Milo made a mental note to call there tomorrow to see the pair—no, a trio now—and share his news with them as well. If Jessica were the last in the family to know about his marriage, she would never forgive him.

  As he passed his father’s chair, he noticed his head droop, and he held his tongue about his plans for tomorrow. Milo took Charlie toward the tall windows overlooking the gardens, determined to allow his papa to fall sleep if he could.

  “Nicholas?”

  Milo spun about as the door to the duchess’ chamber swung fully open, revealing his stepmother, Gillian. The duchess looked dazed, ten times sleepier than Papa had seemed.

  She blinked when she noticed Milo in the room, and holding her son no less. She cast an anxious gaze about the room for her husband and sighed when she spotted him.

  Milo drew closer to the duchess, bent awkwardly into a bow. “Father is resting.”

  “I should take him from you,” she whispered, reaching for her son.

  “No, no. I volunteered.” He glanced over at his father and noticed that the duke’s chin now rested on his chest. “I should have been told you were having difficulties with the boy.”

  “Isn’t that what marriage and parenthood is all about?” she said with a soft laugh. “Suffering and sleepless nights and endless worry.”

  “I suppose so.” He glanced toward the window, worried about how long it would take for Amelia to arrive.

  “It’s good to see you home again, Milo,” Gillian whispered, drawing his attention back to her. “Your father has missed you.”

  Milo nodded.

  He and Gillian were not as close as his sisters were to her. That was not to say he disapproved or approved of her. It wasn’t his place to make that judgment. She made his father happy. She’d caused no scandal so far and was seemingly content to spend her days wherever Papa wanted her to be, which was always with him.

  He watched her creep toward her husband and peer at his face, a soft smile playing on her lips. Milo winced at how obvious her affection was. How true. He’d never have that in his marriage.

  “He’s out cold,” she whispered.

  “I’m not asleep,” Father protested, head rising. “I’m merely resting until the next bout of wailing starts.”

  Father caught hold of his wife’s hand and pulled her down to sit in his lap. The pair cuddled each other, and Papa kissed her brow. “You were supposed to be resting, my dear,” he complained.

  “I heard voices and thought you were having trouble with Charlie again, or one of the guests had come up to bother you.”

  “Charles has his big brother wrapped around his finger instead, as you can see,” he said.

  Milo noticed Charlie had settled into sleep and patted himself on the back. “It is the other way round, I would say.”

  Since Charles was asleep at last, Milo moved toward his father’s large bed, placed some pillows around the edges, and slowly and gently lay his brother down. The boy squirmed a little, and Milo held his breath a moment. But he did subside, and Milo remained close until he was properly under.

  Eventually, he backed away and went to sit opposite his papa and Gillian.

  “You need help,” he told them. “Can you not hire a decent nursemaid to take care of him for you?”

  “You know I disapprove of simply handing off children to servants,” Papa said sternly.

  Milo winced and glanced at Gillian. She did not say she agreed with her husband, but she did not dispute the duke’s decision, either. Milo wondered if that was because Gillian was a new mother and anxious to never let her only child out of her sight.

  She had taken care of Jessica as a governess just for the one year before Jessica made her come out, but it was obvious she needed someone else to support her—and the duke—now at this challenging time of Charlie’s life.

  Milo would probably meddle, but not right this instant. He would wait a few days to speak his mind, and perhaps Father would relent and allow Gillian more help.

  He looked at them together, so obviously in love, so obviously overwhelmed by parenthood, and winced. It may not be the best time to introduce further change into their lives…but he had no choice. “I have some important news to share.”

  “Oh? Have you finally decided to move home to Stapleton to stay?” Papa teased. “We can announce it tonight at dinner if you like.”

  Milo shook his head quickly. “No, Papa. I enjoy my independence and having an estate of my own.”

  “But you’re seldom there.” Papa sighed. “You’ll be leaving your children here again, I suppose?”

  “No. We’re all going home this time.”

  Father appeared crestfallen.

  “Papa, you do not need me constantly underfoot.”

  “This estate is your inheritance,” Father complained. “You should be involved in what happens here.”

  “And I will be, but not now,” he promised. “The distant future is not the subject I want to discuss with you right now.”

  Father blinked. “Perhaps Phillipa can convince you to stay.”

  Milo groaned. “Not a chance.”

  “Why not marry her at last?” Father raised a brow. “Given your long acquaintance, I hoped this time you might finally get around to asking for her hand in marriage. She is in a word, perfect for you.”

  Milo gaped, appalled by his father’s attempt at meddling. But he was far too late. “Father—I am a married man. Married this morning, in fact.”

  Father shifted the duchess into her own seat and burst to his feet. “The hell you are!”

  Charles, startled by Papa’s outburst, started to cry again.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Amelia had become a wife today, but she was extremely nervous about what the future would hold. Being made responsible for the care and well-being of two children was a duty she did not take lightly. Nor becoming a wife, and a countess. Chatham had proven himself a man of his word. He’d shared none of her anxiety as they’d stood before a vicar that morning.

