Page 113 of The Scandalous Love of a Duke
The maid backed out of the room. She had kept her eyes lowered the whole time, but still the outside world rushed in and formed a wall between her and John. It would never just be them. There would always be servants and family and visitors and tenants…
He put the tray down and the scent of ginger tea and freshly toasted bread filled the air. Hunger stirred.
‘Do you want some cushions behind you so you may sit up?’
She nodded and rose carefully for him to place the cushions behind her.
‘You look green.’ He handed her the plate of toast. ‘Eat this first then sip the tea. Is it always this bad?’
She nodded tentatively. ‘Most days.’
He sat on the edge of the bed and when she had eaten a little of the toast, handed her the tea.
She shook her head but smiled. ‘So attentive, John Harding. This was thoughtful of you…’ She called him that deliberately, she did not wish to think of him as a duke in their private rooms.
His fingers swept her hair off her brow. ‘Just seeking to make you as spoilt as me, so you can stop casting accusations.’
She laughed and realised she was actually feeling less sick. It felt good to have him here – to have someone being kind to her.
Kind? She remembered Mr Wareham. Could John be kind? Mr Wareham had given his life to John’s grandfather and John had summarily dismissed him. ‘Why did you discharge Mr Wareham?’
She had asked him at Jenny’s party and he had not answered.
‘Where on earth did that come from?’ He did not want to think of such things here with her. Let his duties remain beyond his bedchamber door.
‘I was thinking that it was kind of you to recognise my needs, but then I remembered Mr Wareham, and I remembered that kindness is not always your forte, John.’
He sighed. He deserved that. ‘Perhaps not.’ She may have good reason to judge him badly, but still, that she judged him to be the guilty party hurt. But her words had let duty invade the room and he supposed he ought to face it. Much as he wished to, he could not stay with her. He left her to eat and walked to his dressing room, where he commenced his morning ablutions.
But leaving Katherine behind also allowed the rush of emotions his dream had stirred to return. He washed his face. It had been his mother outside the carriage, not Katherine, but with her, holding her hand, had stood a small boy, a toddler. John suspected the child was his unborn son.
Fear set cold and solid in John’s stomach as he faced himself in the mirror but he could not look himself in the eye.
What if I cannot love my child?
40
John returned home early that evening. He had spent an hour or two with Harvey going over business and discovering how things stood with Wareham, which was no farther forward, other than an ominous report that the man had been seen back in town.
John had eaten at White’s and after that met his Uncle Robert.
They had shared a couple of hours in congenial conversation with fellow members of Parliament and discussed the progress of their private business venture.
Finally John had sought out Phillip and apologised again, achieving a tenuous peace with his new brother-in-law. Then he had encouraged Phillip to accept the role with Harvey and invited Phillip to dine.
They arrived together.
Finch took their hats, gloves and outdoor coats.
‘Have there been many callers?’ John asked. He felt a measure of guilt sweep in, guilt he had been determinedly ignoring all day. He had left Katherine and his mother to deal with the matrons of society. His mother was capable of course, but Katherine…
Phillip was John’s peace offering and his shield.
‘The last caller left half an hour ago, Your Grace, and yes, there have been many.’
‘And my family?’
‘In the drawing room upstairs, Your Grace.’
