The boy peered at the little bundle. ‘She’s very small and her face is all screwed up and red.’
‘So was yours when you were born, I expect,’ Kate said with a glare for Grant over Charlie’s head. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ she mouthed. The boy isn’t a love child. He’s the product of a first marriage. I married a widower. And a nobleman. She wrestled with the implications of Charlie having a title. It meant Grant was an earl, at least. Which meant that Anna was Lady Anna, and she was—what?
Earls put marriage announcements in newspapers. Earls had wide social circles and sat in the House of Lords. In London.
‘There never seemed to be a good time.’ Grant gave a half shrug that suddenly made her furious. He should have warned her, explained. She would never have agreed to marry him.
‘What is her name?’ Charlie asked, oblivious to the byplay. Anna woke up and waved a fist at him and he took it, very carefully.
‘Anna Rosalind.’ One starfish hand had closed on Charlie’s finger. His face was a mixture of panic and delight. ‘Would you like to hold her?’
‘Yes, please.’
Grant placed her in Charlie’s arms.
‘Very carefully,’ Kate said, trying not to panic. ‘Firm but gentle, and don’t let her head flop. That’s it—you are obviously a natural as a big brother.’ She was rewarded by a huge grin. She could only admire Grant’s tactics. The surprise of a new baby sister had apparently driven Charlie’s doubts about a stepmama right out of his head.
‘Grant,’ she said, soft-voiced, urgent, as Jeannie helped the boy to sit securely on the sofa and held back the inquisitive hound. ‘Who are you?’
‘The fourth Earl of Allundale. As of two days ago.’
‘I suppose that was something else that there was no time to mention?’ Again that shrug, the taut line of his lips that warned her against discussing this now.
Her husband was an earl. But he was also a doctor, and heirs to earldoms did not become doctors, she knew that. It was a conundrum she was too weary to try to understand now. All she could grasp was that she had married far above her wildest expectations, into a role she had no idea how to fill, into a position that was dangerously exposed and public. Even in her home village the social pages in the newspapers were studied and gossiped about, the business of the aristocracy known about, from the gowns worn at drawing rooms to the latest scandals. How could the wife of an earl hide away? But Grant had no need to fear she would make a scene in front of his son: unless they were thrown out into the dark, she found she was beyond caring about anything but warmth, shelter and Anna’s safety this night.
‘You are worn out. Charlie, give your sister back to her nurse and off you go to bed. I’ll come and see you are asleep later.’ Grant reached for the bell pull and the butler appeared so rapidly that he must have been standing right outside the door. ‘Grimswade, can you dispatch Master Charles to his tutor? And you will have prepared my wife’s rooms by now, I’ve no doubt.’
Grimswade stood aside as Charlie made a very correct bow to Kate, then ducked through the open door. ‘Certainly, my lord. His late lordship had some renovation work done. In anticipation,’ he added.
Grant stilled with his hand on the bell pull. ‘Not the old suite?’ His voice was sharp.
‘No, my lord, not the old suite. The one on the other side of your own chambers. The doors have been changed. One blocked up, another cut through. His late lordship anticipated that you would wish to retain your old rooms even after he had...gone.’
Kate wondered if she would have to stand there all night while they discussed the interior layout of the house. She didn’t care where she slept as long as it had a bed, somewhere for Anna, and the roof was not actually leaking.
‘Very well. Have you made arrangements for the child and her nurse?’
‘Yes, my lord.’ Without any change in voice or expression Grimswade managed to express mild affront at the suggestion that he was in any way unprepared. ‘My lady, if you would care to follow me.’
That is me. I am—what? A countess?
‘I’ll carry you.’ Grant was halfway across the room.
‘Thank you, no. Do stay here.’ Something, Kate was not sure what, revolted at the thought of being carried. Grant Rivers’s arms—her husband’s arms—were temptingly strong, but she was tired of being helpless and he was altogether too inclined to take charge. She had to start thinking for herself again and being held so easily against that broad chest seemed to knock rational thought out of her brain.