Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom(137)

“Yes?” she asked, encouraging him with a sweet smile.

“My mother isn’t dead, Justine.”





“Thank you, Mr. Langton,” Justine said as she escorted the surgeon into the hall. “You have greatly relieved my mind. I don’t know what we would have done without you.”

“Nonsense, Mrs. Steele,” said the gruff but kindly man. “You and Rose did all the work, and you’re both to be commended. You provided the baby with excellent care, and I have no doubt he’s well on the mend. His fever has clearly broken, so he should be as right as a trivet in a few days.”

“Thank God,” she said.

She felt almost dizzy with relief and, after the stresses of the last few days, more than ready to crawl into bed and sleep for ten hours, or more. Unfortunately, though, she had another pressing concern to deal with—her secretive, stubborn, and immensely infuriating husband.

“It’s hard not to worry with the little ones,” Mr. Langton said. “But these sorts of fevers, if they don’t progress, usually resolve very quickly. Just keep him warm, supplement his feedings with barley water, and he’ll be fine.”

Justine thanked him again, handing him off to Phelps who waited at the top of the staircase. She stood quietly for a minute or so, composing herself for the coming discussion with her husband. Or confrontation, probably, for she had a strong suspicion he already regretted revealing the news about his mother. The surgeon’s appearance had provided Griffin with a short reprieve, but Justine had no intention of allowing him to avoid the subject. She only hoped she wouldn’t be reduced to searching the house for him, given his tendency to avoid anyone he didn’t wish to talk to.


But to her surprise Griffin was still in her bedroom, picking over the remains of her tea.

“Would you like me to ring for more?” she asked with polite sarcasm. “I’m sure you’ve not had nearly enough to eat today.”

“Now, Justine,” he said, coming to his feet. “There’s no need to be testy. And if you sent back an untouched tray, you know Cook would be insulted.”

“No worries about that when you’re around,” she muttered under her breath.

His unrepentant grin told her she hadn’t been quiet enough, though, and, yes, she sounded like a shrew, but she had good cause as far as she was concerned.

He came over to take her hand, towing her back to her chair. “Yes, I know I’m a terrible trial and I know you have a thousand questions. And I will answer them, however reluctantly, once you tell me what the surgeon said. Is the baby on the mend?”

His genuine concern soothed her ire. Griffin might pretend not to care for sick babies in general and Stephen in particular, but she knew the opposite to be true. Like most men, he had no desire to play nursemaid, but he’d been more than willing to help Rose whenever Justine snatched a few hours’ sleep. His kindness had surprised and touched her, and done nothing but hasten her precipitous tumble into love.

“His fever has broken, so Mr. Langton believes he’s on the mend,” she said as Griffin poured her a fresh cup of tea. She sighed, gratefully accepting it. “I’m very glad that ordeal is over.”

He contemplated her with a faint smile. “Indeed. And you, my little wife, are sorely in need of a good night’s rest. I suppose it’s a waste of breath to attempt to persuade you to put our talk off until morning.”

“If you don’t mind,” she said in a firm voice.

“I’d rather not discuss it at all, but I suspect you would relentlessly pester me until I crack like a bad egg,” he said.