Chapter 6 #2
To her abdomen? What on earth could he hear in there? Surely not a baby. There wasn’t even room for one.
And then she recalled she’d forgotten to eat breakfast … again.
He finally stepped back with a warm smile.
“Well, Lady Astley, I’m pleased to inform you that you’re in excellent health. In fact, you’re in the very specific excellent health of a woman who is approximately four to five months with child.”
Grace stared at him, the words emerging into comprehension as if they had to fight through fog to get there.
“Truly?” With child? Four or five months along? Just around the time Frederick had last visited?
“Yes, you are expecting a baby.” His grin only broadened. “Probably due sometime in January, if my calculations are correct from this examination and the date of Lord Astley’s last visit.” Dr. Ross’ smile widened. “Congratulations. Your husband will be delighted.”
A baby.
Grace pressed both hands to her stomach—the stomach that had been growing rounder, which she’d attributed to Mrs. Lennox’s cakes. But it wasn’t cakes at all.
It was a baby.
Frederick’s baby.
For a moment, pure joy flooded through her. Their child. The baby they’d hoped for, prayed for.
January? She blinked and looked up at him. That meant only months to prepare. To read all the books. To find a way not to die. “How did I not know? I’ve missed five months of preparing!”
His smile turned gentle. “Do you have any family here? An older relation who may have noticed your symptoms and is on equal terms to speak to you about them?”
Did she? Elinor, Frederick’s sister, perhaps.
But they’d not seen each other very often over the last month, when her gowns had truly become uncomfortable.
“Aunt Lavinia has been away for two months in London, helping with the war effort, but I’ve spent some time with my sister-in-law.
Though we never spoke of such things as this.
And of course I have my lady’s maid, Ellie. ”
“My understanding is, Lady Astley,” Miss Dougall interjected, “that servants are reluctant to speak of such things with their mistresses.”
Of course. She released a long sigh. “Do you mean the entire staff could know something I didn’t even know about myself?”
Dr. Ross’ lips curved up a sliver. “It is possible they’ve had more experience recognizing such things in the past, simply from their life journeys or perhaps witnessing childbirth within their own families.”
Childbirth?
All the sweet warmth instantly congealed into stone in her chest.
A baby meant childbirth.
And childbirth meant …
Her mother’s face flashed through her mind. Beautiful, laughing, alive. And then gone, taking her baby brother with her.
“My mother—” Grace’s breath came shorter, and she dropped back into the chair, attempting to keep her imagination from dashing away into images of her own death followed by a beautiful funeral and poor Frederick’s deep remorse. “She … died in childbirth.”
“I am sorry for your loss, but you’re young and healthy.” Dr. Ross pulled up a chair beside her, his expression compassionate. “I believe your mother was older when she had your brother. Your situation is quite different.”
“But women die in childbirth all the time.” Grace’s voice came out smaller than she’d intended. Where was all her bravery now? “Even young, healthy women. Even when everything seems fine.”
“Some do,” Dr. Ross acknowledged. “But many more do not. Thousands of healthy babies are born every day to healthy mothers. There’s no reason to think you won’t be one of them.”
Grace clung to his declaration, wanted to believe him. But all she could think about was Frederick, far away in France, not knowing. Not being here.
What if something went wrong? What if she died before he ever came home?
What would that do to him—to learn he’d finally gotten the child, perhaps even the son, he’d longed for, only to lose his wife in the process?
Her darling hero would be devastated. Destroyed.
And Zahra. Dear heavens, Zahra would lose another mother.
“I have to survive this pregnancy, Dr. Ross. I can’t leave my daughters to be as ignorant and blinded as I am to such intimate things in a woman’s life. It just won’t be fair to them at all.”
“Of course not.” Dr. Ross seemed to wrestle with his smile. “And the likelihood of that is very slim. I know you are a woman of faith. And I hope you will remember that God is in this very moment, as well as the ones you cannot even see yet.”
The reminder provided a bit of comfort, as if the truth was trying to work its way through her sudden fear. “Yes, of course.”
“And if He’s taken care of you through your many adventures across the world, then don’t you think you can trust Him in this very dear adventure so close to your heart?”
Her eyes warmed with a sheen of tears, more comfort, more truth seeping into her mind. “Yes. I can.”
