Page 27 of Dukes Do It Better
Back in the nursery, Emma closed the door behind her softly so as to not disturb the boys sleeping in their slim beds by the far wall. Nelson stepped into the room from the direction of Miss Lacey’s chamber.
“Everyone’s asleep. Let’s hope they stay that way,” he whispered.
“Find your bed for the night, Nelson. But could you please ask Higgins to send this out before retiring?” She handed over the folded missive with Mal’s direction inked on the front.
“Happy to, milady.” Nelson tucked the letter in his pocket and bid her good night.
Emma waited until the door closed again before darting to Alton’s bedside. The half-moon fans of his dark lashes rested against pale, chubby cheeks and she smiled. He was beautiful; her heart never failed to flutter in her chest at the sight of him sleeping so peacefully. A tuft of wheat-colored hair stuck straight up in front, and one arm had been flung over his head. She tugged the blanket up under his chin, and he stirred.
“Mama?”
“Shh, little love. I’m here now.”
“Feel icky, Mama. I don’t like fish.”
An entirely inappropriate chuckle threatened to break free, but Emma managed to stifle it. “No, I don’t imagine you’ll want fish for a while after this. How does your belly feel now?”
His eyes drifted closed and he spoke through a yawn. “Better now. Nelson gave us ginger candies.”
God bless Nelson. “Try to rest. We’d hate to wake Freddie.”
“Freddie spewed two times after my last one. He won,” Alton said, half asleep already.
The laugh burst out and Emma slapped a hand over her mouth. They’d kept score how many times they’d vomited. Of course they had. Because boys. Attempting to not giggle, she said, “In this competition, I’m glad you fell behind. Now sleep. I’ll be right here if you need me.”
Miss Lacey’s bedchamber was in an adjoining room, but they kept a sleeping cot in the corner for circumstances exactly like this one. Emma gathered a pillow and blanket from the cupboard and made herself a bed. Alton’s breathing settled back into dreamland, and little Freddie hadn’t stirred since she’d arrived. When she checked on him, Phee’s son lay sprawled on his belly, full lips slightly open on a tiny snore, and one arm hanging off the bed with fingertips clutching the rim of a metal basin.
Fish. Ugh. Nelson deserved a raise.
Hours later, Emma jerked upright on the cot, sending the soft quilt tumbling to the floor. Pushing her hair off her face, she panted, finding her way back to true awareness.
The dream didn’t terrorize her often, but when it did, the scene played out the same way. If the nightmare were simply a mashup of her fears, it might be easier to shake off. Instead, this memory wormed past her defenses when she slept.
Across the room, gentle snores rose from the two boys. Pale light illuminated the yellow curtains, setting the room alight with a glow, disguising the exact hour beyond a general impression of “early.” Emma’s breath wheezed as she tried to wrestle the dream back into the corner of her mind where such memories lived.
Yet the scene remained. Pushing Phee’s uncle Milton away, yelling for him to get his hands off her while Alton fluttered in her womb, then the resulting crack of his skull against the heavy wood desk—the sound had reverberated through the dream like a gunshot, jolting her awake.
Killing a man in self-defense was still killing a man. Calvin and Phee had barged in a second later, in time to see the life drain from Milton’s eyes. This secret, like the truth about her marriage and Alton’s paternity, were burdens.
Before she’d fully considered the matter, Emma’s feet were carrying her to the door, then down the hall, then through the dressing room of the master’s chambers. Listening at the door to ensure she didn’t walk in on something embarrassing, Emma waited to make sure the room was silent before knocking gently. She counted to ten slowly just in case, then knocked again as she eased the door open.
In the bedroom, early morning light sliced through the narrow gaps in the curtains, revealing enough of the room for Emma to find her way to the massive bed. Calvin always slept between the door and his wife, so Emma made her way around the foot of the four-poster bed to the other side. Phee’s wild red curls were a stark contrast against the pale pillow.
“Pst. Phee. Phee, wake up.”
Her closest friend in the world cracked open one eye. “It’s early, Em. What’s wrong?” With a strong blink, Phee bolted awake. “Is it the boys? I checked on them when we came home, but you were already sleeping with them. Are they all right?”
Emma touched Phee’s shoulder to calm the maternal panic. “They’re resting comfortably. I’m not, though.”
Phee settled back against the pillow. “You had the dream again?”
“Yes. And I can’t seem to shake it.”
On the far side of the bed, Calvin stirred and said sleepily, “Mmwhoisit?”
“It’s me,” Emma said.
“Bad dream?” her brother asked, as he’d been asking since she was old enough to toddle down the hall to his room after a nightmare. Going to her parents had never been an option. But Calvin? He’d always been there. And now Phee was too.
