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he odd conversation with Piers made April feel better. She wasn’t sure why, since she hadn’t really been able to tell him much and he certainly had no solution. But she was touched that he had seen, that he cared.

Between that evening and leaving for Haybury Court, her time was eaten up with preparations for the journey and farewells to their few friends in London. Haggs had called to say goodbye and Gussie had behaved much more civilly to him.

And they spoke to the Parks about the possibility of Simon taking on the position of head gardener at Haybury Court when the current, rather ancient incumbent, was induced to retire.

They were to spend one night at Maria’s, and then they would be home. Which left just the hurdle of someone else’s baby to admire. And the dowager, of course, who, during Maria’s recovery, was acting as hostess.

Lady Petteril swept them all upstairs almost immediately to admire her grandson. They were met at the door by the proud father, Sir Jeremy, who shook Piers’s hand as if he was somehow responsible for this new happiness.

Maria looked well and contented, although she voiced her determination to rise for dinner. Her baby, even tinier than Georgie, looked like a helpless little prune, and yet, inevitably, emotion surged in April so that she could do nothing but smile in silence.

Maria, something of an unknown quantity to April, smiled back at her. “It will be your turn soon.”

She couldn’t have known how much that hurt.

April was glad to be shooed out of the room and taken to her own, which she fully expected to be on the other side of the house from everyone else’s. But the manor house was not so huge, and, in fact, she was given the chamber next to Piers. Her bags had already been unpacked and her things put away.

“This is lovely,” April said, more for something to say. She couldn’t understand why the dowager was still in the room with her.

In fact, the older woman was scowling at her, as she often did, her nostrils flaring.

“You’re looking peaky, April,” she said abruptly. “Are you quite well?”

Hoping her jaw had not dropped in astonishment—not least because the dowager had used her Christian name—April replied, “Of course. I’m just tired from the journey.”

“You’ve been tired for a bit.”

And Lady Petteril had noticed?

“Are you enceinte, April?”

April’s stomach tightened. It was a pain she must learn to deal with.

“I mean increasing,” the dowager said, flushing slightly. “Expecting a baby.”

“Yes, I know what it means,” April replied, “but no, I’m afraid not.”

“Are you sure?”

Too sure.

“When did you last have your courses?”

April couldn’t remember, except it hadn’t been since Christmas. In fact, it had been at Haybury Court, well before they had leapt to Aunt Prudence’s summons. Early December? Which was...

“It’s the second of February,” Lady Petteril said matter-of-factly.

April stared at her. “But I can’t be!”

“Well, I don’t believe he’s never touched you,” she retorted, holding up one hand with her fingers splayed so that she could count them off. “No bleeding. You’re more tired than usual. I expect you’re over emotional too?”

“Well, yes, actually....”

“And you feel different?”

The blood sang in April’s ears. “I do,” she whispered.

With unexpected gentleness, the dowager pushed her into the nearest chair before her knees gave way. Lady Petteril said something else, something to do with the viscount’s heir, but April wasn’t listening.

She was drowning in the relief of understanding, and in the intense wave of happiness sweeping up from her toes. Energy sparked, igniting a flame of excitement, and she sprang to her feet.

“Piers!” she shouted at the top of her voice, flying across the room, only to bump into her alarmed husband at the door. “Oh Piers, you’ll never guess!”

Lady Petteril sniffed. “He won’t.”

But he was soon informed, at which point the dowager, revolted by such a vulgar display of affection, was forced to leave the room.