“It’s like this,” Angela said in sympathy. “You think the child is safely born, and all will be well, and it will be, but nothing is the same, and that takes getting used to.”

“I’m all right.” Vivian dabbed at her eyes then passed the handkerchief back. “How do you manage as if you’ve five hands, Angela? I’d have dropped the baby by now.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Angela said with peculiar gravity. “You’re his mother, and that means, on some level, you’ll never let him go. Now, let William dandle his son, and then I must be back to my own brood.”

“You’re good to keep checking on me.” Vivian leaned over to kiss her sister’s cheek and accepted the baby back from Angela.

“That reminds me: Is Ainsworthy keeping his distance, or does he presume to check on you too?”

Vivian glanced up from the baby. “He presumes. He was here less than a week after the baron was born, carping at me regarding my future, as if my husband weren’t alive and breathing under the same roof as my son.”

Angela’s normally serene features creased with distaste. “Thurgood Ainsworthy is a snake. Another benefit of being married to a publisher is that Jared doesn’t mince words, and I probably fell in love with my husband the day he forbid Ainsworthy from calling on me.”

Vivian gave a little shudder and hugged the child closer, because Ainsworthy had been regarding her lately with an all-too-satisfied proprietary air, and yet he’d shown the baby no regard whatsoever.

Angela tucked her handkerchief back into her bodice. “No more talk of that wretched weasel. Let your husband and your son enjoy a little of each other’s company.”

Vivian accompanied her sister down the steps, saw her on her way, and found William reading his paper in the breakfast parlor.

“Good morning, William.” She kissed his cheek and took a seat before he could rise and hold her chair. “I’ve brought a visitor.”

William set his paper aside. “How is the lad this morning?”

“In good spirits.” Vivian shifted the baby so William could see his face. “Would you like to hold him?”

“Come here, boy.” William held out his arms. “You’ll be appalled at what our regent has done with your birthright lately.” He took the child in his arms, and watching the old man and the new baby, Vivian felt a pang of such strong emotion that tears welled again. William had given her this child, and William was leaving her with this child.

William glanced up from the baby. “Waxing sentimental, Vivian?”

“Very.” She looked around for the teapot, the toast rack, anything. “William, how are you feeling?”

He met her gaze, and some of his cheerful expression slipped. He patted her hand. “You must not be afraid. All will be well.”

“You are not well,” she rejoined, moving her hand to pour a cup of tea. “You smile and pat my knuckles and tease the baby, but, William…”

“I know, Vivian. We watched Muriel die, you and I. Do you think I don’t know this is hard on you?”

“It doesn’t seem hard on you,” she said, some exasperation coming through. “I’ve never been a mother before, William, and I never expected to be a mother, not like this, not without…”

“Without a husband, a father to your child to raise him up with you,” William finished the sentiment. “You must trust me, Vivian, to do what I can for the boy and for you. He’s barely a month old, but I do love him. I love that he exists, and my regard for you, for what you did for the Longstreet succession, is greater than you know.”

It was as close as he’d come to telling her he loved her, and Vivian’s emotions shifted toward panic. From William, it was tantamount to a good-bye.

“Now”—William’s tone became brisk—“take this great strapping lad from me, for he grows too heavy for these old arms. Will you be ready for the christening?”

“I will be. Angela will be as well, though I still say it will look peculiar not to have Jared for the godfather.”

“Jared understands my choice,” William said, passing the child back to her, “and I daresay you do too. Lindsey will make a proper job of it, and for reasons the world need not be privy to. I’ve written to him, you know.”

“About?”

“The man has a son, Vivian.” William said it very quietly, even though they were alone behind closed doors with only that son in attendance. “He deserves to know that your confinement has come to a happy conclusion, and he deserves to know that child and mother are doing well.”

“This is not his son,” Vivian said just as softly. “Legally, the man is nothing to the child.”

William picked up his paper. “The very point of our elaborate fiction, but Darius Lindsey is a person, Vivian, a flesh-and-blood man, with feelings he probably doesn’t even comprehend himself. I gather others have treated him as if he lacked those feelings, and I don’t want to do him the same disrespect. Now, take his lordship here and explain to him he must behave at the christening, as the honor of the House of Longstreet rests in his chubby little hands.”

William turned his attention back to the paper, silencing Vivian from further remonstrations.

She cuddled the baby closer. “My thanks for the diaries. I’ll take the best care of them.”

He folded down the paper to regard her and the child. “I know you will, and of our son as well, but see that you allow some care to be taken of you too, Vivian.” He returned to his paper on that cryptic note. Vivian took the baby back to the nursery and stayed there with him, reading diaries written decades earlier by a woman now dead.

Her peaceful day was interrupted by Dilquin’s announcement that Mr. Ainsworthy was again swilling tea in the family parlor. Grateful that the baby slept—Vivian had yet to introduce her former stepfather to her son—she took her time tidying her hair.

“Vivian, dear girl.” Ainsworthy took both her hands in his and spread them wide, so she was prevented from dodging his kiss to her forehead. “My dear, you look positively peaked. I am concerned for you.”

“Newborns will wake one up frequently through the night,” Vivian said. “If you’ll keep your visit short, I’ll have time for a nap before the baby wakes.”

“Wouldn’t it be wiser to employ a wet nurse, Vivian?” Ainsworthy contrived to look worried. “If our dear queen could do so for all fifteen of her offspring, you might consider it as well.”

Vivian’s chin came up half an inch. “He’s my son and William’s heir, and I am not the Queen. A wet nurse will not be necessary.”

“Perhaps later.” Ainsworthy seated himself and gestured to the place beside him on the sofa. “William can’t think to tie you to that child for months and months.”

Vivian took a separate chair, close enough that she could pour the tea, far enough away to avoid Ainsworthy’s hands.

“I expect I’ll be tied to that child for the rest of his life,” Vivian said, pouring herself tea, because Ainsworthy had helped himself before she’d arrived. “How is your family?”

“You are my family. You wound me when you suggest otherwise.”

“I’m inquiring after Ariadne and her son. More tea?”

“Just a drop.” Ainsworthy held out his cup. “Have you warned that sister of yours you’ll be joining my household when William shuffles off this mortal coil?”

Vivian rose, fists clenched, fatigue, grief, and pure fury burning off her manners. “That kind of talk is inappropriate, callous, and unwelcome.”

“Unwelcome? To offer you succor in your impending grief? To extend the arms of familial love and support in your hour of need? Vivian, childbirth has taxed your wits if you think I have anything but your best interests at heart.”

Childbirth had not taxed her wits, but rather, sharpened them. “I beg leave to doubt the purity of your motivations, Thurgood, when my husband yet lives, and our household is celebrating the birth of William’s heir. If you’ll excuse me, I believe I’ll go check on my son and perhaps take that nap you think I need so badly.”