London 1814

“I am afraid it is a very serious illness, my lord.”

Matthew Arthur, the Duke of Harrogate, ran one hand through his carefully styled chestnut-colored hair, sighing heavily.

“I am sorry, your grace,” the doctor continued with a shake of his head. “It appears the duchess has contracted an illness after the birth of your daughter.”

A heavy weight settled in Matthew’s stomach. He barely knew the duchess, and now it appeared that she was to be gone from this world in a very short time.

“I should send for her parents,” he muttered to himself, passing one hand over his eyes before blinking at the doctor in an attempt to order his thoughts. “They should be here, should they not?”

It was a question meant to ascertain just how ill the duchess was, and with only a momentary hesitation, the doctor nodded slowly.

“Yes, your grace, I think that would be wise,” he said softly. “I am sorry I cannot do more.”

Matthew nodded mutely.

“You have a wet nurse for the child?”

That brought Matthew’s head up sharply. He had almost forgotten his newborn daughter, the one who was now being held tightly in the nurse’s arms in the corner of the room.

“I do,” he replied, swallowing the sudden lump in his throat, as he thought of his daughter growing up without a mother. “She has taken good care of my daughter thus far.”

“I do not mean to question you, of course,” the doctor murmured, glancing behind him. “But so often these things can be forgotten in the wake of tragedy.”

A sudden terror clutched at Matthew’s throat, making him lunge for the doctor’s shoulder as he turned away.

“She is not ill?”

Lifting his grey, bushy brows, the doctor looked back at Matthew inquiringly.

“My daughter, I mean.”

“Oh,” the doctor replied with a sad smile. “No, she is not ill. She is as hale and hearty as I have ever seen a babe, and one of the female persuasion at that! Ensure she has a good nurse, plenty of milk, and she will remain just as vigorous, I am sure of it. Send for me again if you require me, your grace. I am at your disposal.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Matthew murmured, as the man turned away again and headed for the door. “I will ensure that you are paid for your work here.”

There was no reply, and as Matthew turned his gaze back to the small, frail figure in the corner of the room, he felt his breath escape him in a long, painful sigh.

This was his wife, the Lady Elizabeth Donnington, who had been placed on his arm only a few days before their wedding was due to take place. He had never laid eyes on her until that day, and it had been a disappointment to realize that there would never be any kind of love between them. Not that he expected that, of course, for a gentleman such as he was, had to marry responsibly and that meant a marriage of convenience and practicality. Lady Elizabeth Donnington had been his chosen bride. She was not chosen by him, of course, but by his father when he had been in infancy. Mathew’s father was quite happy to see Matthew wed, and relieved to know that Matthew’s wife was with child. Apparently awash with relief, the duke had taken to his bed and succumbed to his weak heart. That had only been a few months ago, and now, it seemed, Matthew was to stare death in the face all over again.

Walking toward the bed, Matthew looked down at the pale figure lying there, his heart sore for her. It was not as though he had ever loved her, nor had she ever loved him, and since the very day of their marriage, they had lived very separate lives. It had brought about a degree of loneliness, which he had never quite been able to remove from himself, and now that loneliness was to deepen only further.

A slight murmur came from the corner of the room, and glancing over at the nurse, Matthew saw her throw him a slightly terrified look before shushing the baby quietly.

“Do not worry,” he murmured, not wanting the wet nurse to think him cruel. “She is a baby, I suppose.” He held his arm out to her, his heart thundering with a sudden, furious tension. “Bring her to me.”

He had not held his daughter yet, since his wife’s condition had worsened with almost every passing hour these last three days. Now, however, he wanted to hold his child in his arms, to look into her tiny face and see if there was anything of himself there.

Not quite sure how he was meant to hold her, he glanced at the wet nurse, who gave him a small smile, clearly less afraid of him now.

“There, your grace,” she said quietly, lifting the baby from the crook of her arm. “Just like that. Put her head in your elbow and hold her close to your body with this arm.” She smiled again as Matthew took the tiny baby from her, doing exactly as she said and felt as though he might break his child were he to hold her too closely.

“Perfect,” the nurse whispered, tugging the blanket a little more snugly around the child’s neck before stepping away to sit back amongst the shadows.

