Page 5 of The Duke’s Lance (The Duke’s Guard #12)

H elen smiled over the rim of her cup at the conversation Emily and Gwendolyn were having about babes. Emily had mentioned hoping to have a family just the other day. No wonder, given the fact that she was newly married and head over heels in love with her husband.

Taking a sip, Helen wondered what it would be like to be so besotted with another that a person would stare off into space and forget what they were saying, only to blink and smile and blithely go about their business. Helen had never met anyone who had distracted her the way Aiden Garahan distracted Emily. During the time she had been with Emily, her mistress had not seemed interested in any of the gentlemen who had called upon her.

Lord Montrose had teased his daughter about being too selective, and Helen quietly agreed. After the sudden death of Emily’s father, their lives were forever changed with the solicitor’s reading of the will and the shocking news that her mistress was now a ward of the Duke of Wyndmere. Further shocking was the stipulation that, as the duke’s ward, she would be under the protection of one of one of the duke’s private guard—plus two others! Three men, none of whom Emily, nor Helen, had ever met!

Helen smiled listening to the talk of the volatile emotions that were part and parcel of the nine months spent carrying a babe in one’s belly. When Emily’s hand drifted to her abdomen, Helen’s heart warmed. Emily would be a wonderful mother. The perilous journey to the Lake District had changed Emily, who no longer had a tendency to speak her mind without regard to how it impacted those around her. Helen was pleased with her friend’s transformation. Emily was happy. Loved. Settled. In her heart, she knew that Emily would make a wonderful mother.

“What do you think, Helen?”

Gwendolyn’s question caught her off guard. “I beg your pardon, I was woolgathering. What did you ask me?”

“I think we are boring poor Helen,” Emily said. “All this talk of babes and swollen ankles and bellies.”

“Not at all,” Helen replied. “I was listening, but then thought of something.”

“Don’t you mean someone …with broad shoulders?” Gwendolyn asked.

“Over six feet tall, with grass-green eyes and blond hair,” Emily teased.

Helen felt her face flush with embarrassment. She needed to steer clear of any discussion involving Eamon O’Malley. “I was recalling the upheaval Garahan, Bayfield, and Tremayne caused the day they arrived at Montrose House claiming to have been sent by His Grace.”

It was Emily’s turn to blush. “Aiden was high-handed and arrogant.”

Gwendolyn laughed softly. “Sounds like every man in the duke’s guard. What happened?”

“Once he explained the situation, I still was not convinced there was a need for protection, although I had to admit I had paid attention during the reading of my father’s will.”

“Tell her about the callers,” Helen said.

“It was so odd,” Emily mused. “They arrived in droves, and were exceedingly ill-mannered, trying to force poor Wilcox to allow them entrance.”

“Wilcox?” Gwendolyn asked.

“Our butler. I had no choice but to change my mind and accept their protection.”

Helen missed the kindly butler, the cook, and the housekeeper too. They had always treated her—and the others Lord Montrose opened his home to—well. Saved them from starving with the offer of a home and employment. “And that’s when everything seemed to happen at once,” she added.

“Must we go over these events again?”

“You asked what I was thinking about, Emily.”

Gwendolyn had a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Was that all you were thinking about?”

Helen did not want to encourage Patrick’s wife, but knew she could not hold out against the woman’s patience, so she gave in. “I was thinking what a wonderful mother you will be someday, Emily.”

Tears welled in her friend’s eyes and spilled over. Without missing a beat, Gwendolyn rose from her seat and pressed a large handkerchief into Emily’s hands. “Do you always carry a man’s handkerchief?” she asked.

Gwendolyn answered, “Yes, I do, on the sage advice of my husband. I was prone to tears while carrying Deidre, and was always trying to mop them with one of my much smaller, lace-edged handkerchiefs, to no avail.”

“I think I may borrow one of Aiden’s.”

“Just a word of warning—if he has not already done so, your husband may start making a point of asking you how you are feeling, if you’re getting enough rest, and whether or not you are putting your feet up,” Gwendolyn predicted.

“Whyever would he do that?”

