After reluctantly leaving Bran’s bed before dawn, Jo had returned to her chamber and fallen into a deep, satisfied slumber. She was so happy, so content.

So when she woke up to the feel of sticky wetness between her thighs, she panicked.

It could be from last night, she told herself, even as ice coated her flesh.

Anxiety lacing through her, she eased back the covers of her bed and looked down. Despair stole though every corner of her body, robbing her of breath and coherence.

Tears flooded her eyes, and she began to shake.

She’d no idea how long she lay there while every emotion—and every scrap of hope—drained from her. Eventually, she dragged herself from the bed and cleaned up. With Evie gone, she didn’t have anywhere to be this morning, so she kept to her chamber. A maid brought her chocolate and toast, which she barely touched.

Around noon, she forced herself to get dressed so she could go to Nora’s to fetch Evie, as they’d planned. She’d no desire to see her sister. She’d no desire to see anyone. Thankfully, Bran was not at home.

Her insides churned at the thought of him. Last night had been so perfect. The culmination of so many beautiful nights together. She’d come so close to telling him that she could be with child, but had ultimately decided not to. Now she was glad. He need never know of her foolishness.

She arrived at Nora’s and sternly told herself to put on the brave façade she’d used all those years she’d been with Matthias. It was as natural as breathing, and yet today she found it unbearably difficult. Almost impossible.

And yet she did it, smiling at Abbott as he opened the door.

She went up to the drawing room to await Evie, bracing herself when Nora greeted her from the desk.

“Good afternoon,” Jo said brightly.

Nora set a piece of parchment aside. “I just received a letter from Lucy. Still no baby!” Nora shook her head as she rose. “Both she and Aquilla should have delivered by now, poor dears.”

Jo’s entire body stiffened to the point of feeling brittle, as if a strong wind would blow her into a thousand pieces. “Is Evie ready?”

Nora came toward her. “Do you need to hurry off? I thought we could have tea or maybe even some luncheon. I’m starving all the time now.” She rolled her eyes. “Soon I’ll be as big as a coach.”

Talk of babies and pregnancy had always made Jo uncomfortable, but today it was intolerable. She had to get out of there. “I really can’t stay.”

Nora’s gaze turned assessing in that I’m-watching-you older-sister way. “Is something the matter? You don’t look well.”

“I’m fine,” she said tightly. “Just…that time. I’d like to go home and lie down.”

“Of course, I’ll just ask Abbott to fetch Evie.” Nora left for a moment, and when she returned, Jo was no more settled than when she’d gone.

“Why don’t you sit while you wait?” Nora suggested.

“Please stop mothering me.” Jo knew she sounded waspish but didn’t care. It was all she could do to keep herself together.

“I’m not.” Nora used the overly patient tone that always drove Jo mad when they were younger, when Nora had indeed been trying to mother her. “I’m trying to be helpful. But apparently you are not in the mood for that.” Her voice grew cool.

Jo snapped. How dare Nora become irritated with her? “It’s your fault. I’ve always said it wasn’t, that you weren’t to blame for how my life turned out, but you are. If you hadn’t kissed Haywood, I would’ve had a Season, and I certainly wouldn’t have had to marry Matthias.”

Nora’s eyes widened, and her mouth gaped open.

Jo clasped her hands together, squeezing her fingers as long-buried anger burned through her. “You ruined my life.”

A tear fell from Nora’s eye, tracking down her cheek. “I know. And I’m so sorry. I never knew that your marriage was so troubled. If I could go back and change things, I would.”

“Would you? You probably wouldn’t be married to Titus. You might not even be a duchess.”

“That never really mattered to me—I only wanted to be happy. I wanted you to be happy.”

“But you didn’t think of me when Haywood came along.” Jo knew she was hurting her sister, but she was hurting too. She’d never voiced the bitterness she’d felt when her entire future had been spoiled.

Nora was crying in earnest now. “I would go back and change things. I would gladly give up my happiness for yours. When I think of you suffering for all those years… Did he beat you?” She wiped at her cheeks.

“Not with his fists but with words. He said I was less than a woman because I couldn’t give him children. When I found him in bed with a man, he told me that too was due to my failures.”

Nora gasped. She brought both hands to her mouth and shook her head. She moved toward Jo, but Jo took a step back. “I don’t want you to console me, and I don’t want to console you. I know that would make you feel better, but I’ve always done things for other people, never for myself. For you, for Matthias.”

For Bran. She’d warmed his bed—or allowed him to warm hers—and he’d reaped all the benefits. Now here she was, broken again, and she’d have to go on alone while he’d have his family.

She nearly doubled over at the thought. They’d been her family. She loved them—Evie and Bran. Oh yes, she loved him so very much.

