The American Heir(6)

I held my temper. "Thank you. I should have brought some back with me   from Seattle." I had connections and friends at Seattle's premier coffee   company.

"I prefer a nice, dark Kenyan roast. Order some fresh. Overnight it if   you have to." I rattled off a list of the coffees I wanted. "Whole bean,   not ground." I shuddered at the thought. Ground coffee lost its flavor   and went stale too quickly. "And if you don't mind, set up the grinder   and pour-over gear in the buffet here, along with a pot of hot water  or  one of the coffee machines I bought.

"I'll make my own coffee fresh. I prefer it that way." I smiled at her.   "Sorry to be such a coffee snob. I can't help it. Being from Seattle, I   was raised on the stuff." I paused. "I suppose the Italians are  worse."

She grinned, mollified-I hoped, anyway-and went about her business before bustling out of the room.

I frowned. Last night had been hell. I was bleary-eyed, tired, needed   coffee full of caffeine, not tepid tea, and only slightly calmer than   I'd been last night.

Haley strolled in just then looking lovely and irritatingly fresh. My   heart flipped over, treacherously joyous at the sight of her. The   pregnancy had only begun to show, and was only noticeable if you looked   closely enough and knew the intimate curves of her body the way I did.   Her slender waist had grown thicker and her breasts lusher. There were   hints of circles beneath her eyes that she'd carefully covered with   concealer.

She smiled when she saw me, as if nothing ugly had happened between us last night.

What is her game? I scowled and turned away.

She caught my arm and kissed my cheek when she couldn't capture my   mouth. "If it isn't my handsome duke! How did you sleep last night,   darling?"

Darling? Now she was just baiting me.

When I answered with a glare, she looped her arm through mine and   snagged a piece of dry toast off my plate. "Lovely of you to share. I   need my nourishment. We have a big day ahead of us. Speaking of which, I   hope your calendar is clear. We have a doctor appointment at eleven in   the village. Dr. Turner has graciously squeezed us in on a moment's   notice."

Her grin was lopsided and confident as she whispered, "The perks of being the duchess."

I stared at her in disbelief. "Dr. Turner?"

She smiled sweetly. "He delivers babies, duke. We need official   confirmation before our official announcement in the gardens at four."

"What?"

She waved a hand breezily. "No need to worry. I've got it all handled. I   contacted the press and made an appointment at the salon in the  village  to get my hair and nails done. There's an adorable little dress  shop  I'll need to pop into. You can come with!"

I regarded her with stony silence.

"Sorry, but this isn't the time to wear something from Flash. Not even   by a British designer. Rumor has it that the shop owners in the village   are feeling threatened by the thought of you taking Flash into the UK.   Brick-and-mortar stores are already feeling the pinch from online   buying. They're afraid of what a fashion flash sale site like Flash   could do to their livings."

I was stunned and surprised by the thought. I should have been pleased by how savvy my duchess was.

"I think wearing something by a British designer purchased in a local   shop is best for the occasion of announcing our first attempt at an   heir. The gesture will go a long way to showing our support for the   local economy, building goodwill, and allaying fears."

Gibson came in, interrupting before I could respond. He smiled when he   saw us whispering to each other. I gathered he preferred domestic   tranquility to the nasty, cold alternative. "Is everything satisfactory,   sir? Madam?"

"Perfect, Gibson," Haley answered for us.

I said in her ear, "We need to talk. In private."

"Yes, of course." She was still smiling. "Your office? After we finish our breakfast."

She took another bite of toast. "I hope you have something dashing to   wear to the announcement this afternoon. Something that photographs   well. Ask Gibson for help." She winked at him. "I'm sure he'll have an   opinion."   





 

She squeezed my arm, grabbed the last slice of toast off my plate, and   walked off, leaving me to stew like the horrible tomatoes the Brits   insisted on serving for breakfast. Give me some American pancakes and   Vermont maple syrup, damn it.





Chapter 4





Haley

Hearts can break in too many painful, shattering ways. As I waited for   Riggins to show up for our after-breakfast confrontation, I was hanging   on to the ragged edges of mine. It turns out that killing someone with   kindness is not as easy as it sounds. Not when your own heart is under   constant assault.

I wanted Riggins to want me. I needed him to need me and this baby. And   to realize there were worse things in life than having a woman who   happily carried his child.

I sat in the Dead Duke's chair-maybe I should start referring to him as   Grandpa-sipping my morning Duke of Witham tea as I stared at the  picture  of him and Helen on the wall opposite the desk. My  great-grandparents, I  realized with a start. The reality was still  sinking in, slowly.

By all rights, I should have grown up with this inheritance. I should   have sat on the Dead Duke's knee as a child. Pulled his long gray beard.   Did he have a long gray beard in old age? Played with his glasses. Ran   wild through the maze and gardens. Explored the turrets and towers.   Played scary hide and seek in the Ghost Tower. Been as familiar with   this place as any grandchild should be. Have known my family legacy   instead of being a stranger to it.

If only Helen had told Rans about Gloria. If only she hadn't let pride   stop her. Or shame. Or love. That was what Clara claimed, that Helen   hadn't wanted to marry Rans unless he loved her. And that she didn't   want to trap him into marriage with a child. Well, that part was   implied, anyway.

And here I was, holding Riggins to me with a child. Not by choice. But   Helen hadn't really had much of a choice either. Still, which one of us   was in the right in the end-me or her? Had she been right to consider   her barren sister's happiness and her own over the legacy her child   deserved?

Or was I in the right, fighting for my child to have its birthright and   carry on a family tradition that I thought was worth saving? Was I  right  to fight for a man I loved using any method possible, underhanded  if  necessary, including a child I hadn't meant to conceive? Or had she  been  right to set her man free and absolve him of any obligation and  any  choice in the matter? Had he had the right to know about his own  baby?

Speaking of that baby, some things made sense now. All those   miscarriages Helen had? The result of the Rh factor problem between her   and Rans. The first baby wasn't affected and was healthy, as Gloria  was.  It was after that, with subsequent pregnancies, that the mother's  body  attacked the growing fetus as if it was an infection or disease.  Rans  and Helen had been fortunate, indeed, to have one subsequent birth  that  went to full term and lived for almost a year. If I had to guess,  that  child had an undetected heart defect of some kind. That was the  usual  problem.

My own mom would have said you play the hand fate deals you. You play it   not knowing what cards life holds. And you do your best with it. No   second-guessing. No Monday morning quarterbacking. Full speed. Full   throttle, making your way to your destiny.

I could almost hear her telling me this again. See her face soften with   love as she encouraged me. Thinking of her had given me the courage to   overcome my fear of the unknown British healthcare system and call the   village obstetrician for an appointment.

There was no need for secrecy from the village now. Riggins would have   to face this. And I would have to face a healthcare system I was   unfamiliar with. And a press I wanted to shy away from. I'd have to live   a public life until I was old enough and eccentric enough to be the  old  duchess.

"So, Helen, we're each doing our best," I said to the photo of my great-grandparents. It felt good to say it aloud.

Even though she continued in her duke's passionate embrace, I felt she   approved. And so did he. I put my hand protectively on my abdomen,   praying for a boy, as so many newly married duchesses had before me.

I started as the office door opened and Riggins strolled in. His face   was set and hard. All business. Even etched with anger, he was so   handsome he made my heart squeeze, shackled in the bonds of the love I   felt for him.