Helen lifted her teacup and sipped her lukewarm beverage, waiting for Gwendolyn to answer.

“I would venture to guess that his older and wiser cousin—my husband—would have warned him to watch for certain signs.”

“Signs?” Now Emily sounded totally confused.

“Shall I tell her?” Helen asked.

“Tell me what?” Emily demanded. “And how would you have any idea what a husband would say to his wife?”

Helen did not want Emily fretting. “I listen, and observe those around me.”

“When have you ever been around a newly married couple?”

“Never,” Helen replied. “But I noticed the times my father paid very close attention to my mum before it became obvious she was increasing.”

Emily blew out a breath tinged with frustration. Helen was actually happy to see it—she wanted her friend to be happy, while at the same time retaining her confidence and a bit of her independent attitude. “Forgive me, Helen. I don’t mean to be so sharp with you.”

Before Helen could reassure Emily that she understood, Gwendolyn said, “Emotional upheaval and an uneasy stomach when you wake will be something else your husband will be watching for.”

Emily’s face drained of color, and Helen jumped to her feet at the same time as Gwendolyn. Between them, they were able to keep Emily from falling forward and smacking her head on the table as she fainted.

“Easy now, Emily,” Gwendolyn crooned. Turning to Helen, she said, “Help me settle her on the settee.” Frowning, she added, “I should not have been so blunt. At times I forget not everyone is acquainted with the vagaries, and changes, a woman endures while expecting.”

Helen helped shift Emily’s legs up onto the seat. Patting the inside of Emily’s wrist, she wished she had thought to remind Emily to bring her reticule—if not that, then simply the vial of hartshorn. Her mistress had been more prone to lightheadedness since her father’s death.

“I’ll be right back. I’m going to fetch Emily’s hartshorn.”

“She’s coming around,” Gwendolyn said. “Don’t sit up,” she told Emily. “Lie still for a few minutes.”

“I was about to fetch your vial,” Helen said.

Emily blinked and sighed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

Gwendolyn’s light laughter felt like a hug. “You have been married for how long now, Emily?”

“A fortnight, but what does that have to do with—” Emily clamped her mouth shut and closed her eyes. “This is all Aiden’s fault.”

Helen put a hand over her mouth to keep her laughter inside.

Gwendolyn didn’t bother to hide hers. “In his defense, I am not certain that he could help that his dark eyes and devastating smile have kept you awake when you could have been sleeping.”

Emily’s mouth gaped open. For a moment she sat frozen…and then she laughed. “I refuse to let you bait me into responding.”

Gwendolyn just smiled. “You don’t have to. The smug, satisfied look on your face speaks volumes.”

While Helen had not been married, she was well aware of what happened in the marriage bed, having been invited to listen when the Montrose’s housekeeper and cook warned Emily what to expect during her first Season. Gentlemen did not always act as such when spirits were involved… Some were wolves dressed in Weston’s finest frockcoats and waistcoats.

Their frank discussion had eased Emily’s—and Helen’s fears when they hinted at having been happily married and enjoying the special attentions of their late husbands. Helen noted that some women seemed to welcome their husbands’ attention, while others seemed to regard it as their duty. From snippets of conversations she’d overheard since arriving at Wyndmere Hall—and the looks Aiden and Emily, and Patrick and Gwendolyn, shared—both couples were happily married and enjoyed their time alone together. Thinking of the happily married couples, she could not forget the way the duke fawned over his duchess. He would visit the nursery at various times of the day to hug his children and spend time with his wife. Though quite busy, the duke always made the time to be with his family. Those times, Gwendolyn quietly ushered Emily and Helen from the room to give them privacy.

With shining examples of marital bliss, was it any wonder that Eamon O’Malley’s handsome faced popped into Helen’s head? One thing led to another, and she wondered what it would feel like to be held in his arms.

“Helen, would you mind retrieving my reticule?”

She heard muffled voices, but her mind was elsewhere, while she imagined herself pressed against Eamon’s broad chest, his strong arms wrapped around her as he brushed his lips to hers. Her heart began to pound as a question slipped into her mind: would he boldly mold his mouth to hers and—

“Helen!”

