Page 49
Eighteen
Distracted by blueprints for a trebuchet, which Zachariah had drawn the day before, Sofia nearly passed by the duchess’s closed door before she recognised the unusual sounds for what they were. Another groan, followed by a series of painful-sounding retches.
“Violet?”
An answering moan.
Cracking the door open, Sofia slipped inside to find the duchess in a corner on her knees, her body curled over a basin of her own sick. One curl had toppled free and was swaying dangerously close to the mess.
Sofia crossed and dropped to the floor, sliding a pin from her own hair to secure the duchess’s errant curl. She placed her hand between Violet’s shoulder blades and rubbed in slow circles.
“If you will be all right for a moment, I can ring for a maid to fetch Gabriel.”
Violet sat bolt upright, then her eyes flooded with tears. “No! No, don’t.”
Sofia settled back into place. “All right, but Violet—”
“No. He can’t … I can’t … Oh Sofia, I think I am with child.”
Sofia remained silent, standing to retrieve a glass of water and a moistened towel before she lowered back down beside Violet on the floor.
“Thank you. I’m feeling much better now.” Violet sniffled, running the cool cloth across her neck and dabbing at her reddened nose. “Gabriel’s late wife, Emma—”
“I know, Your Grace. The other servants …” she supplied by way of explanation.
“I thought that with my age, I might spare him the distress of a pregnancy. He prefers the title go to his brother rather than risk …” A helpless sob escaped. “He has all but said the words, ‘I don’t want another child.’ It figures that the one area I would excel at as a duchess would be making babies. The singular thing he does not want.” A fresh stream of tears ran down Violet’s freckled cheeks. “I thought we would have more time at least for him to come to terms with the possibility.”
“I don’t think there is such a thing as enough time. The worry would always have loomed for him like a great indomitable monster. But Violet, your duke loves you to distraction. You’ll see your way through this.”
Sofia settled more comfortably on the floor beside Violet, her hands folded in her lap. “When I was little, I used to nag my brother to play make believe with me. He’s ten years older, so you can imagine how much interest a boisterous sixteen-year-old boy had in my girlish games. “Family” was his absolute least favourite game and the one I loved the most, so we made up a game to compromise. I was a woman who desperately wanted children but had been cursed barren by an evil witch, and he played the part of a roguish pirate who rescued children from parents who didn’t want them and brought them home for me to love.”
Sofia swallowed past the uncomfortable lump rising in her throat. “There are too many children in this world desperately in need of rescue by that pirate. But then there are children like yours, blessed beyond measure with two parents who adore them just as they are. I hope Zach and Nora have more siblings than they know what to do with. It would be a great tragedy for the front gardens of Northam Hall not to be overrun with laughing, mischievous children. Gabriel will come around.”
The duchess heaved an unsteady breath. “I’ll tell him after the ball. I don’t want to ruin it with the news.”
“Oh Violet, Gabriel may fall prostrate with shock, he may be riddled with worries, he may wear the knees of his breeches thin in prayer, but news that you are carrying his child could never ruin anything.”
Sofia stood, pulling Violet to her feet alongside her. “Come, we’re building a trebuchet today and flinging random objects into the pond to calculate how weight affects distance and trajectory. You can hurl things with us.”
Violet’s expression brightened noticeably, and the pair set off towards the lake.
The cheerful orange glow of the sun combined with the summer-scented breeze brought an almost instantaneous shift in Violet’s mood. Where Sofia’s stride was brisk and direct, the duchess seemed to follow a path that only she could see, with skips and zigzags along the way.
Oliver’s recovery had been rather like Violet’s trajectory across the garden, neither consistent in pace nor consistent in path. Some days she arrived only to be turned away at the door with a single sharp command that sounded nothing at all like her brother. Other times, she was met with welcoming smiles. His energy was returning, and he’d used that energy to dig countless holes and transplant spindly trees. However odd the task appeared from the outside, it had proven to be an adequate distraction. Recently, Sofia had seen more good days than bad.
Two evenings prior, Sofia, Hamish, Oliver, and Christopher had played whist, and it had felt like nothing more complicated than four friends enjoying a good meal and warm company. There had been moments that evening when Sofia had forgotten how very dire the situation was. Oliver attempted to teach Hamish how to cheat more effectively, Christopher drew lazy circles with his fingers on Sofia’s leg beneath the table. It had all felt so domestic. So ordinary and wonderful, as if nothing could ever break it apart.
When she and Violet passed by the cabin on their way to the lake, it was to discover that today was a zigzag in the wrong direction for Oliver.
Davies sat on a large stump watching intently as her brother unloaded a wagon full of large rocks.
“We came to see if you were hungry, Oli. I have a few minutes before the children’s lesson begins.”
He scarcely spared her a glance. “Not hungry. I’m fucking thirsty so I’m moving these blasted rocks instead.” Each sentence was punctuated by the thud of another rock punishing the ground below.
Christopher appeared from around the corner of the cabin, meeting her gaze with an unspoken warning. He stopped between the siblings. Sofia opened her mouth, then closed it, retreating a step. The only thing worse than the helplessness of watching her brother struggle, was the undercurrent of fear that stubbornly refused to go away.
Oliver dropped another rock, glared at Christopher, and wiped his brow with the sleeve of his sweat-soaked shirt.
