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“No. I would give anything to be Mr. Darby, with two beautiful children to raise. He can marry someone—anyone!”

There was a moment’s silence. “I’m so sorry,” Esme said.

“I knew, of course, that you cannot have children of your own. But I didn’t hesitate to burden you with my dismal tale. It was unforgivably rude of me.”

Henrietta smiled at her a bit wanly. “There’s nothing to forgive.”

“Yes, there is. I’ve been nattering on about matters that must seem trivial in relation to your circumstances.”

“It is true that I would love to be in your shoes.”

A short laugh escaped Esme. “Don’t you understand what sort of a scandal I’m in? What an awful wife to Miles I was?

That I’m practically responsible for his death!”

“That seems an irrational conclusion. According to all accounts that I heard, Lord Rawlings’s heart gave out. Unfortunately, his death could have occurred at any moment. As it is, he has the heir he wanted, and you are going to have a baby. You’re going to have a beautiful, miraculous baby.” She hes-96 Eloisa James

itated, and then said, “I wouldn’t give a fig if I had no father for my child at all!”

Esme reached out and took Henrietta’s delicate hand in hers. “Are you absolutely certain that you cannot bear a child?”

“Yes. But I should not want you to think that I feel heartache, for I do not, most of the time. However, if someone gave me a babe, I would not quibble too much over the circumstances of its birth.”

“Well,” Esme said thoughtfully, “I think you were probably the best person on earth to whom I could have confided my sordid little secret.”

“I’m afraid that one of the things about having a condition such as I have is that one grows ruthless. I spend a great deal of time watching people, and it has caused me to become rather eccentric in my opinions. My sister complains constantly that I am becoming peculiar.”

“Certainly most woman I know would regard me as a monster for what I have confessed to you,” Esme said, looking curiously at Henrietta. “To be frank, I can’t quite believe that I told you at all.”

“I shan’t tell a soul. And I do beg you not to give further thought to Mr. Darby’s possible disinheritance. He is a grown man, after all.”

“You should marry him,” Esme said suddenly. “He has the children you want, and you—you are remarkably beautiful, Henrietta, which is of paramount importance to him.”

“Now why would I want to marry a man with lace cuffs and an obsession with beauty?”

Now that Esme was paying attention, she saw that Henrietta’s smile was astonishingly lovely. “He really isn’t like that. I know he has a reputation for being finicky, and he does dress carefully. But Darby is quite sensible. Please at least consider marrying him!”

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“He hasn’t asked me,” Henrietta pointed out. “And he won’t. Men want their own children. I shall not marry.”

“Not Darby! Darby loathes children. You should have heard him on the subject before he took responsibility for his sisters. Can you imagine Darby being truly interested in one of those spotty, hairless objects, as you described them?”

“It is difficult to imagine,” Henrietta said with a chuckle. Esme turned her head quickly. “And here he comes!

Darby, do tell me what you think of children?”

In the morning light Darby was actually more elegant than he had been the night before, if that was possible. His waistcoat had embroidery all down the front and smooth scallops of lace adorned his wrists.

He paused and bowed. Even his smallest gesture had a studied elegance. “If I inform you that this is my second suit of clothing of the day, due to Anabel’s unfortunate propensity to spray her breakfast in all directions, would that suffice to answer your inquiry? Good day to you, Lady Henrietta.”

He bowed before Esme, and Henrietta saw him register her tear-stained face.

“Perhaps if Anabel were your own daughter, you wouldn’t feel the same,” Esme suggested.

Darby shuddered. “I believe not. I want neither the responsibility nor the drudgery associated with children.” He looked truly pained.