“I would hardly term England squalid,” Cassie said, her patriotism ruffled.
“Nor would I, sir,” Edward said. “But you are right to say that life here is very different, so unstructured. It seems to me that England’s hand simply cannot encompass so many beliefs from so many nations.”
“At least New York is now safe once again in English hands,” Cassie said.
“Yes,” Mr. Beatty continued, “New York is once again safe, thanks to men like yourself, my lord, and your General Howe.”
“General Howe has upon occasion spoken of Paine,” Edward said, turning his eyes from Cassie back to Mr. Beatty. “It is his opinion, of course, that Paine’s firebrand words will lead the rebels only more quickly toward their destruction.”
Mr. Beatty said, “Aye, that’s true enough. ‘Ye that dare oppose not only the tyranny but the tyrant, stand forth!’ Yes, quite a way with words the man has.”
As Cassie sat blinking at such an appreciation of eloquence from an innkeeper, Mr. Beatty rose from his chair and patted Edward’s arm. “I’ll leave you be now, my lord. I fancy you and your lady wife have much to talk about.”
“Yes, sir, I believe that we do,” Edward said, looking toward Cassie. Mr. Beatty bowed deeply to Cassie. He stopped at the door, his sausage fingers upon the knob. “Do you know that before he started writing, Tom Paine did not seem to be able to do anything but fail? damned fellow—begging your pardon, milady—bungled being a sailor, a grocer, a tobacconist, and a tax collector. His wife even cut him loose.” Sudden humor lit Mr. Beatty’s round face, and he shook his head. “You’ll not believe it, but he could not even make a living as a corsetmaker! The—begging your pardon, milady.”
Cassie clapped her hand over her mouth, but still her laughter bubbled out.
“Do not poke fun at the locals, Cass,” Edward said, his voice mock-reproving. “You’ll discover that every New Yorker holds staunch views, though it seems to me that Mr. Beatty has of late begun to show a rebel chink in his Tory armor.”
“But a corsetmaker, Edward.”
Cassie’s smile lasted until they reached Edward’s rooms. She knew that finally she must tell him. As she could think of no smooth preamble, she said only, “Could we please talk a moment, Edward?”
“Of course.” She looked suddenly pale to him. “Sit down,” he said gently, and propelled her to the settee.
“What is it, Cass?”
“There is something I must tell you. I fear that I have been a coward, for I could not bring myself to tell you before. But I must tell you now.”
He gazed at her intently, not speaking.
She looked at him desperately. “Edward, I am going to have a child.”
“What?”
“I am pregnant.”
“No, you cannot mean it.” Unconsciously, his eyes flitted over her body.
It was impossible for her not to see how truly appalled he was. She lowered her face, unable to bear the shocked, glazed look in his eyes.
“It is the earl’s child.”
She flinched at the harsh flatness in his voice.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Edward leaped to his feet, his chair scraping loudly on the bare floor. “That bloody bastard. Oh my God, Cassie. Are you certain?”
She nodded, mutely. How stupid she was ever to have thought that Edward would react differently, but she had nurtured the memory of how the earl had behaved when she had told him that first night they were together that she was pregnant with Edward’s child.
“I will fetch a doctor. Perhaps you are mistaken.”
“No, I am not mistaken. I am sorry, Edward, but there is naught I can do about it.”
His son, his heir, to be a bastard. The earl’s seed. Murderous, confused thoughts mired his mind. “God, no,” he croaked, unable for the moment to look at her. When he did, he saw that she was deathly pale, her lips drawn in a tight line, her shoulders squared.
“I will do what you wish, Edward.”
“Damn him for a scoundrel.”
Cassie turned her face away from the fury in his voice.
Edward forced himself to calm. It was not Cassie’s fault. God, he could not blame her. He managed to make his voice clear and taut. “We shall be wed Friday, and leave for England as soon as I can be relieved.”