He almost swallowed his tongue.
“You’ve eaten enough that you can converse civilly. This is important, Harry. Plum is being too old-fashioned for words.”
It was an effort, but he dragged his mind away from his wife and tried his best to pay attention to what Thom was saying. “What is?”
She gave a martyred sigh and said, “My breeches.”
“Your what?”
“Breeches! I want breeches to ride in, and Plum says it would shock anyone who saw me and ruin all my chances of making a good marriage, but as I’ve told her time and time again, I don’t want to be married. I don’t see why I shouldn’t have a pair of breeches to ride when we’re in the country. It’s not as if we know anyone here. You wouldn’t mind if I were to ride in breeches, would you?”
Harry, no fool he, slid a glance toward Plum before deciding how to answer his niece-by-marriage’s plea. Plum’s straight brows told him nothing, but the thin line of her lips spoke volumes. “I’m sure that Plum knows what’s best for you, Thom.”
She made an annoyed sound and glared at Plum. “It’s all your fault, he’s besotted with you and wouldn’t dare do anything against your wishes. Now I’ll never get a pair of breeches.”
He grinned at Plum. “I’m a bridegroom, I’m supposed to be besotted with my bride.”
Plum grinned back at him as Temple made a witticism about husbands being led by the nose. He relaxed, warmed by both the avid look in his wife’s eye, and the knowledge that all in his world was well. McTavish was on the road to recovery, he had corrected his first misstep with Plum without too much difficulty, and she was evidently looking forward to the evening’s activities as much as he was. If there was one complaint he had to make against his late wife, it was that she seldom enjoyed their bed sport. She tolerated his advances, but no matter how much he tried to bring her pleasure, it was only rarely that he was left with the impression that she enjoyed herself. Plum was different. Harry was conscious of a pleasant tension that filled the air between Plum and him, a slight feel of static electricity in the air, as if a storm was approaching.
Temple turned to him near the end of the meal. “While you were sleeping, I had the footmen scour the estate for poisonous berries. They found several, but none in the area Digger said the children were playing before McTavish became so ill.”
Harry nodded, selecting a ripe peach from the bowl before him, his mind automatically traveling the paths of soft, ripe fruit to softer, riper woman. “Send what you found to Doctor Trewitt. He might be able to tell us if that’s what the boy ate.”
“I wonder if he could have eaten a leaf,” Thom asked, slicing a bit of cheese from a large hunk of white cheddar. “My uncle used to tell me he thought I was part goat because I was forever eating leaves. You must be used to this sort of thing, Harry.”
He stopped stroking the peach’s round, full softness and looked a question at Thom.
“Your other children — you must be used to them having stomach upsets and such.”
“Oh, yes. Somewhat used to it, none of them have ever been as ill as McTavish. Thankfully, Plum was here to take care of him.”
Plum beamed at him.
“She’s very good at that sort of thing,” Thom agreed. “She’s especially good with babies. They all seem to love her.”
“I have no doubt of that,” Harry answered, giving Plum a little waggled of his eyebrows, just to let her know he was thinking about her. Her eyes flashed in response.
“You’ll see how good she is with your babies.”
He turned his head to look at Thom, puzzled by her comment. “What babies?”
“Your babies. The babies you and Plum will have.”
If he could have throttled Thom without Plum noticing, he would have. Dear God, what devil prodded her to say such a thing in front of her aunt? A few more comments of that ilk and Plum would leave him for certain. “We’re not going to have any babies.”
Thom glanced from him to Plum. “You’re not?”
“No!” He watched Plum carefully, noting the sudden pallor of her cheek, and the stillness with which she held herself. Damn it! She probably thought the only reason he married her was to be a broodmare, popping out children of her own in between taking care of his five hellions. He prayed she could read the sincerity in his eyes. “I wouldn’t put Plum through that hell for anything in the world.”
“You wouldn’t?”