“Good.” He stood. “Besides, worrying about what might happen won’t help you or the baby. What will help is taking care of yourself. Rest when you’re tired and eat well. Your first duty now is to this child.”
Grace pressed a hand to her stomach again. A child. A tiny person growing inside her, who might have Frederick’s eyes or her red hair or some wonderful combination of both.
If she survived long enough to meet them.
“Does it always feel like this?” she whispered. “This terrifying?”
His gaze turned tender. “What I understand from others who have much more experience than I, becoming a parent is the most terrifying thing in the world.” Dr. Ross smiled. “It’s also the most wonderful.”
Tears blurred her vision of his face and slowly began a trail down her cheeks. She didn’t bother wiping them away.
“Should I … should I write to Lord Astley?” Her voice cracked. “Or wait until …”
“That’s entirely up to you.” He dipped his head. “There’s no wrong answer, but I feel certain such news would certainly bring joy to your husband in the middle of such a dark place.”
After Dr. Ross left with promises to check on her regularly, Grace sat alone in the morning room, both hands pressed to her stomach.
A baby.
She was going to be a mother.
Her breath went shallow again.
She’d solved mysteries. Faced down murderers. Survived being held at gunpoint more than once. She’d traveled to Egypt, Italy, and Scotland, searched for treasure, helped catch thieves.
But motherhood? Actually bringing a child into the world?
She hadn’t read a single book on the subject. Not one.
Frederick should be here. He should be the first to know. He should be holding her hand and telling her everything would be all right, even though Grace had no idea if it would be.
What if she died before Frederick ever got back home to find out she was finally carrying his child?
What would that do to her dear hero?
The thought crystallized into sudden, fierce determination.
She needed Frederick.
And if Frederick couldn’t come home—which he probably couldn’t—then the next best thing was getting the person Frederick trusted most to bring him home.
Grace squared her shoulders and marched out of the room with the single-minded determination of a woman who had just made a decision that was probably ridiculous but felt absolutely necessary.
She was going to find Stephen Blake.
And she was going to make him man-nap her husband.
Immediately.
Grace found Blake in the hallway outside his room as she made another circuit of the upper floor. In truth, some of her irrationality had subsided.
Good men were needed at the Front. Men like Frederick.
And even if Grace was incredibly certain she needed him more, her thoughtful side argued against it.
She still hadn’t decided whether she’d write Frederick about the pregnancy or leave it as a surprise, but at least she’d worked through possible name choices for each sex and daydreamed about a little boy with his father’s dark hair and her big blue eyes.
She sighed at the image in her mind.
He’d be utterly devastating.
And she felt marginally less terrified that she might die.
But only marginally.
The moment Blake caught sight of her hurried approach, he quickened his pace to meet her halfway down the corridor. “What is it?” His eyes swept over her. “Are you injured?”
“I’m with child,” she blurted, then instantly covered her mouth with her palm. She repeated in a whisper, “I … am with child.”
Blake’s expression barely changed, which was somehow more unnerving than if he’d looked shocked. One eyebrow rose slightly, and the corner of his mouth twitched.
“Yes, I know.”
Scoundrel! Grace’s mouth fell open. “You … know?”
“I know.” Blake took her by the arm and gently guided her toward the upstairs sitting room. “Suspected for several days, actually. Since I arrived, if I’m being honest. The evidence was fairly compelling.”
How on earth …?
“The evidence was—” Grace sputtered as he settled her into a chair and took the seat nearby. “What evidence?”
“Well, let’s see.” Blake’s tone turned almost professorial.
“You’ve been exhausted. You can’t bear the smell of morphine or the sight of strawberries—which, by the way, you used to adore.
” He ticked each item off on a raised finger as if to humiliate her detective skills all the more.
“Your dresses are rather snugger than when I last saw you. And you keep pressing your hand to your stomach in that instinctive, protective way that expectant mothers tend to do.”
Grace looked down at her hand, which was, in fact, pressed to her stomach at that very moment. She snatched it away.
“Also,” Blake continued, his grin widening, “and—this is the rub—you’ve been positively glowing with that particular radiance that’s rather difficult to miss once one knows what to look for.”
“Glowing?” Grace repeated, raising a hand to her face. “Truly?”
“Indeed.” Blake’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Freddie’s going to be insufferably smug about it.”