Episode 2

To a twenty-degree angle. She remained that way for a month.

And then finally, the moment of truth arrived. The household prayed for the duke, who so

wanted an heir, and a few remembered to pray for the duchess, who had grown thin and frail

even as her belly had grown round and wide. They tried not to be too hopeful—after all, the

duchess had already delivered and buried two babes. And even if she did manage to safely

deliver a child, it could be, well, a girl.

As the duchess's screams grew louder and more frequent, the duke shoved his way into her

chamber, ignoring the protests of the doctor, the midwife, and her grace's maid. It was a bloody

mess, but the duke was determined to be. present when the babe's sex was revealed.

The head appeared, then the shoulders. All leaned forward to watch as the duchess strained and

pushed, and then...

And then the duke knew that there was a God, and He still smiled on the Bassets. He allowed

the midwife one minute to clean the babe, then took the little boy into his arms and marched into

the great hall to show him off.

"I have a son!" he boomed. "A perfect little son!"

And while the servants cheered and wept with relief, the duke looked down upon the tiny little

earl, and said, "You are perfect. You are a Basset. You are mine."

The duke wanted to take the boy outside to prove to everyone that he had finally sired a healthy

male child, but there was a slight chill in the early April air, so he allowed the midwife to take

the babe back to his mother. The duke mounted one of his prized geldings and rode off to

celebrate, shouting his good fortune to all who would listen.

Meanwhile, the duchess, who had been bleeding steadily since the birth, slipped into

unconsciousness, and then finally just slipped away.

The duke mourned his wife. He truly did. He hadn't loved her, of course, and she hadn't loved

him, but they'd been friends in an oddly distant sort of way. The duke hadn't expected anything

more from marriage than a son and an heir, and in that regard, his wife had proven herself an

exemplary spouse. He arranged for fresh flowers to be laid at the base of her funereal monument

every week, no matter the season, and her portrait was moved from the sitting room to the hall,

in a position of great honor over the staircase.

And then the duke got on with the business of raising his son.

There wasn't much he could do in the first year, of course. The babe was too young for lectures

on land management and responsibility, so the duke left Simon in the care of his nurse and went

to London, where his life continued much as it had before he'd been blessed by parenthood,

except that he forced everyone—even the king—to gaze upon the miniature he'd had painted of

his son shortly after his birth.

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