Drawing in a long breath, Matthew looked down at the baby in his arms. She was sound asleep, her cheeks pink and tiny, rosebud mouth half open. She was the most delicate, most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and deep within him, Matthew felt his heartbreak open with a love he had never experienced before.

How he could love someone he had only just met, only just seen, was quite beyond him, and yet, from a well of love springing into life within him, Matthew knew that he would never let this child go. He would do everything he could for her, showing her the love and affection a father ought to show to his daughter. A love he had not experienced from his own father.

“If you will forgive me, your grace,” the wet nurse said quietly. “Do you have a name for the child? I was not told.”

Blinking, Matthew lifted his head and looked at the nurse, who was sitting with a patient expression on her face. Had he truly never given his daughter a name?

“Of course,” he mumbled, his gaze dragged back down to the child in his arms. “She should be called after her mother.” But even as he said those words, Matthew felt his eyebrows draw down into a dark frown. Yes, the girl should be called after her mother, but there was something in him that did not want to remember the pain of his arranged wedding, and the loneliness that had grown between them. “She will be Sarah Elizabeth,” he said, firmly, taking his mother’s name and setting it before his wife’s name. “Sarah Elizabeth. Yes, that will do.”

“A lovely name, to be sure,” the wet nurse murmured, coming over to him and holding out her hands as Sarah Elizabeth began to fuss. “I should feed her now and put her to sleep.”

It was as though he were the servant and she the master, for Matthew found himself doing exactly as the wet nurse said. Handing over the child, he paused for a moment, as her tiny hand wrapped around one of his fingers, making him catch his breath.

She was utterly perfect. The only good thing to come out of what had been a difficult and lonely marriage between two people who did not care for one another very much at all.

And then his wife drew in a long, sharp breath and let out a soft moan – before falling completely silent.

The wet nurse hurried away, the servants by his wife’s bed gasped, and Matthew hurried to her side.

Taking her cold hand in his, Matthew tried desperately to find a pulse, but there was nothing there. A sheen of sweat was on her brow, and as he wiped it away, he felt the coolness of her skin beneath. Her eyes were closed, purple veins showing through her almost translucent skin.

“My wife is gone,” Matthew said quietly, reaching for the blankets and pulling them up around her shoulders, as though to warm her. “Send for the coroner.”

The servants left the room at once, the wet nurse with them. Matthew was left alone with his wife, the blackness tugging at his heart and mind all over again. He was alone. His mother had gone some years before his father, and now his wife had left him alone in this world. With only a brother to speak of – a brother who was something of an adventurer and currently traveling the world – Matthew felt more isolated than he had ever done before.

“I am sorry, your grace,” the butler murmured, as he came into the room to stand next to Matthew. “She was so young. It was not her time.”

“It appears it was, Jenkins,” Matthew replied heavily. “Have you maids to dress the body?” The words were torn from his lips, his heart so heavy with a sudden grief that he felt as though he could barely stand.

The butler nodded. “The maids are ready, your grace. Just whenever you wish it.”

“Now is as good a time as any,” Matthew muttered, taking one last look at his wife. “I shall be in my study.”

“Very good, your grace,” came the quiet reply, and on legs that felt like blocks of wood, Matthew walked from the room and made his way to the solitude of his study.

Once there, he poured himself a stiff drink and sat down by the fire, his eyes looking deeply into the flames. His mind thought of nothing, his expression blank and eyes distant. It was not as though there had been any love between himself and his wife, but yet there came a sadness with her passing. It was as if he had hoped for them both to find a way together, as though sometime in the future they might grow closer. He had perhaps thought that the baby would be the reason for such a change, that the child could draw them closer. That, somewhere in the distant future, there might be a true friendship and even an affection between them.

All that was gone now. His hopes shattered. His dreams in pieces at his feet.

“I shall be both mother and father to you, Sarah Elizabeth,” he said softly, half to himself, as he continued to watch the flickering flames of the fire. “No matter what we will face, we will face it together. I will never leave you. I will always be by your side.”

Lifting his glass to the flames in memory of his wife, Matthew drank deeply, but the liquor took none of his pain away.