Page 62 of Weave me a Rope

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June, 1817

“I remember whenwe first did this fourteen years ago,” Marsh said to the Marquess of Deerhaven, whom he had served faithfully since the day Lady Deerhaven had hired him and his men away from the previous marquess.

His lordship was pacing. “I’ve been through it seven times before, and each time is as bad as the first. I don’t know how Cordelia does it. I truly don’t.”

Marsh had been a soldier for twenty years before he came into Deerhaven’s service, and was by no means convinced men were the strong ones. Not emotionally and mentally, anyway. He had seen army wives and mistresses who were tougher by far than their rugged husbands, whose resistance to danger, fear, pain, and risk was greater than any of the London fashionable crowd could even imagine.

It was late in the afternoon, and if ever a man needed a drink, it was Marsh’s master and friend. He crossed to the decanters. “Brandy?”

“Just a small one.” Lord Spenhurst didn’t stop pacing. No. Lord Deerhaven. He had been the marquess for ten years, so Marsh should be used to it by now. “It is twins, you know,” Deerhaven said, for perhaps the tenth time that day. “The doctor and the midwife both agree.”

“Yes, my lord,” Marsh commented.

“My brother is hoping at least one of them is a son.”

That, Marsh knew. Lord John—Captain Forsythe, as he preferred to be called—didn’t want to be Spen’s heir. Especially at the moment. He was honor-bound not to draw back from a misguided betrothal, but the shark of a female who’d captured him would throw him overboard in a flash if he was supplanted in the line of succession.

“Don’t mention sons to Cordelia,” Deerhaven commanded. “I keep telling her I don’t care, but she worries. And Clare doesn’t help.” Clare had been Lady Deerhaven before Marsh’s own lady. Stepmother to Deerhaven and Forsythe, she had given the previous marquess two daughters. Two delightful sisters, much beloved by both Deerhaven and Forsythe. With her second husband, she had had three sons and had been known to crow about that fact.

The door opened. “My lord?” It was Gracie. “They are asking for you upstairs.”

Deerhaven crossed the room in half a dozen fast steps and disappeared out the door.

“Is all well, my love?” Marsh asked.

“It is,” Gracie reassured him. Gracie was now Mrs. Marsh but retained her position as Cordelia’s maid and Marsh was still the marquess’s butler. Their three children shared the schoolroom with the daughters of the house.

Gracie disappeared back upstairs. Marsh thought about pouring himself another drink. Deerhaven wouldn’t mind, but Marsh was careful not to presume their friendship. He waited. How long was Deerhaven going to be?

And then the man was there, grinning from ear to ear. “Marsh,” he said. “Meet my son. My heir, Mark, Lord Spenhurst,” he lifted his right elbow to indicate the wrapped bundle who slept along that arm.

Marsh didn’t think Deerhaven’s grin could be any wider, but the man managed it as he lifted his left elbow. “And this, my friend, is his brother, Lord Martin.”

“Boys!” Marsh said. “Captain Forsythe will be pleased.”

The End