As I woke up the next morning, I felt the covers rustle against my body, and saw the Caribbean sun coming in the room through the canopy drapes of our bed. I tried to sit up, but instantly fell back down. I felt weak. But not only weak, sick.

"Good morning, Heather," Cutler said. "Are you feeling alright?" I looked over, and saw him laying flat on his back, looking over at me.

"Oh, good morning," I said. "I feel just fine. I'm just a little dizzy. How are you?"

Cutler furrowed his brow, and placed a hand on my head. "You're just a little dizzy, huh?" He asked, taking his hand back, and wiping his palm on the covers. "You seem to have a temperature."

"I do?" I asked sleepily, lying my head back down on the feather pillow and closing my eyes.

"Yes," Cutler said, getting up. "I have to go to work. I'm going to have a doctor come over for you. Until then, I want you to stay in bed. That means the maids and butlers will be taking care of every thing and everyone."

I sighed. I knew he just wanted me to get better, but it also was limiting my freedom. "I will. I'll let the servants handle everything until you come home. The manor, the children, everything. Can you have some bread and tea sent up, though?"

He smiled down at me, and walked over to the door. He grabbed a little bell, stuck his hand out the door, and rang the bell, signaling a servant.

A young boy of about 9 years came in, and looked up at Cutler and I, and smiled at us. "Morning, milord and lady!" The young boy said, cheerfully, a sparkle in his eye.

"Good morning, Christopher," I said, my eyes still closed.

"Good morning yourself, Christopher," Cutler said, flatly. "I need you to send some servants in to help me dress, and have some of the maids send some tea with bread and butter up for Lady Beckett, for she has fallen ill."

"Right away, your lordship!" Christopher said brightly, scurrying off. A few moments later, a maid came in carrying a tray of food and drink. She was followed by male servants, who stood behind a screen while Cutler undressed behind it. Once he was in his underclothes, the servants grabbed his clothing layers and wig, and went behind the screen, and started helping him dress.

After he was ready, he bent down, and kissed my forehead. "Do feel better, will you?" He asked sweetly.

"I'll try," I said, smiling at him.

At Mercers house, Jordan and he were busy arguing with each other as they got ready to leave.

"I don't think we would be able to support little Horatio if you quit," Mercer said, putting his jacket on.

Jordan shook her head. "No, I think baby Darla would be just fine if I quit and stayed home with here. And you would really name a baby Horatio?"

Mercer raised his eyebrow at her, and smirked. "Of course I would! What would you name a boy? Carl?"

"No, no, no," Jordan said, smiling slightly. "Our daughter will be named Darla. Our son will be named Augustus."

Mercer stopped dead in his tracks, and looked at Jordan, who was smiling broadly. "Darla and Augustus? You'd want to name children Darla and Augustus?"

Jordan opened her mouth, but then snapped it shut. "Since when were we having a baby?" She asked. Mercer had a puzzled look also.

"I don't know," He sighed. "Let's just go."

"Mercer," Lord Beckett called out once he was at his desk, "have there been any incidents?"

"No," Mercer replied. "But I do need two weeks off starting on September 21st."

Beckett furrowed his brow, and looked at him curiously. "Why?"

"A wedding."

"Ah," Beckett said, checking his calendar for appointments in September. "Who's the lucky couple?"

Mercer shuffled his feet, and said, "Miss Prescott and I."