Nora’s tearstained voice broke into Jo’s tormented thoughts. “Jo, I’m heartbroken. Please. Tell me what I can do.”

All the rage in Jo dissolved into sadness and hopelessness. Her head dropped, and she stared at the floor through a veil of unshed tears. “I don’t know. It’s…it’s all a mess,” she whispered, feeling utterly defeated. She blinked, then looked over at Nora. “I am barren after all. I thought I might not be, but I am.”

This time when Nora came toward her, Jo let her. And when her sister’s arms came around her, Jo buried her face in her shoulder. She didn’t cry, but she closed her eyes and thought of all the times Nora had held her after their mother had died. She might not remember their mother too clearly, but she remembered that.

Jo lifted her head and eased back. “I’m sorry. I guess I’ve been holding that in a very long time. I don’t really blame you—at least, not anymore. I wouldn’t want your life to be different. I’m so glad you have Titus and Becky and Christopher.” She glanced down at Nora’s gently rounded belly. “And the new baby.” Her throat knotted.

“Did you think you were with child?” Nora asked.

Jo nodded, unable to voice any words.

“Oh, Jo.” Nora hugged her again. “But maybe there’s still hope. I didn’t get pregnant right away with Titus.”

Jo pulled back and summoned a wobbly smile. “Please don’t. I can’t bear to hope anymore. It’s too hard. Anyway, Bran needs an heir, and if I can’t give him one, he must find someone who can. I’m not sure how much longer I can stay with him.”

“You mean you’d resign your position?”

“I have to.” Jo’s heart squeezed. “I don’t think I can bear it.”

“You love him,” Nora said.

“Yes.”

“I’m ready, Jo!” Evie bounded into the room with a gleeful smile.

Jo was glad she hadn’t cried. She leaned down and swept Evie into a hug. “Did you have a fun time?”

“Yes! We stayed up very late and ate Shrewsbury cakes!”

Nora chuckled. “The cook sent a tray up. She can’t seem to help herself from spoiling the girls.”

As Jo and Evie turned to go, Nora touched her arm. She sent a worried glance toward Evie, who was thankfully oblivious. “Think about things before you make any decisions,” she whispered. “I’m here if you need me.

Jo appreciated the support. “I truly am sorry for before.”

Nora shook her head briskly. “Don’t be. It was long overdue for you to let that out. I love you.”

Jo found a small smile, then left with Evie.

Once they were settled into the coach, Evie snuggled close to Jo on the seat. “I missed you and Papa last night. I’m so glad you’re my governess.”

Jo’s throat clogged with thick emotion as she pressed a kiss to Evie’s head. Yes, she should leave, but she wasn’t sure she could.

* * *

Bran stood in the corner of the drawing room at the Kendals’ town house while everyone else engaged in bright conversation. Well, almost everyone. He noted that Jo, seated on the opposite side of the room, seemed rather subdued. But then she’d been like that the past several days.

He’d barely spoken to her since the amazing night they’d spent together, and she’d informed him that she couldn’t receive him because she was indisposed.

They’d arrived at the dinner party together, and aside from Evie being with them, the short coach ride had been fraught with tension—and not the kind he usually felt with her. Instead of being consumed with desire and the need to touch her, he’d been off-balance and unsure.

Upon their arrival, Evie had gone up to the nursery to be with Becky and to rehearse the puppet show they would give after dinner. Jo had moved away from him with alacrity, and he hadn’t been close enough to talk to her since.

Lady Dunn came to his side, leaning rather heavily on her cane. “Why are you lurking in the shadows over here? The purpose of this party was to give you a chance to meet people and establish yourself.”

It wasn’t a terribly large party, but he supposed there were a few people of import here, and he’d already met them when the gentlemen had taken port after dinner. “I’m not lurking. I’m enjoying a few moments of solitude.”

“I see.” She followed his gaze and inclined her head. “I do see. How are things with Mrs. Shaw?”

“She’s working out quite well. Evie adores her.”

“Don’t be obtuse. Have you given any more consideration to making her your countess?”

He’d done little else the past few days since realizing he was in love with her. “Yes. It may happen.” Or not. Given her behavior, he had to wonder if she’d decided to end their affair.

“I shall continue to hope so,” his godmother said. “You’ll make an excellent match.” She patted his arm, then doddered off.

Bran knew he should make an effort to talk to people, but it was difficult when all he wanted to do was tear off his coat and cravat. Then he would be more at ease. Damn Society and their stupid rules.

Just as he’d almost talked himself into going to talk to West, his mother approached him with another woman in tow.

“Knighton, have you met Mrs. Rollins?”

Bran eyed the woman. She was perhaps a few years younger than him—about Jo’s age, he would guess—with velvety brown eyes and ebony hair. “No, I haven’t had the pleasure.” He offered a bow. “How do you do?”

