softly. “You would never have looked at me.”
“I want to contradict that. But I was excessively stupid then. You may be right.”
“I’m right about a great many things. And I’m telling you this: Our child needs his father in his life. Not just occasionally, and not through the post.”
She pulled back and looked up at him. Worry etched his face. He doubted himself. And when a strong man doubted himself, it meant something. Ash wouldn’t undertake any endeavor—especially not one so important as this—if he wasn’t certain he could do it, and do it well.
Emma couldn’t solve this with words or kisses. He would have to work through it himself.
“There’s plenty of time,” she whispered. “It’s not as though the babe will be born tomorrow. By my counting, you have seven months to grow accustomed to the idea.”
“You say a father shouldn’t be distant. But I’m not good at letting anyone close.” He set his jaw. “I don’t know that seven months could be enough.”
She tried not to sound disheartened. “I’ll admit, you do have a very thick skull. But I have my ways of getting through it.”
Or she would have her ways, she vowed.
Just as soon as she thought of some.
Emma had never been one for late-night eating. But then, she’d never been pregnant before.
It was well past midnight. She was just emerging from the pantry into the kitchen—a plate heaped with cold roast beef in one hand, a crock of blackberry preserves in the other, and a buttered roll clenched between her teeth—when a sinister figure appeared in her path. The looming black silhouette stood between her and the lamp she’d left on the table.
Emma screamed.
That was to say, she screamed through a buttered roll. The sound that came out was less of a proper shriek and more akin to Mraarrrmghhffff! The crock of preserves crashed to the floor. In her panic, she flung the contents of the plate at her attacker.
“Your Grace, it’s me.”
“Mmmmf?” She turned her head and spat out the roll. “Khan?”
“Yes.” He peeled a slice of beef from his neck.
“I’m so sorry. You startled me.”
He crouched at her feet and began to gather pieces of broken crockery. “Quite understandable. I should have dodged.”
“I was hungry,” she confessed, kneeling to help him clear the mess. “I didn’t want to wake anyone. On that note, I should think you’d be sleeping in bed.”
“One of the footmen woke me.” He took the bits of crockery from her, then wiped her hands with a bit of muslin toweling. “Apparently a young woman showed up sobbing on the doorstep, asking for you. They’ve put her in the parlor for now.”
“Oh, no.”
Davina.
Emma abandoned the plates of food and rushed down the corridor to the parlor. She found Davina on the settee, her face buried in her hands.
“Oh, dear.” Emma went to sit beside her and clasp her in a tight embrace. “How is it you’re here?”
“I slipped out. My father is a sound sleeper. He never notices any comings and goings at night.” She put a hand on her belly. “That’s rather how I landed in such a muddle.”
“What’s happened?”
The girl shed hot tears on Emma’s shoulder. “My maid discovered the truth. She knows I haven’t had my courses in months, and when she confronted me . . . Oh, I’m not a convincing liar.”
“That’s because you’re a good-hearted person.”
Davina sniffed and sat straight. “She threatened to tell Papa unless I do. And I can’t tell Papa. I just can’t. He’ll be so upset.”
Sympathy caught Emma’s heart and wrung it with vigor. “Oh, Davina.”
“I just feel so alone.”
“You aren’t alone. I made a promise to help you, and I mean to keep that promise.” She patted the girl’s hand. “I’m sorry I never had the opportunity to approach your father for his blessing, but we’ll go without it if we must. You can stay here tonight, and we’ll make the journey to Oxfordshire tomorrow.”
“Wait. There’s one more chance. We can still gain Papa’s permission properly.”
“How?”
“There’s to be a ball tomorrow night. The last before most of the ton leaves for Christmas.”
“At your house?”
“No. I’m only invited. But if you and the duke could attend . . .”
“I don’t know, dear. I wish I could say yes, but—” She hesitated. “The duke is reluctant to attend parties or balls. He rather despises them. And to appear at one without an invitation . . .”
“A newlywed duke and duchess? No one would turn you away.” The girl took Emma’s hand and squeezed. “Please, Emma. I’m begging you. If I run away, I might be able to hide this from Papa for a few weeks longer—but he’s bound to discover the truth. This is the only chance.”
“Then we must take it.” Emma steeled her resolve. She didn’t want to attend a ball. Ash would most certainly prefer a needle to the eye. But Davina needed this, and she couldn’t let the girl down. “You’d better go before you’re missed. I’ll call the carriage to take you home.”
Minutes later, Emma walked a tearful Davina down to the coach and bid her farewell with a tight hug.
After the footman closed the carriage door, Emma rapped on the window. “I almost forgot to ask,” she said loudly, as to be heard through the window glass. “Who is hosting this ball?”
Davina half-shouted in reply as the carriage rolled away.
Her answer destroyed Emma’s appetite.
Ash confronted Emma in the entrance hall, just as she closed the door behind her. “Who was that? Why didn’t you wake me?”
“There wasn’t time to explain.”
“There’s time now.” He followed Emma as she mounted the stairs.
“I’m sorry. There truly isn’t. I’ll need to pack my things, but that can wait until tomorrow. First I must come up with the gown.”
“The gown?” Ash was utterly lost. What the devil was she on about? “You need to slow down and tell me everything. From the beginning.”
“The girl in the parlor was Miss Davina Palmer. I used to stitch her gowns at the dressmaking shop. She’s
