Sylvie could not help but suck in a surprised breath at the sight of the man in front of her. Tall, slender, dressed impeccably with his blond hair styled to highlight his exquisite cheekbones, Winter Hastings, the Marquess of Graham looked like something out of a fairytale. Beside him stood his wife, who would have been lovely had her face not been marred by a horrendous mass of scars on one side of her face. That was not to say that her face was horrendous, rather Sylvie referred to the amount of pain that must have accompanied an injury of that magnitude. Raphael's scars still hurt him sometimes. The Marchioness was smiling at them warmly, waiting for introductions to be made. Sylvie could not help but be charmed by the freckles that dusted her face, giving her a very charming appearance in spite of the disfigurement.

The Marquess of Graham was a very old friend of Rafe's, one of his unscrupulous friends from his rowdy days at Cambridge. He had been just as much of a shameless libertine as Raphael was until the death of an old friend had sent him on a path of introspection and self-improvement, which had eventually put him in the path of his very unorthodox wife.

"My Lord, My Lady," she dipped into an elegant courtesy when Raphael introduced them, pleased when Jane did the same without her having to prompt it. Sylvie was still unsure what exactly they were doing at the Graham family's estate some few hours outside of London. Every time she had asked Raphael to tell her what he had planned for her, he had maintained that it was a surprise and she must not think that she was able to boss him around now that she was in her thirtieth year for he was still three years her senior and the heir to a Marquessate to boot. And so Sylvie was completely in the dark as to what their excursion was going to be.

The Marquess crouched down to give Jane a gallant kiss on her hand. Sylvie could have melted into a puddle right there.

"What are you gawking at?" Raphael hissed at her as the couple's attention was diverted by whatever Jane was writing in her little notebook. "The man is married, for Christ's sake! Rather happily, might I add. And may I remind you that it is you who demanded fidelity while we were in our arrangement?"

Oh, Sylvie knew all about that. From the scandal sheets she confiscated from her students, naturally. A woman of her age and dignity simply did not stoop to purchasing or reading gossip rags, thank you very much!

But the tale of how a simple country girl married one of the most eligible men in England certainly had the ring of an old maid's tail to it. The Marchioness was the daughter of a Scottish prizefighter, in fact, she knew a thing or two about throwing a punch herself! They had met because she was an employee of His Lordship's mother at the charity she ran. They had fallen thoroughly and completely in love, so much so that The Marquess had thumbed his nose at public opinion and eloped with her. Rafe took great credit in being the one to give The Marquess the final push to pursue his heart though Sylvie was not entirely sure how true that story was. Her lover, for all his talents, had a rather inflated sense of self-importance. Hence why she liked to humble him every now and then. Which was why she replied;

"Raphael your friend has got to be the most handsome man to have ever existed, please forgive me for being somewhat dazed."

Rafe just gave her a sulky look that made her feel amused, but also a little guilty so she leaned in to soothe him. "I said most handsome, not the most desirable."

Rafe gave her a pleased look from the corner of his eye, "I suppose that is acceptable. You know you'll pay for this tonight, yes?"

"I look forward to it," she winked at him, turning back to their hosts only to find that The Marquess was looking at them somewhat curiously. Sylvie fell into step beside the Marchioness, who walked somewhat slowly due to her rather rounded belly. They made idle chit-chat until they reached a drawing room. The Marchioness was regaling her with stories of her three-year-old son and all the mischief he could cause, while Sylvie completely sympathized with her, recalling how Jane had used to enjoy running off in busy streets and generally refused to eat anything that didn't taste like pudding. The women chuckled good-naturedly amongst themselves, the marchioness caressing her stomach lovingly.

"I am excited to give my Alexander some siblings that might terrorize him someday," she said with a content smile, her loving gaze landing on her husband who was deep in conversation with Rafe about some matter related to estate management. "Though between this new child, my firstborn, the charity, and my stables I simply wish I could divide myself into multiple copies."

"Your stables?" Sylvie asked, she could not help but feel intrigued. It appeared that she had asked the right question as The Marchioness' eyes sparkled with passion.

"Oh, yes. My passion project, if you will. Some years ago, the Duke of Rothbury gifted me this gorgeous Arabian who went on to become something of a champion. Unfortunately, he took a horrid tumble and injured his knee. My brother, who is even more horse-mad than I am, suggested that we could use him as a stud as his stock will likely produce some champions, should we select the right mate for him. Initially, we planned on selling him to a breeder, but I just did not have it in me to let Tempest go. He was the reason that Graham and I met, after all, and he has been a rather loyal creature all these years..... and so my husband told me to develop my own stables. It's become something of a joint venture with my brother, who does bulk of the training as I am," she looked pointedly at her stomach, "indisposed."

Sylvie laughed, enjoying the Marchioness' company very much.

"It's just as well, I don't suppose that it will be too long now before the baby is here with us," Sylvie said amiably, but the Marchioness' face froze.