Startled from her reverie, she blinked. “Yes? What is it?”

“Emily asked if you would please fetch her reticule.” Gwendolyn studied her intently, and Helen wondered if Patrick’s wife had somehow guessed the direction of her thoughts.

“Right away.” She hurried to the door and dashed down the hallway to the bedchamber Emily had been using before she and Aiden wed. It was easier to have a few things close at hand in case Emily needed to stay the night. “Do not think about that man,” she chided herself. “O’Malley is lethal to your concentration!”

After retrieving the reticule, she rushed back to the nursery, out of breath and out of sorts. Intent on her mission, she did not notice her path was blocked until she ran into an all-too-familiar wall of muscle.

Strong arms caught her. “Whoa there, lass, where are ye headed in such a hurry?”

Tilting her head to meet Eamon’s gaze, she couldn’t seem to form the words. His eyes distracted her while he held her captive. The hand he slid around her waist to steady her seared through her gown, branding her. Did the man have any idea what he did to her?

“I… er…” Lecturing herself silently, she finally held up the reticule and nodded toward the doorway at the other end of the hall. “Emily’s waiting for this.”

“Take a moment to catch yer breath.” Studying her closely, he added, “Ye seem winded.” His tone changed from concerned to scolding. “Ye should have a care running in the house. There are others who are moving about His Grace’s home that might not be expecting a whirlwind such as yerself plowing into them.”

She felt her face flame, but ignored it. “Emily fainted. I need to get her hartshorn to her right away.”

O’Malley shifted her against his side, looped her arm through his, and strode toward the nursery. “Why did ye not say so? I’ll speak with her at once. Garahan will need to know if she’s not feeling well. Depending on what Emily tells me, we may need to summon the physician.”

When she stumbled, O’Malley lifted her off her feet, still plastered to his side. A moment later, he set her on her feet beside him and knocked on the nursery door. It opened immediately.

“Helen, what kept—Eamon!” Gwendolyn’s expression was guarded. “I did not know you had returned from your patrol. Does Patrick know you are back?”

O’Malley tugged on Helen’s hand, urging her forward. Instead of answering the question, he said, “Tell me what happened to Emily, then I’ll ask her a few questions. Garahan’ll expect an accounting from me before the physician arrives.”

Helen was mesmerized by the command in his tone. It reminded her of Aiden when he took charge in London and on their journey north to the duke’s estate.

O’Malley glanced over his shoulder at her and let go of her hand. “Have a seat next to Emily, lass. She’ll be needing that hartshorn and the comfort yer presence gives her.” He then asked Gwendolyn for a glass of water.

After a whiff from her vial and some water, the color returned to Emily’s face.

“There now,” O’Malley said, studying her closely and approving. “Ye’ll do. Helen, I need to be asking Emily a few personal questions—would ye mind stepping into the hallway for a moment?”

“What about Gwendolyn?” Helen asked.

“Gwendolyn is married, and she’ll understand what I’ll be asking.”

Emily placed her hand on Helen’s arm. “If she doesn’t mind, Eamon, I’d like her to stay.”

“Of course, I would be happy to stay.”

O’Malley hesitated. “Don’t be blaming me if yer tender sensibilities are injured.”

She was taken aback for a moment. Were all men as high-handed as those in the duke’s guard? Lifting her chin, she met the uncalled-for censure in his gaze. “I won’t.”

O’Malley raked a hand through his hair, as if agitated. But was it because of the questions he said he needed to ask Emily, or Helen’s staying in the room? Did her presence unnerve him as much as his did her? Not that she feared the man. Nay, his nearness had her wondering about things no virtuous woman should think about!

Burying her thoughts deep, she repeated, “I won’t.”

Given his expression, O’Malley did not believe her. “I’ll be telling Garahan ye fainted, Emily. Now then, ’tis a delicate question, and I’m trying to think of the proper way to ask ye without Aiden threatening to knock me teeth down me throat.”

Gwendolyn came to O’Malley’s rescue. “Emily and I were discussing the possible reasons for her faint while we waited for Helen to return with the vial.”

