Chapter 11 #2
She pulled back only far enough to see his face, the bandages blocking any assistance those dark and lovely eyes of his could have given her for understanding his sudden pause.
“Grace?”
His palms moved slowly around her waist to her stomach, his very fine jaw dropping open for a moment. “Darling?”
Some combination of laugh and sob burst from her, and she took his face in her hands. “Yes!” She kissed his open mouth. “I had no idea, Frederick. I was too busy with everything to notice the clues and only found out myself last week. Dr. Ross said our little one is due in January.”
His shock transformed into a crooked grin before spreading into a laugh. “Our baby? In January?”
She nodded, which seemed ridiculous since he couldn’t see her nodding. “Yes. Close enough to Christmas to consider it one of the best gifts possible.” She smoothed a palm over his shirt. “But how did you know when I didn’t even—”
He cut off her sentence with another kiss, slow and deliciously thorough, and then pressed his mouth to her ear. “I know your body quite well, darling.”
A wonderfully warm tingle took a delightful trail from his words to her ear and cascaded through the rest of her body, and then the little person between them decided to move. Grace gasped and rocked back. “Can you feel him?” She took his hands and pressed them to her stomach. “He’s moving.”
“He?” His smile remained wide. Wonderful. Her darling Frederick.
“Zahra said so.” Grace covered his hands. “And I wouldn’t wonder if she was right.”
A significant thump came from her stomach, and Frederick’s breath stopped. “Was … was that him?”
She nodded again. And then rolled her eyes at her ridiculousness. “Yes, it was. I’d written to you last week to explain it all, but my letter is likely somewhere between here and France.” She kissed him again. “But I’d much rather tell you in person and benefit from your wonderful kisses.”
His palms, rougher than they’d been before, moved up slowly to cradle her face. “I’m glad to be with you, my darling. I only wish I could see your lovely face, which I’m certain is beaming with all the delights of your secret.”
“It’s beaming all the more, I’m sure, because you’re here.” Grace’s throat tightened, but she pressed a kiss to his forehead, just above the bandages. “Now, tell me what happened, and know I am quite prepared to handle the most hideous of descriptions should you need to share them.”
Frederick’s hands dropped to rest on her waist, his thumbs tracing gentle circles there—a gesture so familiar it made her want to weep.
“We were inspecting bridge supports near Hooge near Ypres. Routine work, or what passes for routine in this bloody war.” His voice roughened.
“The Germans launched an unexpected attack—gas shells. Chlorine. The wind shifted without warning and caught several of us before we could don our masks properly.”
She’d heard about some of the specific effects of gas exposure, mostly from what the nurses or doctors said in the hospital. It burned the corneas, the conjunctiva. And the prognosis varied widely. Some men fully recovered.
Others didn’t.
She’d even helped treat a few men who had completely lost their vision.
Exposure length gave a good indication of damage. Her hand tightened on his shoulder. “How long were you exposed?”
“Perhaps thirty seconds before I secured my mask.” His jaw tightened. “Long enough.”
Grace fought against the rising worry. “Were you treated quickly?”
Some of the tension eased from his body enough for him to crook a grin.
“Yes, the field doctors bandaged my eyes within the hour and kept them covered during transport. Even now I can see a few things. Light and shadow. Some shapes, though blurred.” His hands moved to her face again, his fingers tracing her features with heart-aching gentleness.
“The doctors in France were cautiously optimistic. They said the fact that I have any vision at all is encouraging. But they couldn’t promise anything definitive. ”
“I’ve heard it can be days to months before some know the effects for certain.”
He nodded. “The bandages must remain for another day to protect my eyes while they heal.” Frederick’s voice was steady, but Grace could hear the fear beneath it. “Then I imagine the good Dr. Ross will assess the damage, and we’ll know more.”
Grace pressed her forehead to his, breathing him in—mud and smoke and that indefinable scent that was uniquely Frederick. “You’re home. That’s what matters.”
“Well,” Frederick said after a moment, “this isn’t quite how I imagined my homecoming.” He sighed and kissed her again. “But I am happy to be home.”
Grace managed a watery laugh, attempting lightness despite the tears streaming down her cheeks. “You didn’t plan to arrive wounded and blind to discover your wife with child?”
“Oddly enough, no.” His fingers twined into her hair. “Though I suppose it’s fitting. Nothing about our life together has ever been conventional.”
