Chapter 12 #2
Of course she’d find it all fascinating. She was positively irrepressible. He almost grinned.
“Grace, I’m afraid it’s all quite serious.” He held her gaze, his expression sobering. “You understand that, don’t you?”
“Of course.” She blinked up at him as if he’d gone mad. “I’ve seen firsthand what desire for treasure or information can do to people. Antiquities in Egypt, paintings in Italy, a burning castle in Scotland.”
“And with those experiences in mind—though I’m no proponent of keeping things from one’s spouse—you may wish to wait before sharing such details with Freddie just yet.
” How to explain the situation delicately?
“The tragedies of war can lead to uncertain temperaments, especially for those in the initial stages of gas exposure. Though Freddie appears in remarkably good spirits, perhaps prudence suggests—”
“Oh.” Grace’s face went pale, one hand moving instinctively to her stomach. “I never would wish to … to make things worse for him.”
“Of course not.” He touched her arm gently. “And it may be nothing at all. Perhaps in a few days, once we’ve seen he’s steady, you can divulge to your heart’s—and extraordinary imagination’s—content.”
And perhaps, by then, this entire business would be resolved. One could only hope.
“If you think it wise, Blake.” She sighed, rubbing a hand across her forehead. “But I’m horribly bad at not being honest.”
His grin spread. What a wonderful problem in a world of deceivers.
“Then try as much as you can, but don’t lie.” He shook his head, smiling down at her. “I would never wish that burden upon you, Lady Astley. Simply … exercise discretion.”
“I’d rather you tell Frederick anyway, so perhaps I can make it until you feel ready to divulge the entire truth.” She tilted her head and looked up at him. “I do wonder how you will explain it to him.”
He leaned in, lowering his voice. “I’ll simply tell him the truth: that I spent last night locked in a closet with a woman who once shot me, and we’re now desperately in love and hunting German spies together. That should clear everything right up.”
“You’re desperately in love?” Grace’s entire face lit with her smile, and Blake suddenly realized what information he’d unintentionally shared … and that she’d not even noted the spy part first.
What was wrong with him and his skills? Or lack thereof.
“I wondered. It seemed if you’d really wanted to kill each other, you both were quite capable of it.”
He chuckled. “Or at least quite capable of trying.”
“I like her all the better now.” Grace nodded.
“You wouldn’t fall in love with just anybody, so she must be incredibly special.
I look forward to getting to know her better when …
” She waved toward the hall. “You know, when all this is … resolved.” Her brow furrowed.
“Am I allowed to meet her … as her?” Grace’s eyes shot wide.
“Can you even have a real wedding in public in front of people?”
He chuckled, a sudden warmth gathering in his face. “My goal is to survive until next week first, and then perhaps we can contemplate matrimony, my dear Lady Astley.”
“Oh yes. That’s probably a good idea.” She nodded and stepped closer.
“And about visiting Lady Moriah?” She lowered her voice, glancing around them as if he hadn’t already been keeping watch.
“I cannot leave Frederick today, but I shall make every effort to go tomorrow morning. I’m certain Lady Moriah will be delighted with the news of Frederick’s return. ”
“Excellent thinking.” He nodded and stepped back. “Now, fetch the doctor and then lavish more affection on your poor husband, who’s been bereft of you for far too long. I’ve no doubt your sunshine will set him to rights in no time.” He winked. “May even improve his sight.”
He sighed out some of the tension in his chest. Gratefully, Grace was being considerably reasonable. Praise be.
“But, Blake.” She turned and leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I wouldn’t dream of spoiling your cover. But I do expect a full explanation eventually.”
Frederick felt some relief in Dr. Ross’ assessment.
After asking questions about Frederick’s pain levels and clarity of mind, checking his pulse, listening to his lungs, and examining his eyes, the good doctor had confirmed the lung inflammation seemed to have resolved—praise God—and the news regarding his eyesight was hopeful.
“Though outcomes with chlorine gas exposure vary quite significantly, the fact that you can distinguish light and shadow, that you can perceive shapes even through the bandages—those are encouraging signs,” Dr. Ross had said. “I’m cautiously optimistic.”
“Well, that’s excellent news, isn’t it, Frederick?” Grace squeezed his hand. “You’ll fare much better than Jane Eyre’s Edward Rochester.”