The frown lines between his brows smoothed. “I see. Yer eyes are clear and ye don’t seem to be suffering from megrims—”

“My head isn’t paining me,” Emily replied.

“When was the last time ye ate?”

Emily’s belly gurgled, and she placed her hand on it. The faraway look in her eyes and gentle way she kept her hand on her abdomen, as if protecting what lay sleeping beneath it, gave O’Malley pause. He clenched his jaw and seemed to be bracing himself to ask a question, then changed his mind about it. “Do ye think there’s a chance ye could be carrying Aiden’s babe?”

Helen could tell from the uncomfortable expression that flitted across his face that he may have considered asking Emily about her monthly courses. She was greatly relieved that he had not. It was not a topic men discussed with women. By skipping that question, which would no doubt have been cause for Garahan to pummel his cousin, O’Malley had kept his teeth intact.

Emily’s cheeks pinkened. She glanced at Helen before responding, “Er…yes, actually. A very good chance.”

O’Malley cleared his throat. “Well then, I do not think there’s any reason to summon the physician. Although Garahan may have a different opinion after I tell him there’s no cause for concern, other than ye fainted.”

“Thank you, Eamon,” Emily rasped. “I suppose there’s no chance you could hold off telling him?”

O’Malley snorted. “Not a one. I’d best see to it now, as I have to speak to the duke.” He bade the women goodbye, but paused on the threshold. “Ye’d best lie down, Emily, until Garahan sees for himself that ye aren’t at death’s door. And Helen, I’d like to speak with ye after I meet with His Grace.”

“I will be in the nursery reading to the twins.”

His eyes held hers for a long moment before he added. “’Tis important, lass.”

“So is the time I spend with Richard and Abigail. They love to be read to, and with Her Grace feeling poorly these last few days…” Her voice trailed off as worry speared through her heart. Though she did not ask, for the sake of the duchess, Merry and Constance had taken her and Emily aside to confide that the duchess’s health was precarious after her miscarrying of a babe during the winter. She was building her strength back and had seemed to be doing well until a fortnight ago. They recognized the signs of pregnancy, but were worried, as it was only five months since Her Grace’s miscarriage.

“Whatever it is ye’re worried about, lass, we can speak of it after I meet with the duke.”

“As you are familiar with most manners of healing, I would appreciate it.”

He stared at her, started to speak, then changed his mind. “Until later.” He bowed, stepped out of the room, and quietly closed the door behind him.

When Helen turned around, she noticed Emily’s hand to her belly and an expression of wonder in her eyes. “Gwendolyn, is it possible for it to happen so soon?”

“Before I answer, I need to ask the question I believe O’Malley was about to but changed his mind. It is personal but important.”

Emily waited. “What do you need to know?”

“When was the last time you had your monthly?”

Emily was silent for a few moments before she slowly smiled. “A few weeks before Aiden and I married.”

“And you haven’t had it since then?”

“No, though I should have last week.”

Gwendolyn smiled too. “Then it is definitely possible. From your tremulous smile, I can see that the possibility is welcome. Do not fret if it doesn’t turn out to be the case. Trust in the Lord’s plans for you and Aiden. You’ll know for certain soon enough. Rest now. I need to check with the duchess’s maid and see if the babes are still sleeping.”

“I’ll go,” Helen offered.

“Stay with Emily,” Gwendolyn said. “You’re a comfort to her. She’ll appreciate it when Garahan comes stomping up the stairs demanding to know why she isn’t in bed resting.”

“He wouldn’t do that, would he?” Helen asked.

Gwendolyn laughed. “If he’s anything like Patrick, he will. Close your eyes and rest now.”

Emily was still smiling a short while later when heavy footsteps echoed from the servants’ staircase.

Gwendolyn appeared in the doorway to the sitting room adjacent to the nursery. “Brace yourself.”

The three women were facing the door when Garahan approached, hesitated, then asked, “May I come in?”

“Of course—Emily is waiting to speak with you. Helen and I are needed in the nursery.”

Without another word, Gwendolyn linked her arm with Helen’s, tugged her from the room, and closed the door behind them.