"No," she said with a suddenly subdued voice. "I am merely four and a half months along. There is a long way to go as of yet."

"Oh," Sylvie shot a surprised look to her stomach, which really did not look as if she were only halfway to the, er, finish line. "I see."

"I knew it," Lady Graham's face had gone pale and it appeared that she was blinking back tears. "I knew it. I'm.....I'm," her voice wobbled and she let out a little wail. "I am huge."

"No!" Sylvie cried out in panic. "No, of course not! You're perfectly fine, truly, I have never been with child, what do I know? I'm likely completely off the mark."

"Oh, don't lie! I swear it wasn't like this last time! I don't know what sort of gigantic offspring he has put in me, that devil! I will never let him touch me again, I swear it!"

By then, the commotion had caught the attention of the gentlemen, Lord Graham hurried over, his face brimming with concern.

"Perhaps it's twins?" Sylvie asked, hoping that might somehow smooth Lady Graham's ruffled feathers, but then she began to cry in earnest.

"Two? At once?!"

"What did you say to her?!" The Marquess thundered at her.

"Watch how you speak to her, my friend," Rafe snapped immediately in her defense.

"I meant no offense," Sylvie said weakly.

"She agrees that I am far too large," the Marchioness sniffled and the Marquess' face darkened. "At least someone is being truthful to me, unlike your lies!"

"Sera, love," The Marquess said with much gentility. "You are perfect."

"Easy for you to say!" She snapped at him. "It isnae you who has to birth this behemoth child!"

The Marquess had the grace to look mildly chastened.

"I think Sylvia and I will go check whether or not Jane has settled in the nursery," Rafe all but pulled Sylvie out of her chair and pushed her out of the room, leaving husband and wife to talk in private.

Sylvia did not see either of their hosts until later that day when the Marchioness politely knocked on her door and asked if she could come in.

"I hope you can forgive my outburst earlier," she said with downcast eyes, her face coloring prettily. "I promise you that I am the last person to indulge in hysterics, it just seems that this baby has a knack for throwing all my emotions all about the place. Yesterday I cried because my custard didn't taste sweet enough and the day before I threw a fit because my boots did not fit. My poor husband has been a saint, and I feel just awful that I have made such a muck of everything."

"Please, think nothing of it," Sylvie laid a hand on the poor woman's arm. "Believe me, I have seen my fair share of expecting women, most of my friends and colleagues are married with children, and as far as I can see, more often than not it wreaks a total havoc on your mind. But it is well worth the adversity, I imagine. My life has been something entirely changed since Jane came into it. So much fuller, so very rewarding."

"You have not experienced it yourself? Jane is not yours by birth?" The Marchioness' eyebrows went up in surprise.

"Jane is my niece, but I raised her," she said by way of explanation. "She is my daughter for all intents and purposes."

"How lovely," The Marchioness replied earnestly. "Yes, I completely agree with you. I had not thought I could love anything more than I love my husband, but then Alexander came around and he was such a wonderful addition to our family. I may not particularly like being in a delicate condition, honestly, I could do without the nausea and back aches, but I am terribly excited to meet the newest addition to our family. Or, God forbid, additions as you suggested."

The two women shared a laugh and fell into an amicable silence. A maid knocked on the door before bringing in a tea set, along with a few small cakes that looked entirely delectable.

"I cannot help but feel awful about what a cake I've made of everything," The Marchioness sighed as she took a dainty sip of tea. "You're the first company outside of the Rothburies' and a select few others that are like brothers to Graham, and I wanted to be on my best behavior. Already he has had to face so much conjecture because he married me, people who would have been bowing and scrapping to him before now look down the nose at him! And all because of me. I just wanted to prove that I could rise to the task and act according to my station, only to become hysterical! I could simply die of mortification."

"I have seen the way your husband looks at you, you know," Sylvie smiled at her. "That man regrets not a single thing. You can see the love practically shining out of his eyes."

And to her shame, she felt a twinge of envy.

"As I said, that man is a saint. If he still loves me after having to hold my hair back when I am having a bout of morning sickness, then he is the right sort," she smiled with contentment. "I know that he does not mind everything that he has given up, but I do not want him to do any of that. It's not only he who ought to adjust and sacrifice, I wish to do the same for him."

"Well I am just a nobody from the very edge of this country," Sylvie waved her hand dismissively. "You keep company with a duchess, what have you to be nervous about?"

"That is kind of you, though I daresay Lady Rothbury is much less intimidating to me than you are," she inclined her head gratefully. "She's more of a misfit than I! You are the granddaughter of an earl, are you not?!"

"He's my father's uncle, so truly I cannot make any claims to some very close connections to the ton, nor does my blood run particularly blue. And as for Carlisle, likely that man will say something outrageous soon enough and all the attention will be off of you, my lady."

"That is true enough," Lady Graham grinned. "And you must call me Seraphina, MIss Heartwood, I have a feeling that we are going to be very good friends."

"Then you must call me Sylvia," she replied amiably.