Dr. Ross released a puff of a laugh.
“Promising indeed,” Frederick had replied, attempting to ignore the uneasiness that had lodged in his chest the moment he’d overheard Blake’s earlier words to Grace about “last night.”
What had he meant, and why such secrecy? Frederick could think of only one reason for such clandestine whispers between his wife and his cousin, and it didn’t calm his pulse in the slightest.
Dr. Ross continued, blissfully unaware of Frederick’s inner turmoil.
“I believe there’s a good chance Lord Astley will regain most of his vision.
There may be some permanent effects—he might require spectacles for close work, or experience difficulty in bright light—but I don’t believe he’ll be blind. Not completely.”
“Oh Frederick.” Grace squeezed his hand. “You’ll look positively dashing in spectacles.”
Frederick forced himself to breathe steadily. Surely whatever Blake was referencing couldn’t be the worst possibility. Yes, he’d been absent for months. Yes, Grace had been under tremendous strain managing the hospital alone. And now, discovering she was with child without him here to support her …
But his wife—his adoring, honest, thoroughly incapable-of-deception wife—would never …
His fingers rolled into fists at his side. Old patterns of thinking crawled into place, tempting him to layer past betrayals over his present love. But he fought them.
Fought them all day long, as Zahra would not leave his side, sweet girl.
So Frederick waited. Appreciated all the comforts of being home and the affection of Grace and Zahra as they all moved upstairs to the sitting room situated between Frederick’s and Grace’s respective bedrooms. Zahra brought Shams for him to meet, and the cat behaved herself for nearly a half hour before she jumped atop one of the desks and knocked over a stack of books.
Zahra read a story to Frederick after Grace shared some of the most mundane topics imaginable—the weather, Mrs. Lennox’s seed cake, the new patterns emerging in ladies’ fashion due to fabric rationing.
Which only increased his unease.
Grace never discussed fashion unless she was nervous about something.
The ache in his chest spread, branching through his ribs.
Confound it all! If he could only see her face, he’d know the truth instantly.
It was quite late when they finally settled Zahra to bed. Grace, in all her soft, lovely sweetness, helped him into a chair by her bedroom fire while John prepared his bath in the adjoining dressing room.
She’d whispered something about her eagerness to help him bathe, which brought a confusing tangle of desire and … what? Pain? Mistrust?
He wanted her desperately. He always wanted her. She was his wife, for heaven’s sake.
But what on earth was she hiding, and how did it involve last night and Blake?
Without any awareness of his current turmoil, Grace slid onto his lap and cradled his face in her hands, kissing him quite thoroughly in the process.
“As soon as you’ve finished with your bath—and if you’re not too tired—do you think we might …
kiss for a considerably longer time? Your lips are clearly working perfectly, and we don’t need eyes for what I have in mind. ”
No. Surely Grace would not betray him in such a manner.
But what else could it be?
Blake was charming, handsome. But also Frederick’s dearest friend. No, it couldn’t be.
“I would love nothing more than to indulge in such missed pleasures, darling,” he said carefully, “but I need clarification on something first.”
She shifted back slightly on his lap, probably studying his face. “Of course. What is it?”
He moved his palms to her waist, the slight fullness there reminding him that their child grew inside her. Their child. “How long has Blake been here?”
She hesitated, and he felt the pause like a physical blow.
“Almost two weeks, I think.” Her voice was cautious now. “And I can’t tell you how happy I was when he arrived. Having him here feels as if you’re somehow nearer.”
Which should have comforted him. “I’m pleased he’s such an adequate substitute.”
“Oh, he could never replace you.”
Which was exactly what he wanted to hear, and yet …
“Grace.” He drew in a breath, working to keep the edge from his voice. “What exactly is going on between you and Blake?”
Her sharp intake of breath didn’t help his peace of mind in the slightest.
“It’s really nothing … and I would love to tell you, but it’s just that—” A sound like a whimper escaped her, though she didn’t leave his lap. “I don’t want to upset you and have your eyes grow worse or damage the fragile workings of your mind beyond repair.”
“What?“
“Blake said that sometimes men who’ve experienced gas exposure have sensitive mental faculties for a while afterward and that I shouldn’t say anything that might upset you.” Her voice pitched higher. “Oh Frederick, I’d never wish to make you go mad.”