Fleur clamped her hands over her ears. “Mm. Mmmmmm,” she hummed, to drown out what she didn’t need to hear. They were words she herself had thought as recently as last night.
Lady Angela was lithe and willowy, unlike me, whose dresses had recently needed letting out…
Her body went slick with sweat, and then a vicious chill cut through her.
“Let my gowns out,” Fleur rasped. “Oh, my God.” A tremble started at Fleur’s toes and rapidly worked her entire body; frozen on the inside out, she shook, her teeth chattering.
Bile climbed Fleur’s throat. She swallowed convulsively. “Oh, God. Oh, Gooood.” Her plea became a prayer, then a moan.
“Oh, my lady.” Mary made soothing sounds and gently guided Fleur forward until her head was at her knees. “Breathe slow. It is going to be all right.”
Except they both knew Mary wasn’t being truthful. That a young lady of the Ton, nay, any young lady who was foolish enough to get a babe in her belly had no future that awaited her. Not a good one, anyway.
“Your family will care for you,” Mary said entreatingly. “They will stand by you.”
Fleur buried her face in her hands. Of course they would. They were McQuoids. But this involved more than just her. “My cousins. My nieces and nephews. Nothing will be all r-right,” she whimpered. “Not for anyone.” I’ve ruined them all!
Mary firmly but gently forced Fleur’s fingers to her lap. Holding on, she gave them a little shake.
“I will stand by you, my lady. If that means we go away until the babe is born. There, you can write your own story. We stay somewhere, in Scotland or someplace else, as long as you need. You can become a widow…and then eventually return…”
The ease and calmness with which Mary spoke indicated this plan had been something the treasured servant had been considering all these months. Fleur had carried on blissfully ignorant, believing the greatest struggle was not knowing her lover’s identity.
Never imagining the worst had happened that night, and she was carrying the seeds of her own reckless mistake inside her.
Fleur touched her hands to her belly, which used to be so flat, but now was slightly curved.
A babe…
Who wouldn’t have a father…
The sound of an ensnared, tortured animal filled the carriage before Fleur realized it was her. She was the trapped, tortured animal.
“Let us get you home, Lady Fleur. We will handle this and return another day.”
“This can’t be sorted, Mary!” she cried. “This isn’t the spillikins or fallen blocks or mess of soldiers I played with as a child. This is…Thisis…” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Achild.”
Something in saying that cemented the reality of her circumstance in her mind. Her stomach curdled with dread. Or was this part of the constant nausea she’d suffered for months?
Fleur lifted anguished eyes to her former nursemaid, now maid. “I am sorry to lose my patience—”
Mary interrupted with a tenderness Fleur didn’t deserve. “None of that now. You’re within your rights, lass. We have to take this moment by moment. Tell me what you want me to do inthisone.”
Her head pounding, Fleur looked outside at Rundell and Bridge’s. This entire ride, Fleur hadn’t wanted to go inside and learn her lover’s identity. Now, she had no choice. She hadto. Because that mystery gentleman from a masquerade wasn’t merely a mistake, he was the father of her child.
Fleur didn’t remember how she got down from the carriage, or if she walked alone, or how she got inside Rundell and Bridge’s. Who held the door? Didsomeone,or did she let herself in and enter Mr. Rundell’s office uninvited?
He sat at his messy desk and stood when he saw her. He wore a smile. The notorious shopkeeper’s smile made no sense because crotchety Mr. Rundell hated her as he hated everyone.
Fleur’s vision began to tunnel.
None of it mattered.
Her life was over. She carried a bairn in her belly. A wee human.
Unlike Fleur’s sisters, brothers, and cousins, Fleur wouldn’t have the benefit of marriage.
Fleur’s legs gave out, and Mr. Rundell was helping her into her seat.