Page 79 of In the Highlander's Bed

“But my child won’t know if I don’t tell him. He’ll never know his true father’s name. It will be lost to him,” she said softly.

“Yes,” His Grace agreed. “However, no door will be closed to him. He’ll not be a bastard…unless that is what you want for him. And someday we may be able to tell him. When that time comes, we’ll be certain he knows what a fine, noble man his father was.”

He turned the door handle. “I’ll have another tray sent up with more broth and perhaps something of more substance. You’ve been dealt a blow, lass, but if you truly cared for Lachlan, you’ll do what you must to see his bairn safe. Think on it. In your heart you will know what to do.” He left.

The room suddenly seemed very cold and empty. Constance reached for the tartan she’d kept close at hand and put it around her shoulders.A baby.A bairn, she amended.

For a second she was filled with joy.

And then overwhelmed by doubts. A part of her wanted to believe she’d imagined their whole conversation.

He’d suggested an arranged marriage.

She didn’t have the courage.

Getting out of bed, Constance walked across the room to the window. It overlooked a garden in the back of the house. She rested her head against cold, hard glass, staring out at the twilight. Gordon couldn’t be dead. She was certain she would know if he was.

Or was it that she missed him so much, she wanted to believe he lived? If there was any hope at all, shouldn’t she embrace it? Or was she denying cold, hard reality?

Her answer was to break down in tears. Sobs wracked her body until she doubled over.

She didn’t try and fight them. She didn’t fight tears anymore. Gordon had taught her how to cry.

The door to the bedroom flew open and in seconds both Charlotte and Miranda threw their arms around her.

This time Constance didn’t push them away.

This time she held them close, at last, letting them share her grief.

Eighteen

In surprisingly short order, Phillip found someone for Constance to marry.

“He’s aduke,” Charlotte informed Constance, barely able to suppress her excitement. She’d just returned from being out with her husband and hadn’t even bothered to remove her hat and gloves before finding Constance in the Morning Room. She, Miranda, and Francesca, the Duchess of Colster, had just finished having luncheon.

It’d been a week since Justin—which was how she thought of the duke now—had his talk with her. Her sisters’ suspicions were bearing weight. She’d still not had her monthly fluxes,although there was still time…or so she kept telling herself. The possibility that she might be carrying Gordon’s child had forced her to find the will to live again.

That didn’t mean she was eager to marry. She was still in deep mourning.

Charlotte threw herself into the chair next to Constance’s and gave her shoulders a happy squeeze. “Is this not wonderful? We came to England with the intention of one of us marrying a duke and nowyouare going to do so.”

Constance couldn’t muster the same enthusiasm. “Marrying a duke was your dream, not mine.”

“Is it too soon to marry?” Francesca wondered.

A frown line formed between Charlotte’s brows. “If she’d been a married woman, there would be a mourning period, but right now we are in a bit of a rush.”

“I understand that,” Francesca said. She looked pointedly at Constance, who pretended not to notice while she put jam on her roll. “But is it too soon for her?”

Constance gave Francesca a small smile, appreciating her concern. “The baby must be protected.” That sentiment was all that kept her going right now. “In the wilderness, women often marry quickly just as a matter of survival.”

“What’s wrong with this duke?” Miranda asked, her skepticism clear as she brought the topic back to the matter at hand.

“Wrong?” Charlotte repeated as if unable to believe they weren’t as excited as she was.

“Yes,” Miranda said. “He’s aduke. A duke can marry anyone. No one has to arrange marriages for dukes.”

“As a matter of fact,” Francesca said, “it’s done all the time. Depending on the magnitude of the title and the amount of estate involved, well, they usually are the ones whomusthave arranged marriages. My father wanted to arrange mine. But then,” she added with a secret smile, “I married a duke.”