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Violet closed her eyes against the truth, against a future that would ask for every bit as much strength and bravery from her as it would from Zach. A future where she would transition from a mama who protects a boy to a parent who dusts off a fallen man and encourages him to trust himself and try again.

Her eyes opened wider, glinting with a mixture of vexation and amusement. “How did we end up discussing Zachariah? I am meant to be pushing you in the direction of a cake of soap.”

“Yes, well, your inability to follow a single path is one of the loveliest things about you Violet.”

His gaze drew back to Sofia, relief from the previous moment’s distraction fizzling away. “I left her. She watched me go, Violet. I can’t leave her again.”

“I’m not suggesting you wash in the Pacific Ocean. Go to the ducal suite three doors from here. You know it has an excellent bathtub. My bed is also wonderfully soft. Go on now, don’t be stubborn.”

When he didn’t budge, she stood, grabbed his shirtfront, and hauled him to his feet.

Christopher held up his hands in defeat. “It was a dirty trick sending in a pregnant woman. I have no means of fighting back.”

She flashed him a triumphant grin.

“I’ll take a bath, but then I’m coming straight back.”

“And a twenty-minute nap. You have bags beneath your eyes, dearest. It’s really rather unattractive.”

“No nap.”

“And a shave. I think I sliced my lower lip when I kissed your cheek.”

“No shave, Violet. Christ, you’re a bully.”

“Use of a comb would also not be remiss.”

“Violet!”

“Come here then, and I will do it for you.” She reached for Sofia’s brush, and he cast her a parting glare before walking out the door. He could hear her laugh as he made his way down the hall, eager to bathe and return.

Unnaturally bright light assaulted Sofia as she attempted to blink the heat and sand from her eyes. Pain lanced through her shoulder, and with it, unwanted memories lanced through her mind. The immobilising fear of those filthy men, relief as Christopher burst into the yard, and the crater he had carved in her chest when he turned and walked away.

Laden with grief, Sofia allowed her muscles to unspool limply against the mattress as she considered the hours and days that lay ahead. It was no more than she deserved.

“Oh, thank God! You’re awake!” Violet chirped and dropped a rather crooked baby stocking and a pair of knitting needles to the floor.

Sofia was glad to see Violet, truly she was, and she tried hard not to let any of her disappointment show. It was remarkable that anyone in this house cared enough to sit by her bedside and she wouldn’t be ungrateful.

Sofia glanced at the abandoned knitting and forced her lips into the approximation of a smile. “You should let me handle the knitting of baby apparel. That stocking is terrible.”

Violet scrunched her nose. “It was meant to be a bonnet, but I grew tired of counting stitches. I’m so glad to see you awake. We’ve been so worried.”

“We,” she assumed, meant Violet and Oliver. Perhaps Gabriel, unless he had reconsidered his benevolent treatment of her. She almost hoped Gabriel had experienced a change of heart just so that Christopher would not be alone in his grief. If Gabriel was angry as well, he and Christopher could drink and curse her name together. It was always more satisfying to blaspheme with a good friend at your side. She didn’t want him to be alone, even if she couldn’t be the one to ease his distress.

Violet handed her a glass of water. “Drink slowly.” Only when the cool, clean water swished across her tongue did she become aware of the dry stickiness in her mouth. She drained the glass.

“Can I have another?”

Violet looked hesitantly at the empty glass. “I don’t know if you should take so much at once. If you vomit, Christopher will have my head.”

Sofia’s gaze snapped up and took in Violet’s soft smile.

“You didn’t think he would remain angry with you forever, did you?”

Sofia blinked.

“Oh, I see. You did. Well, you were wrong. He’s been beside you every minute, a worried, grouchy beast.”