London, early May

The baby was all wide, stunned blue eyes and slow-blinking black lashes. Laura, gazing into those eyes, felt the strangest mixture of happiness and pain, sickness and pleasure.

"She's grown so big," she said. "She was tiny when I last saw her."

Elizabeth, leaning back on a mound of cushions on the couch, gave a self-satisfied smile. "My children always grow quickly."

Laura grazed the baby's cheek with her finger and elicited a gurgle of contentment. Her heart ached at the sound.

"I couldn't be happier," Elizabeth continued with a sigh. "Unless she were a boy, of course."

A mute anger rose up inside Laura. In her arms, the baby started abruptly to cry, and Elizabeth hastily sat up and reached out to take her back. Almost instantly, the baby quietened, snuggling against her mother's breast and giving a drooly yawn. It was a wonder to Laura that Elizabeth could say what she said, could evidently feel it, and yet the baby was instantly at peace in her arms.

"She's tired," Elizabeth said, an unexpected gentleness to her voice. "Silly bub."

Laura flushed, having the sudden presentiment that she was eavesdropping on an intimate conversation — a ridiculous presentiment, for Lord Farthingdale and Richard were talking politics over by the fire and a nurse was sewing baby's linens by the window.

"And you? Are you tired?" Laura asked, noticing the deep circles under Elizabeth's eyes. The creases between her brows and around her mouth seemed deeper too — and deepened as Laura asked.

"Why do you say that?" she grumbled.

"Well it's hard, isn't it?" Laura said hastily. "Having a baby, I mean."

"Having seven of them now." Elizabeth's brow uncreased slightly and she looked almost thoughtful. She glanced surreptitiously at her husband and lowered her voice. "I have to confess, I hope this is the last."

Laura felt a stab of hurt.

"It is wearying," Elizabeth admitted, her voice sinking lower. "I didn't really want this one, when I found out. Now that she's here, I like her well enough, but I don't want to have to go through it all again."

Laura stared at the sleeping baby in Elizabeth's arms and felt again the mute anger rise up inside her. It wasn't fair. That Richard could not have children. That Elizabeth could and did not want to. Elizabeth was looking expectantly at her, as though awaiting a reply. Laura reminded herself that it wasn't Elizabeth's fault.

"It's hard," Laura said, with as much sympathy as she could muster.

Elizabeth looked down at her baby and then across the room to her husband. Her eyes were narrow and thoughtful.

"He's told me he wants another son," she said, her voice still low, with something of resentment coming into it. "Or else, you know, I might be able to persuade him to stop."

"Stop?"

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows meaningfully.

"Oh." Laura glanced over at Farthingdale, ginger and balding, with long, thick fingers, at the moment sprawling loose in his lap. Laura looked away again quickly, feeling faintly sick. "Oh dear."

"I can't make him see reason," Elizabeth continued, the resentment now clearly in her barely audible voice. "He has no thought for the distress it puts me through."

"I can imagine," Laura said politely, glancing over at Richard and trying to catch his attention. Anything to interrupt the conversation. But he was frowning politely at Farthingdale and nodding, with a look of the sort of intent concentration Laura by now knew meant his thoughts were very far away indeed.

Elizabeth shifted the baby to one arm and reached out to clutch Laura's wrist. "I want you to help me."

Laura blinked. "I don't understand."

"There are things that can be done, aren't there, to avoid getting with child?" Elizabeth's voice was now so low as to be barely audible. "I've heard that there are ways to avoid it — a way without letting Farthingdale know what I was doing?"

"I don't know!" Laura spoke so loudly in her surprise that Richard and Farthingdale looked over. "I don't know about any of that!"

Certainly, there had never been any need to worry about it — Richard could not have children. He need not be embarrassed by an illegitimate child from his mistress. He could never be pleased by a legitimate one from his wife.

"Then what did you do?" Elizabeth looked almost desperate. "Surely, you took some precaution?"

They'd never taken any precautions. There was no need to. Laura bit her lip.

But Richard was getting up, and Farthingdale was picking up his newspaper again. A moment later, Richard sat down in the chair next to Laura and held out his hand to touch the baby on the cheek.

"She's more adorable every day."

""You'll have your own soon enough, I suppose." Elizabeth was miffed now, and even the compliment could not please her. "I thought by now you would, after the way you got married so suddenly."

Laura felt her cheeks grow warm.

"Maybe one day," Richard said, after a pause.

"I hope you have a son first," Elizabeth continued. "It would be best if you did."

Richard caught Laura's eye and made a face. Elizabeth didn't notice.

"Can you imagine Neil's Roger becoming Lord Albroke one day!?" she said. "I can't! They call him Porridge."

"Podge," Richard corrected. "He's a nice little boy."

"But he can't be earl." Elizabeth straightened and looked firmly at Richard. "It would look very bad, you know. Given what his mother is, given how Neil behaves. I can't bear to imagine it."

"What his mother is?" Richard said sharply. "She's every bit a lady, that's what she is."

At his tone, Elizabeth flushed and made a great deal of rearranging Edwina's blanket around her. After a moment, she continued more quietly, "But I must say, and I have always said, Neil is not fit to take the title. He simply isn't proper. He doesn't behave right. For all your problems, Richard, one need never be embarrassed of you."

