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“You are rather clever, finding a way to justify our activities.”
Jane leaned back in her chair and pulled her skirts up over her ankles.
“I do not yet know if I am carrying. It behoves me to produce an heir. We probably should make sure there is one, should we not?”
Theodore cleared his throat. Jane peered down at the jut in the front of his pants. “You are an excellent footman, always ready and so attentive to your mistress.”
Chapter Eight
Late spring, 1817
There was an elephant residing inside Jane’s body as she accepted Theodore Foote’s assistance to rise from her seat.
“Are you quite well?” he asked.
“Yes, thank you.”
The Baron’s staff had been most attentive in recent weeks. They too were excited about the arrival of the heir. Mrs and Mrs Gardener had kept the estate in plentiful supply of food through the winter, thanks to an abundance of root vegetables. The apricot trees were blossoming, and the sound of bees was a welcome balm.
The sound of horses echoed from the drive. Not so welcome a sound as the bees. Jane cast a look to Theodore, who raised a brow in reply.
“Shall I inform whoever it is that you’re not accepting visitors?”
“I have a feeling that will be the Jardines, and I also have a feeling that Epiphany won’t accept the designation of visitor anyway.”
Waddling to the vestibule, Jane arrived in time to see Stone, the butler, open the door.
“Places, everyone!” she called out.
A few minutes later, a series of Jardines and their entourage welcomed themselves into the estate and moved of their own accord to the various rooms they’d occupied the last time they were here. The infant boy Jardine had grown, as had his shockingly bright hair, and was being carried by a different nanny this time. The nurse also arrived in tow, with her hair tied closely under a wrap and a mewlingly recent addition to the family.
She looked pale, and quite frankly exhausted.
Lady Jardine must have kept her own condition a closely-guarded secret the last time they’d been in the estate.
“It’s another boy,” Lady Jardine said as she approached Jane and placed dry as dust kisses on each cheek. “Take me to the Baron immediately, I want him to recognise this one as well.”
“That will be difficult,” Jane said.
“Let me guess, he’s sleeping again?”
“Permanently,” Jane confirmed.
“What?”
Jane had rehearsed what she needed to say. The entire estate was on board.
“He passed within a week of your leaving, from the cough. It was a shock to all of us. You may pay your respects to him in the church graveyard.”
Lady Jardine’s face reddened as the rest of her family and staff bustled past them. Some of Jane’s staff took the nurse and her new-born directly to the kitchen for some tea and muttered about getting her some rest.
“How did he die?” Lady Jardine demanded.
“The cough took him. Many of us fell ill around the same time. We had to close the estate to all. I nearly succumbed myself.”
With a huff of disapproval, Lady Jardine said, “You did not write.”
“I was unable. I did not recover until Autumn. By then I had,” and here she patted her distended stomach, “other things with which to be occupied. I sent a letter at Christmas, but perhaps it did not arrive?”
