strictest confidence,” Jessamine said. “After all, I am indirectly connected. I swore never to tell a soul, but she intended to tell you after the baby was born, so I’m doing that now.” She looked between them. “I must explain why it is so important for me to keep the baby.”

Any remaining anger drained from Irene’s face. “Oh, Rebecca,” she sighed. “The poor woman…”

“If Irene were further along, perhaps we could have pretended William belonged to us, but we can’t,” Henry said. “Still, we will find a solution.”

Irene nodded, wiping at her cheeks. “We will.”

“But we must begin to think in practical terms.” Henry pointed at the baby in the basket. “He is quiet now, but what happens later when all the servants are up, and he’s screaming? We must bring in someone to nurse him, too, which will cause talk among the servants.”

“Oh.” Jessamine hadn’t even considered the practical ramifications of having a baby in their home; she had only known that she needed to take him away. “Then what can we do?”

“We need a more discreet arrangement,” Henry said.

“I will not be separated from him,” Jessamine said immediately.

“Then it’s fortunate I’m not suggesting you ought to be. We will put around that you are ill—for now—and I will put you and William in one of my apartments near Covent Garden. Not a solution forever, but it gives us time to think of something. We’ll hire a nursemaid and a select group of staff until we find a permanent solution.”

“We won’t allow you to compromise your reputation, dearest,” Irene said, taking one of Jessamine’s hands and pressing it firmly. “That is for certain. Rebecca would not have wanted anything to happen to you.”

“I will make the arrangements,” Henry said. “We will remove you to the apartments tonight.”