“Please don’t, Julien. I shall be fine, you’ll see. I don’t want to cause you any more inconvenience.”
“It’s not an inconvenience to want my wife to be in good health, dammit.”
She sighed and was silent.
33
The White Goose was a staunch red-brick inn nestled amid elm trees across from the village green. The landlady, unused to Quality visiting her humble establishment, quickly wiped her large hands on her apron and bustled forward, waving imperiously at two of her sons as she did so.
“Be quick about it, Will. Open the carriage door.” A large, ambling boy of about seventeen years hurried forward.
Not without some difficulty, Julien alighted with Kate in his arms. “Davie, stable the horses and keep your eyes sharp for the other carriage.”
“Right this way, my lord.” Mrs. Micklesfield hurried to stand beside the open doorway for Julien to enter. He had to duck his head, for the smoke-blackened beams were perilously low.
“I require a bedchamber for my wife,” he said, looking about him at the dim but cozily warm taproom. He hoped there would be no bugs in the mattress.
For a large woman, Mrs. Micklesfield moved with amazing speed up the worn wooden staircase. She opened the door at the top of the stairs to a small but sparkling-clean bedchamber containing only a large old-fashioned tester bed and an ancient oak armoire.
Kate didn’t particularly want Julien to put her down. She met his eyes as he laid her on the bed. She was a good deal surprised to see a frown of worry furrow his brow, for, in truth, she’d rather expected some sign of impatience at having his trip so disrupted. He leaned over her and plumped the pillow beneath her head. “Now, my dear, Mrs.—?”
“Mrs. Micklesfield, my lord.”
“Yes, Mrs. Micklesfield will undress you and tuck you up. I’ll be back in a bit to see how you’re doing.”
“As you will, Julien. But you will see, I’ll be fine in a few minutes.”
“Stubborn Kate,” he said, squeezing her hand, and walked from the room.
Soon Kate lay snug beneath a soft down quilt.
“Thank you, Mrs. Micklesfield. That is indeed much better.”
“I should think so, my lady. Now, you just rest and I’ll fetch you some food and a warm chicken broth. It’s just the thing to make you feel right as a trivet.”
Kate felt dubious about the food, but she was too weary to quibble. She closed her eyes and concentrated on righting her disgruntled stomach.
Julien stepped out of the taproom a few minutes later to see Mrs. Micklesfield preparing to mount the stairs with a tray of covered dishes in her arms.
“Ah, my lord, quite knocked up, her ladyship is, but I’ve just the thing to make her feel better.” She beamed at him in what Julien thought to be an uncommonly motherly fashion.
“But food, Mrs. Micklesfield? Surely— she was quite ill but a short time ago.”
“But of course, my lord. A lady in her condition must keep up her strength. All that racketing about in a carriage unnerved her. It is to be expected. Just a bit of food and she’ll feel better.”
“A lady in her what?”
“If I may be so bold as to wish your lordship my congratulations.” Her leathery face softened. “But truly, my lord, as your wife is breeding, you really mustn’t rush her higgledy-piggledy about the countryside, if you will allow me to say so.”
It took a moment for her words to penetrate Julien’s befuddled mind. Kate pregnant? He felt as if he had just stepped into some bizarre play in which he was the main character and Mrs. Micklesfield his audience, and he had no idea of the lines he should speak.
As all the tortuous implications of this bizarre situation flashed before his eyes, he found that he was leaning heavily against the door, his eyes fixed dazedly on Mrs. Micklesfield. There can be no greater irony, he thought. My wife pregnant by a wild German lord, who is I. Yet in the same moment he felt a certain sense of masculine pride. He remembered his blithely spoken words to his Aunt Mary Tolford. He’d promised her an heir within a year. It was his audience of one who forced him back to the complexities of reality.
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