“It’s true.” She swiped a palm over his forehead, staring at the place where his eyes were concealed by the bandages. “But don’t worry, I have other exciting adventures to share once you are settled.”
“Oh dear …”
But before she could somewhat put his mind at ease, a soft sound at the door made them both turn.
Zahra stood frozen in the threshold, her eyes wide and fixed on Frederick. The little girl’s face had gone pale, her hands clenched at her sides.
Oh, the dear child must have had the same initial fear as Grace.
“Papa is home, Zahra,” Grace hurried to clarify, surprised at the rasp in her voice. Emotions pressed so heavily on her in this moment that she could barely get words out at all.
“Papa?” The name came from the girl in a fragile sound, unlike anything she’d heard from Zahra before.
“I am here, little one,” Frederick said, his own voice hushed to a whisper.
And then something in Zahra seemed to shatter.
She launched herself across the room with a cry that was half sob, half his name. She crashed into them with enough force that Grace had to brace herself to keep from being knocked sideways off Frederick’s lap.
“Papa, you came back!” Tears streamed down Zahra’s face. “You came back—”
The little girl buried her face in Frederick’s shoulder, her thin arms wrapping around his neck in a desperate grip.
Frederick’s free arm came around her immediately, cradling the back of her head while Grace shifted to give them more room. “I’m here, habibti. I’m here.”
Grace moved to sit in the chair beside Frederick’s, her hand finding his knee, needing to maintain contact even as she gave Zahra space.
Frederick had used the Egyptian endearment for Zahra a month before he left for war, and the pet name had never failed to soften the girl’s features into a smile, or a near smile, at least. This time was no different.
She looked up at Frederick’s face through her tears and smiled.
“Your eyes.” Zahra pulled back slightly, studying the bandages. Her hand lifted as if to touch them, then hesitated. “Does it hurt?”
“Not as much as it did,” Frederick answered honestly, and Grace loved him even more for not lying. “The doctors gave me medicine for the pain. And Dr. Ross will help even more when he arrives.”
“But will you see again?” Zahra’s voice was small, frightened in a way that made Grace’s heart break all over again.
“I don’t know yet,” Frederick said. “The doctors said I might. Or I might not see as clearly as before. But I know whether I can see perfectly or not, I’ll still be your papa. That won’t change. Do you understand?”
Zahra was quiet for a moment, studying his bandaged face with her usual intensity. Then she nodded slowly. “I understand.”
But her arms didn’t loosen from around his neck.
Grace dashed another tear away and relaxed back in the chair, her attention taking in the scene before her. Frederick was home. With his injuries, likely for good.
She sighed, and the idea took root, encouraging a small smile to form.
Now everything was in place for them to solve a mystery or two together.
Everything had felt rather incomplete without her sleuthing partner, but with Frederick home, they could find the answers together.
Even if he couldn’t see.
His brain was in top-notch order.
And heaven knew she had questions that needed answering—about Blake, about Miss Gale, about the peculiar behaviors Brandon had noticed in the west wing.
Questions that wouldn’t wait for Frederick’s eyes to heal.
There was no time to lose.
With Grace’s discovery of Blake and Evie’s spy life, not to mention his current mission at Havensbrooke, Freddie’s little wife had just put herself in potential danger.
Blake sighed from his spot by the window in the patients’ quarters, pretending to read a book while two men played cards to his left.
He needed to find proof that Nurse Wilson or Rivers was the Midnight Angel and stop her from passing any further information to Smith or the contact someone was meeting at the old ruins.
Or at least that’s what the evidence suggested from Blake’s early morning reconnaissance of the chapel and the ruins.
Recent footprints. Evidence of a fire with something other than wood burned in it.
Papers. All ash now.
But not old.
Blake had that uncomfortable prickling at the back of his neck—the kind that warned when a mission was about to go sideways.
All the unanswered questions, all the dangerous intelligence they’d uncovered—it was building toward something.
One more discovery, one careless conversation, and the whole thing would explode.
Especially after he and Evie had spent most of the night exchanging information—and kisses, truth be told.
The mission had grown substantially more dangerous. The Midnight Angel wasn’t just passing along intelligence about troop movements, patterns, and locations.
She was building a kill list.
British agents, officers, anyone who might be a threat to German operations.