“While I face death,” Longstreet said, “and you face, exactly what?”

Excellent question.

“I’ve been summoned to my brother’s estate in Surrey,” Darius said, “and I’ve my own place to check in on, as harvest approaches. Then too, my younger sister is in Town with Lady Warne, and I should likely make my bow to her.”

“You’ll be busy, rather than fretting over Vivian,” Longstreet observed. “Staying busy helps. Staying drunk decidedly does not.”

“One perceives this.”

“Then you’re a brighter lad than I was. Muriel had to put her dainty foot down with me. Ah, Vivian.” Longstreet’s gaze traveled to where his wife came around the corner of the house. “You’re in time to stroll with Mr. Lindsey before he departs for points south. Don’t stay in the sun too long, my dear. It leaves one quite fatigued. Lindsey, safe journey.”

Darius took the older man’s hand and knew a welling sadness that he might not see William Longstreet again. Nothing but good had come of Darius’s association with the man, and that surprised as it touched as it confounded.

“You’ll listen to Vivian when she orders you to rest and eat and so forth?”

“Hush, lad.” William drew Darius closer and settled both hands around Darius’s one. “You’ll give the woman ideas, and she’s adept enough at fussing and coddling. You’ll look after her for me? I’ll have your word on this, if you’ll humor an old man.”

“You have my word, Vivian and the child.” Darius nodded and swallowed, and then, with Vivian looking on in broad daylight, clasped Lord Longstreet in a careful hug. The man was all bones, his scent one of bay rum and camphor, but he hugged Darius back with surprising strength.

“Vivian, see Mr. Lindsey along, would you? I’m for a little lie down, and then perhaps you’ll send Able to me? The correspondence is piling up.”

“Of course, William.” Vivian watched him return to the house, concern in her gaze. “What was that about?” She aimed the question at Darius, who was also watching Lord Longstreet’s retreat.

“He’s dying, Vivvie.” Darius said it quietly but couldn’t keep the sadness from his tone. “He’s not going to last much longer.”

She slipped her arm through his. “He talks often about when he’s gone, and what I must tell the child of him, and so forth, as if dying comes around every other week. It upsets me, but I think he’s simply trying to get me used to the idea. What were you two whispering about?”

“Nothing consequential.” Darius patted her hand and led her toward a shady path. “You’re feeling well?”

“I’m feeling like a hippopotamus out of water,” Vivian said, and that confiding this was so easy was a pleasure to Darius, even as he wished he could take all the ungainly, hippopotamus sentiments onto his own shoulders rather than leave Vivian to endure them alone.

Love made a man daft—even a man who was trying only to be a good friend.

“Angela says it gets like this, so you can’t wait to be free of your burden, and then you realize you are going to be free of your burden, and after nine long months, you want a little more time to get used to the idea.”

“If she says that after four children, it’s likely true.”

They strolled along in silence until Darius spoke up again. “I’m going to have to depart soon for Surrey, but I’m leaving my direction with the Belmonts, and I’ll leave it with you as well.”

“And then?”

“And then there’ll be a christening to attend, God willing.”

“Or a funeral,” Vivian said softly. She turned into him, and his arms came around her.

“He’s ready to go, Vivvie. We don’t want to let him go, but he’s ready.”

She nodded against his chest. “He is, but why now?”

Darius didn’t answer, just stroked her back and let her be a little weepy and hoped none of the tears were because they were parting. Again. When she was more composed, he resumed their walk, keeping his arm around her shoulders.

“William thinks you’ll be safer delivering in Town where there are physicians at hand.”

“I agree. And Angela is there. She’ll attend me.”

“That’s good, then.” Darius realized they’d soon be within sight of the stables, and rather than turn loose of her, he drew her to a bench beneath an ancient oak. “I can’t write to you, and I can’t call much once you’re in Town, but know that I’ll be thinking of you and praying for your safety.”

She nodded, looking down at where her hand lay in his against his thigh.

“We’ve had an odd summer,” she observed. “Becoming friends.”

“It’s what I can offer you now,” he said, wondering at his own words. They were true, so he charged forth into more truth. “I’ve enjoyed this summer. You are good company, Vivvie Longstreet, and a good wife to your husband.”

“Hold me.”

She pitched against him, giving him little choice, but he was more than willing to oblige. He loved the ripeness of her shape, the subtle luminance of her skin, the maternal secret lurking in all her smiles. To see her here at Longchamps had been a privilege beyond imagining.

“We’re going to get through this, aren’t we, Mr. Lindsey?” She offered him one of those smiles now, a little sad, a little pained, but genuine.

“Yes, my lady.” He kissed her cheek and drew her to her feet. “We’ll get through this too.”

When she waved him on his way at the mounting block, Vivian was the picture of serene grace. She patted his horse good-bye and took his hand one final time.

“Leah has enjoyed your letters,” Darius said quietly, mindful of the grooms. Vivian’s brows rose, and Darius saw she’d taken his point.

“And I enjoy hers,” Vivian said, her smile not at all maternal. “Safe journeys, Mr. Lindsey, and my regards to your sister.”

He touched the brim of his hat with his crop and nudged Skunk into a canter, knowing if he lingered one more moment, he’d be off the horse, arms wrapped around William’s wife, unable to let her go.

Sixteen

“It’s a belated lying-in gift.” Angela set the little package on the table by Vivian’s sofa. “From William, who looks positively beamish these days.”

Vivian smiled at the bundle in her arms. “A man his age should look beamish when he has a newborn son. Will you hold the baby?”

“Come here, wee baron.” Angela scooped the child up. “I swear he’s smiling already, Viv, and growing like a weed.”

“I’ve the sore parts to show for it.” Vivian frowned briefly, only to find her sister regarding her with a pragmatic intensity.

“Has the bleeding slowed down?”

“It has stopped,” Vivian reported, used to Angela’s blunt speech about female functions. “And I’m eating my steak and kidney pies, and drinking a great deal of chamomile tea.” She tore at the wrapping on the package and found two books, slim little volumes in Muriel Longstreet’s hand.

Angela shifted to sit on the couch next to her sister. “He said they were from Muriel’s confinements and her years of early motherhood.”

“Oh, Angela…” Vivian traced the leather binding and peered at a random page. “William treasures these, and I can’t…”

Angela met her sister’s gaze and smiled in sympathy.

“You can,” she said. “Our mama is not here to offer her support, but William can give you this much from a woman who took your interests very much to heart. He’s still down in the breakfast parlor, if you’re thinking to thank him.”

“I’ll take the baby and give my husband a scold he won’t soon forget.”

Angela bit her lower lip. “You might consider thanking him instead. William wants you and this child to be happy, and he can’t stop what’s coming any more than you can.”

“He can fight it.” Vivian set the books aside and slipped on a pair of house mules. “He can at least pretend having this child gives him a reason to live, not an excuse to die.” She stopped and looked away, only to find Angela passing her the handkerchief from her bodice.