  It had been a very long and trying two weeks for her, waiting to see if Chatham could be counted on to keep his word though. She had prepared for him not to come back.

  But he had.

  His return yesterday and immediate proposal had been met with incredulity by her brother at first, yet Anthony had not stood in the earl’s way in the end. Anthony knew there were good reasons for Amelia to accept such a good match. Her acceptance of the earl improved the family’s standing in society. Erased the stain of scandal from her reputation and solved the problem of what to do with her.

  Anthony’s hug goodbye had been the longest of her life and he’d whispered his approval of her decision and also regret that she’d chosen this path. His words had brought tears to her eyes when she’d departed and also a return of doubt.

  It was one thing to consider a marriage of convenience but quite another to start it with so little time to prepare.

  And there had been a series of unfortunate events along the way today that had delayed her journey more than she cared for. A horse had gone lame, and her husband’s valet had become dreadfully ill, casting up his accounts all across the opposite carriage seat. There was still the faint hint of vomit filling her nose hours later.

  Amelia wished she could open a window to let in a cooling breeze, or even ride a horse, if she’d had one, but rain had plagued the last hours of her journey, slowing their progress considerably. She could not wait to escape the close confines of the carriage…and to see her new husband again. She had enjoyed their refreshingly direct conversations before their marriage.

  Unfortunately, Lord Chatham had decided that his father, the Duke of Stapleton, deserved a private warning of their marriage before they met, and he had ridden ahead without her.

  The hours alone had given her a little time to grow accustomed to hearing her title tumble from the lips of the respectful valet and maid given to her and accept her status as a married woman. That was not to say she did not expect more doubt to surface in the days and months and perhaps years ahead. Her husband was nearly a stranger to her, and the children even more so.

  While the memory of their mother was faint for the youngest, a boy of seven called Adam, the girl aged nine, Lucy, would remember that she’d had one. She might not like a second mother forced upon her without warning, but her father had decided otherwise and claimed the girl would simply have to adjust.

  Amelia did not think it would be that easy and let out a shaky breath when she saw light ahead.

  It was time.

  Stapleton Manor was not somewhere she had ever visited, but she’d heard tales of the wonders here from her elder brother many times. Her stomach churned, and she smoothed her gown needlessly. She was nervous about her reception, but that worry was eclipsed by an imminent event—the consummation of her marriage.

  Lord Chatham had announced that intimacies between them could wait until they reached his home. But the more hours that passed since she’d said “I do,” the more her nervousness increased. After spending so much time alone today, agonizing over what could happen between them at night, she wanted it over and done with, and not to have it hanging over her head forever.

  In the distance, lights grew brighter as the manor burst into view. The sprawling estate surprised her with its size and grandeur, though she should have expected that a wealthy family such as her husband’s would live somewhere imposing. But it was quite a bit larger than what she was used to, and her stomach flipped at the thought of living here in the distant future.

  This place, this estate, would be hers to call home when the current duke died, not that she wished for that, but she would become a duchess—something she had never dared to dream.

  The Duke of Stapleton, a man she had been introduced to in London just once, long ago, had seemed kind. Amelia had been much caught up in the social whirl of her first season as she’d sought a husband, and her sights had been set much lower than any titled lords.

  Chatham’s siblings she had no particular knowledge of, beyond the gossip her brother had shared. Amelia had spent no time in society in recent years, either. But she imagined that she would come to know the family, and she hoped they would be happy to know her as well.

  It was not expected that there would be any great joy when they learned their brother had made a marriage of convenience with an old maid like herself. She herself had been surprised to be asked. Chatham was clever and handsome, and he could have had any woman for his second wife…but he’d chosen her. A woman of plain appearance and few great accomplishments besides gardening. Still, she was grudgingly flattered by his approval.

  Amelia gently nudged the valet, who had fallen asleep some time ago.

  “We have arrived,” she told him.

  Potter stretched. “Can you see the earl?”

  “Not in the dark and with rain falling so heavily,” she answered. “I hope he’s sensible enough to stay indoors and dry.”

  The valet smiled quickly. “He will be waiting for you on the steps.”

  The man was a romantic and seemed somewhat foolish. He’d been a witness to the marriage, and she was almost sure he’d shed a tear during the ceremony.

  When the carriage drew to a halt before the grand house, the grooms were quick to jump down and open the door for her. But before they could offer to help her out, Lord Chatham was there, peering into the carriage with a dark scowl and holding an umbrella. “You’re late.”

  Amelia sighed. “Yes.”

  “I’ll expect a full accounting,” he growled, drawing back so she could exit. “Come with me. Quickly.”

  Amelia collected her personal belongings and followed her husband up the stairs and into what appeared to be Stapleton’s large entrance hall. She took the time to admire the hall as she shook water off her best cloak, but in the gloomy and dark hall, it was impossible to see very much.

  She caught Lord Chatham’s gaze. “Are the children still awake?”

