“Shall I take the tray up to her ladyship, my lord?”
“No, Mrs. Micklesfield, I’ll take it up.” It occurred to him that Kate might not know she was pregnant. “Mrs. Micklesfield,” he said very slowly, choosing his words carefully, “you didn’t mention her ladyship’s condition to her, did you?”
“Why, no, my lord, I assumed—”
“Excellent. I pray that you will not. You see, the countess isn’t quite used to the idea as of yet, and her illness, it’s upsetting to her and I wouldn’t want to see her disturbed any more today.”
Mrs. Micklesfield nodded slowly. As the earl mounted the stairs, she shook her head, puzzled. Breeding was breeding, after all. Natural it was, she thought, remembering how her own five children had slipped so easily into the world. The Quality were peculiar, she concluded, and turned toward her kitchen, where a freshly plucked chicken awaited her ministrations.
Julien paused for a moment outside Kate’s door. He felt convinced that she hadn’t yet realized she was pregnant. After all, she had spoken so earnestly about not feeling just the thing. But, good God, how could she not know? Didn’t women understand these things? Surely, when she missed her monthly cycle. No, he thought, it was entirely possible, nay practically certain, that she didn’t know, caught up as she was in her own unhappiness and her dreaded nightmares. He made rapid calculations in his head back to that day, to that small cottage in Switzerland. It couldn’t be much longer before she must realize that she was with child. Several days, a week perhaps. It didn’t allow him much time.
He schooled his features into those of simple concern and tapped lightly on the door. He entered to see her struggling to pull the covers over her bare shoulders. He found that he was regarding her closely, perhaps expecting to see some change in her. But if anything, from the brief glimpse he was allowed of her arms and shoulders, she seemed more slender than before.
“Well, wife, Mrs. Micklesfield has kindly prepared some food for you. It will make you feel healthy as a stoat, so she informed me.”
He set the tray beside her and picked up a smaller coverlet. “Here, would you like to wrap this about you? I don’t want you to catch a chill.”
As she modestly wrapped the coverlet about her shoulders and pulled herself to a sitting position, she turned to Julien and said with some surprise, “It’s very strange, you know, but I find that I am really quite famished. I’ve never had this particular illness before, but it’s quite odd the way it affects one.”
Oh, dear God, he thought. He fought the urge to gather her in his arms and tell her that she was pregnant with his child, but he thrust his hands into the pockets of his breeches instead. He must first get her to St. Clair; then, as much as he abhorred the notion, he must see Sir Oliver. He was convinced that he himself had first to know all that had happened to her; then perhaps he could help her to understand and forget.
Kate consumed every morsel of food on the tray and lay back with a sigh of contentment.
“Poor François would be positively unnerved if he witnessed the quantities of food you just consumed.”
“He’s forever burying the most delicious foods in those outlandish sauces of his. He could take a few hints from Mrs. Micklesfield, I think.” How very normal we’re acting toward each other, she thought.
Julien walked to the windows and gazed out onto the gray afternoon. A light drizzle had begun, and raindrops were running down the glass in zigzag rivulets.
“Julien, you wouldn’t want me to quack myself like your dear mother, would you?”
“I hardly think that resting after you have been vilely ill qualifies as quacking.”
“Well, I feel quite marvelous now, and if you wouldn’t mind, I would that we continue to St. Clair.”
She did indeed look the picture of blooming health, color in her cheeks, her dimples briefly appearing.
“Please fetch Mrs. Micklesfield. I can be dressed in a trice.”
It wasn’t beyond a half-hour later that Julien assisted his pregnant wife into the carriage and climbed in after her. Despite the drizzling rain, she waved her hand out the carriage window and smiled brightly at Mrs. Micklesfield and her grinning son, Will.
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