Amethyst (54 page)

"Lord Hobbs's?"

"I owe him money. From Priscilla's dowry, due at the close of the year. It would have been Newgate Prison for me, or Greystone for him." He gave a rueful laugh. "Coward that I am, I'm afraid he would have ended up with Greystone."

"But there was always the gold—"

He quieted her with a kiss. "I promised you I'd never take it, love."

He'd been willing to give up everything for her.

Sudden tears flooded her eyes. "A Chase promise is not given lightly," she murmured, hearing Jason say so in her head. Back at Cainewood, nearly a year ago.

It seemed like a lifetime had passed.

"No, it's never given lightly," Colin agreed. "Most especially to those we love. Now, get some rest while I tour the estate."

One more kiss, his lips soft, lingering on hers.

"Tonight," he promised in a tight voice as he backed through the door, eyeing her belly with undisguised apprehension.

Smiling, she caressed the swell of their child. "Tonight."

One hand on the doorjamb, he paused. "Are you happy?"

"Happy?" she asked in a daze. "I've never been happier in my life."

At that moment, it was true. The smile transformed her face long after Colin's footsteps had faded down the corridor.

He loved her.

"YOU SHOULD BE RESTING,
child." Elizabeth came in to the study and settled herself on the couch. "Your time is near."

"I felt a sudden urge to straighten this desk." Amy sorted through the heap of yellowed receipts she'd found crammed in the bottom drawer, then held one up. "This is dated 1660, the year King Charles granted Greystone to Colin. My husband is a secret sluggard." She grinned. "Besides, I'm not made for resting; you know that."

"Your Uncle William says the same thing about me. The Goldsmith curse, he calls it."

The paper fluttered to the desk. "The Goldsmith curse," Amy repeated in a whisper, thinking not of the work ethic, but her cursed promise.

The Goldsmith curse.

"What did you say, dear?"

"Nothing. It's nothing."

The room fell quiet except for the rustle of paper. Amy felt Elizabeth's gaze following her as she moved back and forth, filing the receipts.

"What's wrong, child?" Elizabeth asked at last, her voice heavy with loving sympathy.

Amy's eyes filled with tears. Her emotions were so close to the surface these days; she was either violently happy or in the depths of despair; there seemed to be no middle ground.

"I don't know, Auntie." She leaned both palms on the desk, staring down, studying the grain in the wood. "I was so happy this morning."

"This wouldn't have something to do with a vow to your father, would it?"

Amy watched a tear splash onto the scarred surface of Colin's desk. "How did you know?"

"Colin." A long sigh escaped Elizabeth's lips. "But you haven't discussed this with him, have you?"

Amy shook her head.

"For God's sake, child, how can you let a promise to a dead man stand in the way of your happiness?"

"He told me I cannot have everything," Amy said in a tiny voice.

"Colin said that?" Elizabeth sounded incredulous.

"No, Papa said it."

"Oh, Lordamighty. My brother was a lot of things, but open-minded wasn't one of them."

Amy flinched with a sudden cramp in her middle. "Yet it's true, isn't it?" she said when the pain eased. "I'm with Colin now, and I have so much. I must learn to live with the fact that I cannot have everything."

"Poppycock. Hugh couldn't possibly have foreseen your future. He's dead, Amy. The shop is gone." Her voice gentled. "You're a countess, child. Were your father here today, do you honestly think he'd withhold his blessing?"

"I don't know." Amy dropped into Colin's chair. "Goldsmith & Sons was everything to Papa."

Sighing, Elizabeth stood up. "You
can
have everything, if you'll but listen to your heart. You need only speak with Colin—"

"About this? He's already told me—"

"He's not your father. Talk to him. You can live up to your vow—perhaps not literally, but the spirit, child. You can live up to the spirit of your vow, if you'll only approach your husband with open trust. He deserves that much, Amy."

She walked around the desk and leaned to kiss Amy on both cheeks. "Think about it. Now, I'm an old woman who has traveled many miles, and I think I need a nap."

Sniffling, Amy ventured a shaky smile. "God in heaven, Auntie. An old woman, indeed!"

Another cramp shot through Amy, but that didn't mean the baby was coming. He couldn't be coming—Colin had left to spend the whole day inspecting the estate.

Besides, she'd been having cramps for almost eight weeks now, and they'd never meant anything before.

GREYSTONE HUMMED WITH
productivity. Colin rode toward the fields at the far end of the property, certain the sheep and crops would prove as well maintained as the lumber operation and quarry already had. Amy was a hell of an estate manager. Almost as good as she'd been a jeweler.

A jeweler…

He looked down to his hands on Ebony's reins, at the band of white skin that marked where his signet ring used to rest. After all these months, he felt almost naked without it. And Amy…

Amy could make him another.

He smiled to himself, remembering her pride in her craft, the glow in her eyes when she shared the treasures in her trunk. Her joy at discovering the origin of her wedding ring. Her fingers absently caressing the necklace she'd worn to Whitehall Palace.

For certain, she'd enjoy making him another ring.