  “Unfortunately not. You’ll have to be presented to them, my father, and the duchess tomorrow morning.”

  “Oh,” Amelia murmured, more disappointed not to meet the children than in missing the opportunity to renew her acquaintance with the duke and meet the Duchess of Stapleton.

  “I have arranged for you to take supper upstairs tonight,” Lord Chatham announced.

  “A quiet evening with you is all I want.” It would provide an opportunity to be alone with her husband at last and talk again.

  Lord Chatham faced the stairs. “Come along.”

  Amelia stretched her hand out to him.

  Her husband hesitated, clearly not expecting she’d want or need his help, but he came to Amelia’s side and put a hand under her elbow.

  Halfway up the stairs, she whispered, “Couldn’t we just peek in on the children? I promise not to wake them.”

  Chatham considered her request overly long as they climbed another flight, but eventually he nodded. He led her up one more flight and then his grip on her elbow disappeared.

  The children’s nursery seemed to be on the uppermost floor, below the attic, and it was very quiet.

  “Only Lucy and Adam are currently using the space. The boy—Charles, my youngest brother—sleeps near the duke and duchess.”

  He opened a door and gestured her inside.

  Six beds lined the walls of a large room, but only two were occupied. Lucy and Adam slept in moonlight, watched over by a drowsy maid.

  Amelia nodded to the woman and crept close to the beds to study each child. Lucy was as pretty as her father had described at dinner last night, and Adam was made in his image—serious face, smooth brow, and adorable pink cheeks.

  The night was cold, and Amelia gently tucked the blankets a little tighter around the children, bid goodbye to the nursemaid, and followed her husband out into the hall.

  Chatham regarded her steadily. “Why were you late?”

  “A horse became lame, and your valet became violently ill after luncheon,” she whispered, drawing him away from the nursery. “I suspect he celebrated our marriage announcement with my brother’s servants a little too much last night. My brother did, too. I heard my brother singing at two o’clock in the morning and I was unsurprised to see him look so poorly at dawn. But he managed not to tumble over as he walked me to the vicar to marry you.”

  “I would have disowned him if he had,” Chatham promised, stopping and shaking his head. “I will deal with my valet later.”

  “Oh, don’t be too harsh but a word of caution, the carriage will need a second thorough clean before it is fit to use again, I’m afraid.”

  Chatham groaned. “I’ll take it out of his wages.”

  “There is no need for such measures. I was glad to be the cause of such happiness for anyone. His stomach settled afterward, and he even dozed for the last few miles. He was no trouble.”

  “Well, that is a relief. Men can be rather poor company when we are unwell,” Chatham warned, giving her a sideways stare.

  “I’ve noticed that when my brother indulges in spirits,” she murmured. “He can be positively beastly, or he lies about and moans.”

  Chatham scowled instead of laughed, and it occurred to her that he did not appear to be in the best of moods now.

  She fell into step beside her new husband, and they descended to the next floor down.

  She glanced around, curiosity filling her about what lie behind the many doors they passed.

  He pointed. “My chamber is on the left, and it will have to be spacious enough to accommodate both of us, I’m afraid.”

  “I see.”

  She was mildly surprised that she would not have her own chamber here, but it was an unexpected boon to share a room and bed with her husband, surely. He’d said theirs was to be a marriage of convenience, besides the consummation and making of children. But she had hoped for an opportunity to know her husband better.

  The first step was sharing the same bed at least once, though her stomach was in knots now, thinking about how that would go.

  What she did know about Chatham’s love life after his wife died was mostly secondhand gossip. He was an earl, and very popular. He had not lacked for female company. His good looks appealed to a great many women. If Amelia had met him when she first came out, and married him, she would never have been tempted to stray.

  He was, in a word, nearly perfect.

  The only blemish in his character, according to her brother, was the coldness of his heart. Not that Amelia could blame him for that, after everything he’d been through with his first wife. But it did explain why he had approached her in so serious a manner about his plans to wed again.

  Amelia had been burned too.

  When they had returned to the discussion of marriage upon his return, it had been repeatedly stated that there would never be any expectation of great personal connection between them. He only wanted her for a mother for his children, a responsible partner to look after his home and estate grounds. And since Amelia liked children, and gardening was her passion, she was now keen to claim both as soon as she could.

  Love and affection between them were utterly unimportant.

  Chatham directed her to a door, opened it, and ushered her inside. She found herself in a large, square, well-appointed bedchamber, sufficiently lit by candles and a roaring fireplace, with his valet currently unpacking his employer’s trunk.

  Chatham sent him away with a flick of his hand.

  “This has been my chambers since I was a boy,” he announced, strolling around the room.

  Amelia glanced about but found no great insight into his character or past here. The room smelled of beeswax and his cologne.

  “I will leave you to get settled in, Lady Chatham,” he said suddenly. “The maid your brother provided will continue to act as your personal maid until a better one is hired in Devon. Until tomorrow.”

  Amelia turned to him in surprise. “Can we not speak together for a few moments more?”