myself up?”
“A nap, Captain Durant?”
“You say that as if I have an ulterior motive to get in bed with my wife.” He made a show of yawning. Maris wasn’t fooled a bit.
“I confess I’m tired too. Jane was fussy last night.”
“Excellent. I won’t be long.”
“Good. Because I’m very tired.”
“You are incorrigible, aren’t you?”
Maris smiled. “I was instructed by a master.”
Reyn disappeared down the hall, his whistling of a bawdy tune belying his exhaustion. She rang for Jane’s nursemaid, rose from the chaise, and went to her dressing table.
“Damn.” There was a new silver hair poking up through the loose brown waves at her temple. She ripped it out and unbraided her hair, brushing it until her arm became weak. What was taking Reyn so long? She really was tired, and would relish falling asleep in her husband’s arms.
When they finished loving each other.
He’d been very silly after Jane was born. The poor man had got it into his head that she should never suffer through childbirth again. It had taken some convincing and a consultation with Dr. Crandall, but Reyn had resumed his marital rights a month ago. Maris had missed their intimacy more than she could have ever expressed. For a woman who had mostly lived within proper boundaries, she was afraid she had strayed into wanton territory.
And was glad of it.
She saw him behind her in the mirror, his hair damp and slicked back. He smelled of soap and man, no trace of horse. Reyn raised one wicked black eyebrow and held out a hand. Maris didn’t hesitate for a second.
Third Epilogue
September 1826
It was better this way. Reyn stared gloomily into a glass of whiskey. Still his first, when it should have been at least his seventh. One for every hour of agony upstairs.
He was a dog. A right bastard even if his parents had been married. Somehow he had been unable to keep his vow to himself. For the fourth time in five years, he was waiting for a new child to be born. Jane and her two brothers would shortly—God, if only it would be shortly—be joined in the nursery by another little Durant.
This child would be the last of the line. Although she would clout him to say so, Maris was getting too old for this sort of thing. They would just have to be more careful in the future.
Reyn snorted. Good luck with that. It seemed everything he touched resulted in fecundity. His horse farm was a great success. His laborers were building a new barn over at Merrywood even as he sat there not drinking his whiskey.
Childbirth business did not seem to get any easier with practice for him, although Maris uttered not one word of complaint. It was she who had seduced him from his good intentions, and he had to say she made a wonderful mother, as she was wonderful at everything in their domestic sphere. At the age of four, Jane could read already, thanks to her mother’s lessons, with none of her father’s difficulty. It remained to be seen how Henry and Matthew would fare, but both seemed like bright little boys. Reyn was hopeful for their future.
Perhaps he should go up. It was not his fault he’d fainted when Matthew was born. He’d missed breakfast and lunch and was simply hungry. Mrs. Lynch had banned him this time, but this was his home, after all. Surely he had a right to be present at the birth of his own child?
“Reyn! Maris wants you.”
His sister Ginny was at the door of his study, quite near the end of her own term. She had requested to be with Maris to know what to expect in two months. She and Arthur had finally been successful in conceiving. She looked none the worse for wear, but Reyn experienced his usual misgivings.
“Is she all right? Is the baby here?”
“You may see for yourself once you stop asking such silly questions.” The little baggage stuck her tongue out at him.
Reyn took the stairs two at a time. A baby was crying, the most beautiful sound in the world to his ears.
Maris sat up in bed, her glossy hair tucked up under a nightcap. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled. One would never know she’d been writhing in agony for seven hours. “A girl this time, Reyn. Isn’t she pretty?”
Reyn peeked at the tiny bundle lying in the cradle. She was clean and pink, and Reyn felt a spasm of guilt. Maris knew