Chapter Twenty-Five
Annalise watched her husband as he studied the road outside their inn.
They had arrived three days prior and had enjoyed some of the sights of the historical city of York.
Just the two of them. It had been great fun and lots of lovemaking, but, thankfully, her husband had yet to notice what she had been told was possible.
She had planned to tell him last evening, but the others had arrived, and Beaufort’s protective nature reappeared.
Though neither Lady Emma nor Lady Theodora had traveled with their husbands, Annalise had simply asked if she might accompany Beaufort, and he never once attempted to convince her otherwise.
She knew he was worried about her continued illness and so he had offered her no objections, just a few warnings to remain out of the way if and when the shooting began.
She watched him move about the room situated on the corner of the building, checking first one window and then another before returning to the long glass that overlooked the street leading to York Castle, where the execution was to occur.
She appreciated the ease and strength of her husband’s movements, although the two concepts should be in opposition, they were not, for, as she had explained to her grandmother on several occasions, Navan Beaufort was one of a kind and had never once attempted to bring Annalise’s adventurous spirit under control.
In fact, it was his continued encouragement which had won her heart and her eventual promise to marry.
Navan looked up to note her close examination of his person. “Come sit beside me, love. Let me see if I might distract you from your thoughts. You have that forlorn look creeping across your pretty face, which says something significant bothers you.”
“Forlorn look?” she asked with a reluctant smile.
“Exactly,” he said in a teasing tone she had come to adore. “What will the world think of me if my good wife always has a frown upon her luscious lips?”
Annalise walked slowly towards him. “So, it is your reputation, not mine, you wish to preserve?” She purposely screwed up her lips in disapproval.
Beaufort laughed easily, which was characteristic of her husband and one of the reasons she had chosen him.
Beaufort found life joyful—he relished each day of it, even the occasional bits of misery, for, in his words, “All of it means a person has the opportunity to love and grow.” In truth, Annalise had fallen in love with his spirit more than she had his fine countenance.
She had never met another like him, but she had, early on, decided she wanted her children to know such a man as their father.
He gathered her into his arms. “Permit me to kiss these frown lines into submission,” he whispered as he lightly dragged his lips across her cheek before claiming her mouth.
Annalise sank into his arms, and, despite her best efforts to control her emotions, tears rushed to her eyes.
She was sad for what had happened to all the people she had loved in the past, and she was gladdened by still being permitted a future.
As if he sensed something important passed between them, Beaufort pulled her closer until she was leaning against his chest. She cherished these moments when it was just the two of them—when she experienced how his affection for her surrounded them—when she felt safe and loved.
She relaxed against him, her head resting on his lapel, as Beaufort stroked the back of her head.
“You are my one true treasure, Annalise,” he whispered.
She sighed heavily, but did not move away from his arms. “Will you still treasure me when I am fat and heavy with child?” she asked quietly.
She felt him stiffen, but not as if he meant to shove her away from him.
“Are you?” he rasped. Great emotions held his muscles taut, but she did not feel constrained by his hold on her.
His was not a gesture marked by harm, but rather she relished the moment his hold on her tightened—when her husband displayed his own vulnerability and depended upon her strength. “Are you carrying our child?”
“I suppose you have not taken note, but I have not experienced my last three monthlies,” she reminded him. “I pray such is true.”
“When will we know assurances of your suspicions?” he pleaded. He had bent his head close to hers so they might speak eye to eye, as partners, not his looking down upon her. Annalise was quite aware of these small gestures, which marked her husband as being superior to many men of her acquaintance.
“In truth, I am relatively confident,” she told him, “but not fully assured. Initially, I was concerned regarding my illness when we traveled to Staffordshire. It has not totally subsided, and I did not wish to seek Theodora’s advice, so when you called upon my uncles before Christmas Day, I spoke to my grandmother.
Her ladyship asked the necessary questions, which led me to believe in the possibility of a child.
Lady Smithfield made arrangements for the two of us to call upon the local midwife, who is a Smithfield tenant.
My grandmother is truly grand, for she managed all this without even my aunts’ knowledge.
You were here in York with Graham and Duncan for the recent trial. ”
“And this woman felt it was a possibility?” he asked. “We have only been married a matter of months.”
“I thought the same,” she explained. “I was…” Annalise bravely swallowed her embarrassment.
They had obviously shared more intimate details over the last several months.
“I had set my last monthlies behind me a little less than a week before Mr. Stark sought me out on the street in London, meaning we were first intimate…”
“About the time you could conceive,” he finished for her, “and you have not experienced your bleeding since we left for Ireland? Not even when I was still at Klare Fields and you were in London?”
“I should have thought about it, but I was so afraid we would not be able to settle the situation with your grandmother, I kept placing the question aside.” Annalise did not admit that after the midwife had explained things to her, she had felt quite na?ve.
“Do you wish to remain in Staffordshire for your carrying of the child?” he asked, though he still appeared to be a bit bewildered by her news.
Somehow, the idea of his befuddlement calmed her, for, as was customary with her husband, he was already planning for what would be necessary for both her and the child.
“In truth, I believe I would prefer to return to Beaufort House. I would prefer to be close to Mrs. Mayo who is excellent in watching out for me. Beaufort House feels more comfortable than Shaw Manor. I can watch over the progress of the house and the new garden, as well as over our first child. At Beaufort House, the babe will be surrounded by those of your homeland. They will all wish me well, for they adore and respect you. If my grandmother’s estimations are correct, the child should arrive around the end of June.
Parliament’s current session will end in July.
We could take the child to Ireland then, unless you would prefer the baby is born at Beaufort Court.
If so, we could leave in early June. It would not be easy, but I know you would protect both me and the baby in every means possible. ”
“We might make that decision as we become more aware of what to expect. It could be an early July birthday.” He kissed her gently. “You are truly the most remarkable woman I have ever encountered.”
She giggled. “Just think,” she said as she kissed along his chin line as she spoke, “if not for Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s quick action when I was shot and the way she protected me in the park while you were still in Ireland, we might not have known this happiness.”
“I will permit the woman some credit,” he said with a bit of a nod, “but I would prefer to think God’s hand has come to rest on my weary shoulder. I am blessed among men.” He kissed her then. A deep soul restoring kiss.
Orson knocked on the door before he turned the latch. “We are all to gather down below and walk to the castle together,” his lordship told Beaufort. “According to Graham, nothing seems unusual, but there are more people than customary on the street at this time of day so we should be prepared.”
Beaufort kept her in the circle of his embrace, essentially ignoring his brother. “I must go, love. Do not come outside. There is likely to be more than a few protestors, and no one can predict what will occur in such moments.”
“You will practice care, will you not?” Annalise pleaded.
“I could do nothing less,” he assured. “You keep watch and signal if you observe anything unusual.” He kissed her forehead. “Once again, you have made me the happiest of men.”
Then he was gone. Beaufort followed Orson out into the daylight, and Annalise felt suddenly bereft of his closeness.
She had not meant to speak of her suspicions until they were alone this evening, but she could not hold in her secret any longer.
She glanced to the street below, where more than a few made their way towards York Castle.
Only yesterday, they had walked there together, hand in hand, and while she studied the outline of the structure, her husband had explained how, at one time, the castle was a fortified complex, not simply one building, instead, a sequence of castles and other buildings, but, nowadays, was used more for prisons and courts of law.
It sat on the south side of the River Floss.