"Such high compliment," Richard said drily.

"He'd be one of those rustics," Elizabeth continued, "hibernating out in the country eleven months of the year and coming in on the twelfth to drag mud all over the Lords."

"Really, Liz, he's not uncouth."

"Well he is rude!" Elizabeth shrugged her shawl tighter around herself. "He doesn't seem to respect blood or birth. He doesn't seem to care for his own position. And once he's made his mind about something he can never stand to admit he was wrong!"

"He can be stubborn," Richard agreed with a sigh.

"And rude," pressed Elizabeth. "Would it kill him to just once not say exactly what he thinks about a person? In that cold, smug way of his? Can you imagine him at court or in the Lords? It would be a disaster. Our family name would be mud."

Richard was silent. Elizabeth looked suspiciously at him.

"Have you nothing to say to that?" she sniffed. "You normally leap to his defense."

"Well he is rude," Richard said with another sigh. "God knows he can be. And he does say what he thinks."

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. "Have you two argued?"

"No. No, we're not arguing."

They weren't arguing, Laura thought with a twinge of guilt; they couldn't argue if they wouldn't talk, and the letters between them had faltered somehow after Christmas. Laura knew why. Neil did not like her. He liked her even less as Richard's wife. And Richard did not like that.

Elizabeth watched Richard shrewdly for a moment. "Well," she said eventually. "I hope then you'll see what I mean, when I say it would be best if there was a child soon. A boy."

Richard stared down at his hands. "Look, Liz," he began. "These things aren't always in our control. In fact..."

With a sudden throb of misgiving, Laura realized that Richard was about to tell Elizabeth he could not have a child.

"In fact it's not very pleasant to have this kind of conversation," she said sharply. "Really, Elizabeth, I don't like it, hearing all this talk about when we must have a child and what we must or must not do about it. It is beyond the power of your interference."

She broke off. Elizabeth was looking rather pink and the baby had woken up with a startled cry. Richard touched Laura's hand.

"She's right, Liz," he said. "It's not an easy discussion for us. So, please, don't."

Elizabeth sniffed. "Very well then," she said. "I won't. But one day, it will happen." She played with her baby's fingers. "I hope you'll tell me when it does."

They left soon after that, a relief to Laura. She didn't feel up to dealing with Elizabeth today. She felt tired and not entirely well — she hadn't been feeling well lately.

They'd taken no precautions.

The thought slid into her mind like a cat through a crack in the pantry door. She pushed it firmly out again. Irrelevant, she told herself. Wishful thinking. Impossible.

"I almost told her," Richard said, looking out the window as they travelled slowly home through the London traffic. "I'm sorry. I ought have asked you first. You don't want me to, do you?"

Laura shook her head. "I'd rather you didn't tell anyone. I'd rather no one knew."

"It's your secret as much as mine now." Richard sighed. "They'll all know, sooner or later. I mean, everybody. London. Elizabeth. Because as years pass and it's just you and me..."

The carriage went over a rut and Laura's stomach jumped. She swallowed. "Let them figure it out," she said. "Why tell them what doesn't concern them?"

"She is my sister."

"And she's a perfectly rational human being, too, is she?"

Richard flushed. "Are you alright, Laura? You seem upset."

"I am." She breathed out and the feeling of sickness suddenly passed. There, she thought, it's nothing. "She upset me."

"I'm sorry." Richard took her hand and Laura was overwhelmed by a sudden wave of contrition.

"No, I'm sorry," she said. "You're not the one I'm angry with. But please don't tell her. Please."

"I won't." He kissed her hand and then her wrist. "You're right. It's better that she doesn't know."

Laura leaned against his arm and rested her head on his shoulder. "What will we do about Neil?" she asked. "It's not fair on you that he's being this way."

"Nothing," Richard said firmly. "She's right, you know. He is stubborn. He hates admitting he's wrong. But he is wrong, and sooner or later he'll realize it."

"Or later," Laura said.

Richard went quiet.

"This is the man who ran away to Italy for seven years and never told you when he came back," Laura reminded him. "Maybe you need to give him a gentle nudge, Rich. Write him another letter. Invite him and his family down. I'm your wife now. He has nothing to fear from the association. Who knows, perhaps we'll even become friends."

It was hard to get all that out. If it were for herself, Laura would be perfectly content never to see Neil again. But she knew it made Richard unhappy to be in this indefinite state, neither arguing nor being friends, and she wanted Richard to be happy. Even if meant occasionally sharing a Christmas or a summer with his irritating brother.

Richard thought about it for several moments, still holding her hand, lightly rubbing the back of her palm.

"I'll write to Verity," he said at last. "Verity's sensible. She's said she wants to know you. She'll know how to bring Neil around."

It was the first Laura had heard this. Richard did not often talk about Neil's wife.

"What's she like?" Laura asked curiously. "She's pretty, isn't she?"

"Oh. I suppose so." Richard tightened his grip on her hand slightly. "She's tall. Dark."

"So's Elizabeth."

Richard laughed. "They have nothing else in common, I assure you."

"Well. Then I want to know her too."

Richard smiled but said nothing more.