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knotted Lucan’s stomach, and he curled his toes in his boots to keep his distress from showing.
    Genny came to stand beside the bed. She placed a comforting hand on Lucan’s shoulder. She’d had days to digest this news. He’d had but minutes.
    “He also said with proper care and attention to your health, you might very well live much longer.” She gave Lucan’s shoulder a brief squeeze. “Many years, in fact.”
    Always the optimist, thank God. If Genny disintegrated into a blubbering mess, he’d be hard-pressed to retain his composure, male stoicism be damned.
    Lucan rubbed his thumb across the back of Mother’s blue-veined hand. Not yet fifty. Too soon. “I shall consult with Europe’s finest physicians. We’ll not let one antiquated country doctor determine your future.”
    “Your eye is bruised. Later you must tell me why.” She patted his cheek before letting her hand flop across her middle. Her eyes drifted shut again. “You need a shave, dear, and you smell of cabbage and corned beef.” Her delicate nostrils quivered. “And onions.”
    His midday meal.
    Her breathing shallow, Mother winced and covered her heart.
    Lucan exchanged a worried look with his sister. Did Genny’s eyes glisten? What exactly had the doctor said? First thing tomorrow he would discover for himself.
    “Lucan?” Mother’s hand twitched within his.
    He turned his attention back to her. “Yes, Mama?”
    “Promise me you’ll find a wife before I die.” She gripped his hand with surprising strength, determination replacing the resigned look in her weary gaze.
    “Mama, I—”
    “Genevieve has Montgomery and the girls, and they’ve already said they want Jeremy to live with them.” She drew in a shallow breath. “I want to know you have someone, too. That when I die, you’re not alone.”
    “Let’s not talk of this now.” Or ever .
    Lucan sent Genny a desperate glance.
    Turning her head, she wiped a tear from the corner of her eye with her bent forefinger.
    He patted his mother’s hand. “We can discuss my future when you are stronger.”
    Egad, he couldn’t promise to seek a wife. Not now. No eligible women lived nearby, and only the need to find a knowledgeable physician would force him from Chattsworth Park House. Besides, rushing into—
    “Mama?” Alarm sharpened Genny’s voice.
    Mother went deathly still and just as ashen, except for a bluish tinge edging her lips.
    “Promise me, Lucan.” Her pain-glazed eyes fluttered open. “Promise me. By Christmastide.”
    Genny gasped when their mother’s eyes rolled back in her head. “Mama!”
    Hell .
    Lucan closed his eyes. “I promise.”

Chapter 8
    Wedderford Abbey, Scotland
    Late September, 1818
    Tasara—no—Alexandra Bridget Clarisse Atterberry, The Right Honorable Lady Atterberry , settled against the claret-colored squabs of the Needhams’ plush carriage. That title business still flummoxed her. For God’s sake, why did a female baroness hold a Laird, Lord, of Parliament title?
    What nincompoop came up with that?
    She shifted, unused to the stays practically thrusting her breasts to her chin. More on point, what pea-wit decided a woman needed all the trappings she now wore?
    Aunt Bridget had insisted upon a frenetic shopping excursion in Edinburgh to outfit Alexandra with clothing befitting her new station. Unaccustomed to the smooth fabric of her primrose pelisse or the fine kid gloves encasing her fingers, Alexandra idly brushed a hand across her lap.
    I shall always be Tasara Faas, a simple gypsy lass.
    She veered a glance out the window, finding the quiet within the carriage taxing.
    Her gypsy family sang as they traveled, the tinkers laughing and joking, calling to one another along the caravan’s length. Such a simple life she’d lived till now. Nonetheless, Edeena’s words to Father echoed worryingly in her mind.
    Ye must consider Lala and György, and the rest of the clan too.
    A bruised heart and heavy spirit weighed heavily upon