The Last Duke (Thornton 1)

Cook scowled when she saw Daphne. “Out, Your Grace,” she commanded, mincing no words. “The duke left strict orders.”

“I know. I know. I’m not to lift a finger owing to my delicate condition.” Daphne sighed. “Well, fret not. I’ve merely come to request that you provide Langley with some sustenance. The poor man has been keeping vigil at the front door for over five hours. If he doesn’t eat something soon, he will probably swoon.”

As soon as she realized Daphne was going to abide by the duke’s demands, Cook relaxed, filling a plate with warm scones, and readying a pot of tea. “You should eat a bit of this yourself, ma’am. You scarcely touched your breakfast.”

Daphne’s stomach lurched. “No, thank you, Cook.”

“You need to keep up your strength, and the babe’s. Here.” She handed Daphne a plate containing two of the flaky treats. “At least eat these.” Clucking away Daphne’s protests, she shooed her from the kitchen, plate in hand.

Making her way down the hall, Daphne searched for a discreet spot in which to deposit her unwanted aromatic snack. At the same time, she tried desperately to hold her breath, certain that to inhale would be disastrous at that moment. With each step she became more convinced her plight was futile.

“Oh! Pardon me, ma’am.” Mary, the head gardener’s youngest daughter, scooted out of the schoolroom just as Daphne passed by. The girl came to a screeching halt, just brushing the full skirt of Daphne’s gown. “Forgive me, Yer Grace. I didn’t see ye.”

Waves of nausea were undulating through Daphne’s system. “Mary. No apology is necessary.” She swallowed.

The awkward twelve-year-old blanched as she saw Daphne’s distressed expression. “I just finished my lessons. I didn’t know ye were out here.” Slowly, she backed away. “I didn’t mean to bump into ye.”

“You didn’t.” Despite her unsettled state, Daphne realized she had to convince Mary she had done nothing wrong. “Mary—here.” Abruptly, she thrust the dish of scones at the startled child. “Cook made extra. Enjoy them.”

“Why, thank you, ma’am.” Tentatively, Mary smiled.

Daphne never heard the rest. In a flash, she bolted, racing past the schoolroom to the nearby water closet Pierce had just had installed.

She’d eaten nothing that day, yet her body seemed not to know that, heaving again and again in protest. At last the retching stopped, and Daphne sank weakly to her knees, leaning her head against the cool surface of the wall.

“Try this. It will help.”

From the open doorway, Sarah handed Daphne a cold compress. “Place it against your forehead and stay still for a minute or two. The feeling will pass.”

Gratefully, Daphne took the cloth, pressing it to her overheated face.

“That’s it. Now take deep breaths and relax.”

The queasiness vanished as abruptly as it had arrived.

Lifting her head, Daphne blinked. “The sensation is gone.”

Sarah gave her a wry grin. “Not to worry. It will visit again. As early as tomorrow, perhaps.” She reached out, helping Daphne to her feet. “Come into the classroom and sit down. You haven’t eaten breakfast, have you?” she guessed, guiding Daphne from the water closet into the sunlit chamber beside it.

Blinking in surprise, Daphne shook her head.

“I suspected as much. You’re more apt to be ill when your stomach is empty. Eat simple foods, but never neglect your meals, even if you aren’t especially hungry,” Sarah advised.

“Is the cause for my sickness so obvious?” Daphne asked, settling herself in a chair.

“Only to those who have endured it. I saw the greenish cast to your complexion when you dashed into the water closet. I’ve worn a similar one these past weeks.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Daphne murmured with a twinge of disappointment.

“Why? Did you wish to keep your condition a secret?”

“Oh, no.” She smiled faintly. “Not that I could if I chose to. The entire staff has been alerted by my anxious husband. But, in your case, well—I did hope to tell you myself.”

“And why is that?” Sarah asked curiously.

“Because you and I are connected in an intangible way. We seem destined to repeatedly touch each other’s lives. First at the House of Perpetual Hope, then at Benchley, and now here, both of us carrying our first babes. ’Tis silly, perhaps, but I suspect fate is guiding us along parallel paths. For our sakes, and for our children’s.” Daphne smiled. “Somehow it comforts me to know that we are both bringing new lives into the world at the same time.”

“Thank you,” Sarah replied, visibly moved. “That’s a lovely thought.”