Plum’s face was pale, her eyes black, her lovely chest not moving as if she wasn’t even breathing. He mentally cursed Thom, then set about making things right with his wife. “Women die in childbirth. My wife — my first wife — died of a fever shortly after McTavish was born.”
“Oh.” The word was soft, filled with relief, with understanding. Color rushed back to Plum’s face as she spoke. “Not every woman dies in childbirth, Harry. It’s tragic that the late Lady Rosse did so, but I can assure you that should you wish to have more children, I would be willing—”
He quartered his peach with a savagery that belied his inner feelings. He would not lose Plum as he had lost Beatrice. He would take whatever steps were necessary to see that she did not become pregnant. “I believe the children we already have are sufficiently challenging to keep you busy for many years yet.”
“But”—Thom looked from Plum to him—“but Plum…”
“Never mind, Thom,” she interrupted, her cheeks pink with a blush. He glanced at his secretary, who kept his gaze on the grapes before him. No doubt Plum was embarrassed by such frank talk in front of Temple.
In order to spare her any more discomfort, he turned the conversation to a general discussion of his plans for bringing life back to the estate. Temple and Thom argued long and hard over the subject of which was the better crop to plant — wheat or corn — and although Harry participated, he noticed that Plum had little to offer on the subject. Once her gaze met his, and her adorable little chin rose as if he had challenged her. He couldn’t help but smile at that. She was so utterly perfect, from the tips of her pink little toes, to the gentle curve of that obstinate chin.
The ladies withdrew arguing over whether or not a riding habit with breeches underneath was a substitute for breeches alone. Harry sipped at a bit of port as Temple expounded on his recommendation for rebuilding cottages and charging the tenants a higher rate. He answered mechanically, his eyes frequently straying to the clock that sat on the sideboard. A half hour had passed — surely that was long enough for Plum to have chatted with Thom? Yes, yes it was. They couldn’t possibly have anything else to say.
Smothering a yawn he had to force, Harry stood up, made a pretense of stretching, and said, “Good, good, it all sounds wonderful, Temple. Write it up and I’ll look at it in the morning. I’m off to bed.”
Temple pursed his lips. “I suppose it would be impolitic to point out that just a few hours ago you awoke from a ten-hour sleep?”
Harry shared an entirely male grin with Temple. “That would be extremely impolitic.”
“Then I won’t do so. May I bid you a pleasant evening, sir?”
Harry laughed, and threw pretense to the wind as he hurried upstairs to his bedroom. He undressed quickly, dismissed his valet, and waiting only long enough to draw on his dressing gown, went in search of his wife.
He found her in the nursery, sitting on the edge of McTavish’s bed, all five children clustered around her in their nightgowns as she read to them from a familiar-looking volume. “ ‘September 30, 1659. I poor miserable Robinson Crusoe, being shipwreck’d, during a dreadful Storm…’ Oh, Harry, have you come to say good night to the children?”
“Yes, yes, I have. Good night children,” he said. He plucked the book from Plum’s hands, and handed it to a startled India, scooping Plum up in his arms. “Finish the chapter.”
“Harry! I was reading to them—”
“India can read, taught her myself. Good for her.” He hoisted Plum high on his chest, and quickly opened the door before she could slide down.
“But…but…the children—”
“Will be just fine without you.” He paused just before closing the door and leaned his head back into the nursery. “McTavish? How are you, lad?”
“Hungry!” the boy shouted, jumping up and down on the bed.
Harry nodded, said good night again, and stalked off down the stairs, ignoring Plum’s protests.
“You needn’t have made such a scene, you know. I would have finished the chapter and tucked them all in, and no one would know that you and I…that we…”
She really did blush in a most delightful manner. He grinned at her, warmed to the toes by the shy little glances she was giving him. “Sweetheart, not even the archbishop of Canterbury could stop me from bedding you tonight.”
“Harry!” Plum gasped in a delighted sort of way.