She curtsied. “Well, thank you. It’s an honor to meet you.” She looked him in the eye and carried a confidence that had been absent in the frivolous young women he’d danced with at the Andover ball.

“Mrs. Rollins is Welsh—like us,” his mother said. “She’s also widowed—like us.”

Bran had to give his mother credit. For a first matchmaking attempt, it wasn’t terrible. He’d expected her to foist eager young debutantes on him. This was much better. “I’m sorry for your loss,” Bran said.

“And I yours. It can be difficult raising children on your own. I understand you have a daughter.”

“Yes, she’ll be performing a puppet show in a while with the duke’s daughter.”

“Oh yes, the duchess told me about that before dinner. How wonderful.”

There was a beat of silence, and Bran’s mother rushed to fill it. “Mrs. Rollins also has a daughter. And she’s six, just like Lady Evangeline will be shortly.”

Bran threw his mother an incredulous look. How on earth had she found a woman who was “just like” him? If she’d spent time living in the tropics, he might have to seriously consider her.

Wait, wasn’t he already seriously considering Jo? His gaze found her again, and he saw that she was watching him. Her expression was serene and completely inscrutable.

The duke called for everyone’s attention and asked that they assemble themselves to watch the puppet show. He indicated a dais that had been set up on one side of the room with a wooden theatre with curtains.

“Allow me to introduce my daughter, Lady Rebecca, and her friend, Lady Evangeline.”

The girls entered the drawing room on cue and curtsied to a round of applause. Bran’s discomfort melted away as he watched his daughter’s excitement. She and Becky had written a short romantic play about a maid who becomes a princess and had been thrilled when the duchess had asked them to perform tonight.

As the girls made their way to the stage, Evie’s gaze found Bran’s. He smiled and winked at her, and she gave him a little wave.

“Is that your daughter?” Mrs. Rollins asked.

Bran noticed that his mother had moved away. Cheeky.

“Yes.”

“She’s lovely. How fun to do a puppet show. I understand she and Lady Rebecca wrote it. My daughter enjoys making up stories.”

Just like Evie.

He turned to Mrs. Rollins. “Have you lived in England your whole life?”

“Since I married. Before that, I lived in Wales.”

Bran exhaled, glad that he could cross “lived in the tropics” off the list of things they had in common.

The show started, and Bran was riveted. The girls had several puppets of varying genders, and they did voices for each one that were unique and, in some cases, hilarious. The maid’s father was a comical fellow who kept tripping over everything. They finished to boisterous cheers and applause. Bran had never been more proud.

“That was marvelous,” Mrs. Rollins declared, grinning. “Lady Evie is delightful. Perhaps she and my Margaret would like to meet one day.”

Bran couldn’t see why not. “That’s an excellent idea. I’ll have my secretary contact you.”

Something flashed in her eyes, but she quickly disguised it with a smile. “That would be splendid, thank you. It was lovely to meet you.” She curtsied again, and he bowed. Then she was gone.

Evie ran to him then, and he swept her up into a great hug. “You were brilliant!” he said.

“Where’s Jo?” she asked. “Didn’t you watch it together?”

“No, I watched it with a nice woman named Mrs. Rollins. And do you know what? She has a daughter your age, and we’re going to introduce you so that you can make another friend.”

Evie blinked. “Oh.” She turned her head. “There’s Jo. Put me down.”

He set her down, and she took off to Jo who held her arms out and squatted down to give her a warm hug. Watching them together made his heart ache in a way he hadn’t felt since Louisa had died. He’d been sad at her passing, but mostly because Evie had lost her mother, not because he’d lost his wife. Seeing Evie embrace another woman with such happiness filled him with joy.

“Did you like Mrs. Rollins?” His mother seemed to appear out of nowhere.

Startled, Bran turned to face her. “Yes. We had quite a few things in common.”

“I know. That’s why I introduced you. I met her the other day and arranged an invitation for her tonight. I told you I could be helpful.”

Yes, but he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of saying so. They may have reached a truce of sorts, but he wasn’t ready to let her close to him—and he might never be.

“Well, I hope you’ll pursue getting to know her. You need to get on with things.”

She meant find a countess and produce an heir. His duty. It had been near the forefront of his mind since he’d read his father’s letter. He’d been hopeful that Jo would fulfill that duty, but with each day that she pulled away from him, his doubt increased. And then there was the matter of the heir and whether she could give him one.

“Yes, I know,” he finally said.

She smiled and patted his arm. “Good. I’m counting on you to lead as the head of the family now.” Her gaze was filled with something he’d never seen from her before: affection. He shuddered as he walked away.

Moving to gather Evie and Jo to return home, he caught Mrs. Rollins’s eye. She smiled at him and inclined her head. She was charming, self-assured, and clearly capable of having children.

Oh hell, what a tangle.