Free The Silent Love by Diane Davis White

time? It would appear that he left more than a broken heart behind."
    "I believe so, Milord," she whispered, bowing her head as fresh tears pooled in her amber eyes. "I... would that it is true."
    Realizing the Marquis knew more about the stranger's disappearance than he was telling, she eyed him curiously and posed a question. "Why did he leave?"
    "Because... because he was growing too attached to you. He left me a note saying so. It was not your fault, nor his either. I should have known that such an arrangement would eventually lead to this. You cannot put a man and a woman together in such intimacy without something happening between them... something more than lust."
    Jumping up, she looked at him anxiously. "Where then, is the note?" Hoping she might have something to keep of him, she prayed that the Marquis had not destroyed it, but her hopes were dashed at his answer.
    "I... consigned it to the fire. Felt it would not be wise to keep such evidence around. The child must never know. The world must never know. All we have striven for would be lost." He did not tell her of that other note, but he had destroyed neither of them, in actuality. They lay in the bottom of a small chest in his wall safe, tucked away securely, that no one might find them... until long after it would be too late to do anything about what was implied therein.
    Putting on a bright face for her benefit, he lifted his eyes to the window. "I think, Hannah, that we should go for that ride now. It has become rather gloomy in here."
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    The weeks rolled by in a flurry of activity as the household prepared for the new arrival. An heir had been got upon the mistress of the house, and the gloom that had lain so long over the Marquis lifted miraculously.
    The carpenter from the village was consigned to build a new cradle and a rocking horse. Mr. Strongbow, the village smithy, had a knack for whittling and offered to carve an army of toy soldiers. His daughter, Mary—who was David's mother—would paint them.
    Hannah and her maid were busy sewing and knitting. The tiny garments began to pile up in the newly painted chest of drawers in the nursery. The ladies of the village brought many small items, lovingly kept from their own babes. Tiny booties, miniscule gowns and blankets, quilts and bonnets.
     Some new, but many passed along from their previous owners, they were placed in a basket at the door and retrieved by Darwin each morning. It was a tradition that the heir should receive all manner of things from the villagers, as his due. It would bring luck to the house, and the young master would grow up knowing his birthright included the care and prosperity of the village as well as the manor.
    As it had always been done, four hundred years of tradition now sallied forth for the 16 th Marquis of Darlington, not yet born.
    The nursery itself had been refurbished—under Hannah's supervision—and a rainbow had been painted across one wall, a mural of bright flowers and tiny elves across another. The woman who came to paint the murals had been recommended by her maid and had done a wonderful job.
    Hannah had not met the woman as yet, for she came very early in the morning and left before Hannah had arisen from her bed, working by the light of many lamps and candles. It seemed that she had to work in the fields during the day and had little time for the project, but needed the money very badly.
    Hannah did not even know her name. She was let in each dawn by the scullery maid and came to the nursery by way of the servants' stairs, never entering the main part of the house.
    Mary Strongbow wanted no part of the Marquis, and made certain that she avoided him.
     Each time Hannah visited the nursery to survey the progress therein she was gripped by a multitude of emotions. Happiness that she would have a small babe to love and nurture, gratitude that she had been spared a life of drudgery and given this wonderful home... and sorrow as