He reined in as the realization stole his breath away.

Bloody hell, what an idiot he'd been! She missed her craft—it was in her blood, as much a part of her as her amethyst eyes and her quick smile. She'd make him another ring, and then…

Holy Christ, he knew how to make her happy.

Colin wheeled Ebony toward the castle and dug in his heels. The rest of the estate could wait for an inspection. He couldn't wait to see Amy's face when he told her.

The distracted, sad look would leave her eyes. She'd throw her arms around him, kissing him all over his face in that exuberant way of hers, and he'd return every kiss, every caress.

Tonight be damned. If he rode hard, he could have her in his bed within an hour or two. Perhaps she was still there, resting. Waiting.

Damn, he hoped he could find a way around the mound of their child.

"MY LADY," LYDIA CALLED
from the study door. "Dinner is ready."

With a fierce effort, Amy opened her eyes and unclenched her fists.

"Milady?" Lydia's eyes widened until they were round blue circles. "Is it the baby?"

"No." Amy leaned against the desk. "It's only another one of those little cramps I've been having."

"Are you quite certain?" Lydia walked closer. "This looks…rather different."

"Yes, I'm quite certain," Amy snapped, her face impassive although her middle knotted in the most painful cramp yet.

God in heaven, it felt like a steel band were squeezing the very life out of her.

"I'm quite certain," she repeated through gritted teeth. "But I believe I'll take dinner in my bedchamber. I could use a nap." She began to walk from the chamber.

"Milady," Lydia called, alarm in her voice. "You're
waddling
."

Amy whirled around. "I am
not
waddling. There's nothing wrong with my legs. Waddling is for pitiful pregnant ninnies who want to draw sympathetic attention to themselves."

She was glad no one was in the corridor to see her, because it was rather impossible to make it to the bedchamber without waddling. She fell awkwardly onto the bed, but before she could get comfortable, a pale straw-colored, sweetish fluid gushed out of her.

She knew what that meant. Lydia had related every detail of her previous five ladies' birth experiences with maximum drama, leaving Amy in a wild state of alarm. Then, last night, Aunt Elizabeth had explained everything in a very calm, informative manner. Amy didn't quite know what to believe, but one thing was clear: When the bag of waters burst, the babe was coming.

No question about that.

Hot tears squeezed from beneath her closed lids as she curled herself into a ball. The babe couldn't come now. Colin wouldn't be here for hours. And she hadn't talked to him yet; Aunt Elizabeth was right—she had to talk to him. She had to trust him.

She wasn't ready for this baby.

The fact that her son was ready, that Aunt Elizabeth had said he'd come this week or next, was beside the point entirely.

When another white-hot spasm clenched her insides, she moaned in pain and frustration. All at once, Lydia barged into the bedchamber, a dinner tray in her hands.

"I knew it!" she exclaimed, staring at the sopping mass of sheets. She dropped the tray forthwith, and Amy would have laughed had she been able.

But her womb tightened more. "He isn't coming out now," she forced through clenched teeth. "I won't let him. I'll keep my legs stuck together."

"But, my lady—"

"My body wouldn't betray me this way," Amy snapped. She'd never felt so out of control. Determined to put an end to this madness, she struggled halfway up as the pain subsided.

Then the truth dawned in a burst of anger and inevitability, and she fell back to the pillows.

"This child is coming whether I want him to or not," she wailed. "There's nothing I can do to stop him. Nothing!"

Lydia's face looked blurry through Amy's fresh onslaught of burning tears. "Send Benchley to find Colin," she said weakly, closing her eyes. "And wake Aunt Elizabeth from her nap. Wake her
now
."

"I already did," Lydia said, kneeling to gather everything back onto the tray. When Amy forced her heavy eyelids open, Lydia amended with, "Wake your aunt, I mean."

Aunt Elizabeth arrived then, stepping over the broken crockery and taking charge.

"I'm hot and sweaty," Amy complained, and Aunt Elizabeth peeled back the covers.

"I'm chilled," she said, shivering, and Aunt Elizabeth piled them back on.

Amy felt nauseated, certain she was going to vomit, then she forgot her queasy stomach as waves of drowsiness overwhelmed her. She jerked awake when the next pain seized her, and the cycle started again. Through it all, Aunt Elizabeth kept up a knowledgeable, reassuring patter.

"You're so nice and helpful, Mrs. Talbot," Lydia said frantically. "Lady Greystone is lucky."

Amy opened her eyes long enough to glare at her.

"Oh, heavens," Lydia breathed, her eyes widening. "Milady, I can see it!" She moved closer and stared between Amy's thighs, but Amy didn't care enough to be embarrassed. "It's a shilling-size circle, covered with slimy black hair."

Amy grimaced, half in pain, half because she'd never heard anything sound quite so disgusting.

"Hush, Lydia!" Aunt Elizabeth admonished. She craned her neck to see Amy's face over the mound of her belly. "It's your baby's head, dear. He's ready to be born."

Aunt Elizabeth signaled Lydia closer and instructed her to hold Amy's hand.