"It was honest."
She squeezed his hand. "I love you."
"I love you, too."
The birth came sooner than expected. A storm had settled over Blackwood. Evelyn woke before dawn with pain. Nathaniel was asleep in a chair beside her. She touched his shoulder.
"Nathaniel."
He woke instantly. "What happened?"
"I think the baby is coming."
He stood so quickly he nearly knocked over the chair. "Now?"
"Yes."
"I'll get the physician."
"You should probably put on shoes."
He looked down: he was barefoot. Evelyn laughed.
"This is not funny."
"It is a little funny."
He rushed from the room. The household woke. The physician arrived; the midwife arrived. Nathaniel paced outside.
Mrs. Mercer eventually said, "Your Grace, if you continue walking like that, you will wear through the carpet."
"I cannot sit."
"You can."
"I cannot."
"You can."
"I don't want to."
"Then stand somewhere less irritating."
He stared at her. Mrs. Mercer smiled. "You married a strong woman. You should have expected this."
Hours passed. Then the door opened. The midwife looked at him. "You have a son."
Nathaniel stopped breathing. "A son?"
"A healthy boy."
He entered. Evelyn looked exhausted; the baby lay against her. Nathaniel approached. She smiled.
"Your heir."
He shook his head. "Our son."
She looked at him. "And you stay?"
She laughed softly. "I told you that before we married."
"Certainly. You nearly argued."
"I was an idiot."
"You were."
He sat beside her. She looked at the child. "He has your nose."
Nathaniel looked offended. "That is unfortunate."
She laughed. "He has your stubbornness, too."
"He is a Blackwood."
"He is three minutes old."
Still, the baby opened his eyes. Nathaniel touched his tiny hand. The feeling that went through him was overwhelming: he had spent years fearing the loss of his family's name; now the name mattered less than the small life holding his finger.
Evelyn watched him. "You are crying."
"I am not."
"You are."
"Do not tell anyone."
"I will tell everyone."
He laughed. Then he kissed her forehead. "Thank you—for the baby, for everything."
She closed her eyes. "You are welcome."
For several weeks, Blackwood became quiet. The child slept badly. Nathaniel discovered that a duke's title had no influence over an infant: he could command hundreds of men; his son ignored him.
One night, the baby cried for an hour. Nathaniel tried walking, singing, rocking, threatening to resign from fatherhood; nothing worked. Evelyn watched from the bed.
"You're doing it wrong."