“Fevers,” Magda supplied. “You didn’t meet the girl until she was well past two years of age, and until that winter, she’d been just another darling, happy child. She walked by one year, began speaking about the same time, and put her sentences together the same as any other child.”

“So what happened?”

“Leonie fell ill with the same influenza that took her mother,” Della said. “But Leonie eventually recovered. Magda first noticed the child wasn’t coming along as she had before, though physically, Leonie has always been vigorous enough.”

His mind could not absorb all that Della said, but he could comprehend that last. “She’s been healthy as a horse, except for that flu.”

“I thought we were going to lose her,” Magda said. “She shook with the fevers and shook with them, night after night, and grew so tiny it’s a wonder she lived.”

Another silence fell, as Nick began to consider the information the old women had just imparted. He ran his finger around the rim of his teacup. “You are saying Leonie was not born simple.”

“No more than any other child,” Della said. “No more than you were, Nicholas.”

“So I’ve put aside my wife for nothing?” Nick asked the room in general.

“You put her aside to try to protect her,” Della said, “and to protect your unborn children from what you thought would be a life of ridicule and judgment.”

“God help me. Ladies, you will excuse me. I have another call to make.”

Nick stumbled out of the kitchen, not even hearing what they might have said to him in parting.

Nick hadn’t lied; he did have another appointment. But it wasn’t for another hour, and he needed that hour to put his world back on its axis. He found himself in the park by the duck pond, his little scrappy friend nowhere to be seen.

The day was pleasant, the breeze soft, the sunshine warm on Nick’s face. Just another pretty afternoon in the park, though Nick felt as if his whole life was shifting.

He’d been so wrong for so long, and so sure of himself in his wrongheadedness. He didn’t know whether to cry with relief or cry with sorrow for the damage his misjudgments were still causing even as he sat in the afternoon breeze and listened to the laughter of children.

Normal children, like little John. Children who could learn cursive writing and Latin, do sums and see malice and contempt when it came at them.

A loud quacking disturbed his musings, and Nick looked up to see an indignant young drake flapping and hissing at him. His friend, well on the way to growing up, though a yellowish cast to his plumage betrayed his identity. Nick fished a tea biscuit left over from breakfast out of his pocket and tossed it at the young duck. The tea biscuit disappeared, and the duck waddled down to the water and paddled off to join his fellows.

They grow up—John and Leonie and children everywhere. They grow up, and their families shouldn’t miss the short window of childhood. God above, Leah was going to be reeling to find herself possessed of a half brother who’d been kept from her.

And then, when she’d recovered from that blow, or maybe before she sustained it, Nick was going to have to tell her about Leonie.

Leah had never had such a social week. Ethan and Beck came on Thursday. On Friday, David Worthington, Viscount Fairly, appeared and took her to visit with his wife and children. On Saturday, more of Nicholas’s friends, Lord and Lady Greymoor, showed up, with his lordship ponying a pretty mare behind his great black gelding, a wedding present to Leah. They stayed for luncheon before removing to Fairly’s, and while Lady Greymoor admired Leah’s gardens, she also admonished her hostess to bring that lackwitted Nicholas to heel.

Sunday saw a lull in the traffic, with Darius offering to escort Leah to services at the local church. It was a pretty day, and an innocuous way to meet her neighbors, so she went.

“I’m off to Town tomorrow,” Darius said as he handed Leah down from his coach when he saw her home. “I should be back by nightfall.”

“You’ll give my regards to Trent and the children?” Leah asked, searching her brother’s face.

“Of course, if I have time to stop by. I’ve a few appointments to see to first, and I thought checking in on Emily might be the higher priority.”

Leah regarded him sternly. “You are not to make her into your next damsel in distress. Wilton dotes on her, and her letters suggest she is enjoying the patronage of Lady Della. She’ll be all right, as I am all right.”

“Give Nick some time,” Darius said. “I like him, and I’m not easily impressed. What seems so insurmountable one day can often be managed the next.”

Leah glanced at him, wondering where such an encouraging sentiment came from, particularly as she needed to hear it—badly.

“Travel safely.” She kissed his cheek again, touched and a little surprised when he hugged her tightly, kissed her back, and then hugged her again before hopping up onto the box with his coachman.

“I’ll see you later in the week, Leah,” he called down. “Save some time for me.”

“Of course.” She waved him on his way, wondering what that was all about. She’d no sooner given the order for tea to be served in the garden when she saw the now-familiar groom trotting up the drive. Leah waved him over so they might dispense with formalities, and took the letter directly from his hand.

As she caught a whiff of Nick’s scent on the envelope, she felt a pang of longing for her husband—for his smile, his embrace, the sound of his voice, the feel of him shifting the mattress beside her at night.

She cut those thoughts off ruthlessly and made her way to the back gardens, Nick’s latest letter in hand.

Beloved Wife,

If you will receive me, I will call upon you Monday afternoon. We have matters to discuss. I continue to miss you, and though it flatters me not, I am cheered to learn you miss me as well.

Your Nicholas,

Bellefonte

Leah eyes scanned those three sentences several times before it sank in that Nick was coming back to Clover Down, the very next day. She set the letter aside and reached for the teapot, thinking to pour herself a cup to steady her nerves.

Except her hands shook too badly to manage even that, so she simply went inside, jotted off a reply, and settled down to await her fate.

“Well?” Nick’s eyes bored into the hapless groom who’d pulled the duty of delivering Nick’s Sunday epistle to Leah.

“She seemed quite well, your lordship,” the man said, handing over the reply. “But I met her brother, Mr. Lindsey, at the foot of the drive, and he bade me pass along another message.”

“Go on.” Nick did not tear open Leah’s reply, not while the groom was still in the same room.

“He said he was making calls in Town tomorrow but would be expecting you and your lady on Tuesday for luncheon.”

“Thank you.” Nick nodded in curt dismissal. “But Druckman?”

“Your lordship?”

“Tell the lads I’ll be sending another note out to Kent tomorrow, this one to Blossom Court,” Nick said, his fingers itching to open the letter.

Druckman nodded resignedly. “Aye, your lordship.”

When he’d taken his leave, Nick crossed to the brandy decanter, eyeing Leah’s reply like a squirming sack. It could hold the key to his future, but was it snakes or kittens? Condemnation or happiness? Nick tossed back a brandy, marshaled his courage, and opened the letter.

Husband,

It will be my pleasure to receive you tomorrow afternoon.

Leah Haddonfield

Nick stared at the letter, trying to will insight from a mere handful of words. She would receive him—that was good—but that was all. No hint of concern for him, no admission that she missed him, no humor. Nick frowned and looked closer, thinking her handwriting was maybe not so tidy as usual.