The Viscount's Veiled Lady (Whitby Weddings 3)

She let her voice trail away and he nodded. ‘You look worn out, too. Maybe you should have something to eat?’

‘No, I couldn’t.’ She shook her head and a coil of dark hair unhooked itself from behind her ear and fell over her face. He lifted their fingers together to sweep it back again, before cradling them gently against her cheek.

‘Frances...’

‘I have to go back.’ Her voice sounded ragged and he dropped his hand reluctantly, seeing the effort it cost her to control her emotions.

‘Yes. I’ll still be here, I promise.’

‘I know.’

‘Lord Scorborough?’ The door had barely closed behind her before Mrs Gargrave’s head appeared at the top of the staircase again, though she seemed reluctant to come any closer. ‘Any news?’

He forced a smile. The housekeeper looked only marginally less anxious than he felt.

‘It’s a girl.’

‘Oh!’

‘But there’s another baby on the way.’

‘Twins?’ The housekeeper’s expression turned from joyful to anxious again. ‘Can I do anything?’

‘No.’ It was the question they were all asking. ‘Except, perhaps you might prepare a room for Miss Webster? I’m sure she’ll be exhausted after...’

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. The words hung in the air between them, unspoken, unnecessary. After this is all over... As it soon would be, one way or another. Only he didn’t want to think about the other way.

‘Of course, Lord Scorborough. I’ll make up one of the guest rooms myself. You know that I like to keep busy.’ Mrs Gargrave started back down the stairs and then stopped. ‘Would you like your old room made up as well?’

Arthur’s brows snapped together at once. Despite his regular visits to see Lance and Violet, he rarely stayed there. The last, very last thing he wanted to do was spend a night in his old home, but he couldn’t abandon Frances. Now especially.

‘I appreciate the offer, but I’ll sleep in an armchair.’

‘An armchair?’ Despite the circumstances, Mrs Gargrave was still able to convey a sense of disapproval. ‘Very well, Lord Scorborough, as you wish.’

Arthur rested a shoulder against the wall with a sigh. Perhaps he ought simply to have agreed to placate her, especially since he doubted anyone in the house would be getting much sleep tonight. There would be no rest until the ordeal was over, and after that, if all went well, he’d have Frances to take care of. And if all didn’t go well...well, then in all likelihood they’d be taking care of Lance together, though if anything happened to Violet he had a feeling his brother would be inconsolable.

He pushed the thought aside as a piercing scream cut the air, followed by a shout that surely had to have come from Lance and then the whole house seemed to fall eerily silent. He stayed perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe, let alone move, and then the door opened and Frances appeared on the threshold, a small bundle cradled in her arms.

‘It’s over—’ she was moving quickly this time ‘—and you said you wanted to be useful.’

‘Is that...?’ He was vaguely aware of gawking.

‘A baby? Yes.’ She smiled. ‘Meet your new niece. Your nephew has only just arrived.’

‘A boy, too?’

‘A beautiful boy.’ Her smiled widened. ‘The doctor’s taking care of Violet now, but he thinks she’ll be all right. Here—’ she thrust the bundle towards him ‘—I need to help clear up.’

He took a deep breath an

d then held his arms out. The baby was lighter than he’d expected, bright pink and wrinkled, but her tiny eyes were already open, their expression faintly bewildered as she took one look at him and started wailing.

‘I think she’d prefer to stay with you.’ He looked anxiously at Frances as she drew her arms away.

‘I think she’d prefer her mother, but you’ll have to do for a few minutes.’ Frances gave him a supportive tap on the shoulder. ‘Don’t worry. If you can carry a piglet under each arm, then you can manage a baby.’

She hurried away again, leaving him rocking the child in his arms and wishing he shared her confidence. He’d never held a newborn before, at least not one that wasn’t a farm animal, but somehow the swaying movement came naturally. He must be doing something right, he reasoned. The wailing seemed to be quieting.