Page 22

twenty-two

T he worst part of Isabella’s predicament was that she had no one to talk about it with, aside from Lawson.

Even worse, she had to control herself all the time, lest her mother or sister understand what was happening. Hiding the fact she kept casting up her accounts and eating very little was difficult. Time was ticking away. Each day that passed was closer to the moment when she wouldn’t be able to hide the truth, and she didn’t have a plan.

She could send a message to Patrick, but an unexpected child wasn’t something that could be discussed via a letter. Besides, it would take weeks for the letter to reach Patrick, and more weeks for his reply to reach her. Meanwhile, she would be showing, and by the time they found an agreement, the baby would be born, and she would be living on the streets.

She lay in her bed, even though it was afternoon, but constant worries and nausea were an exhausting combination.

Helen entered the room, looking as fresh as a peach and absolutely pretty. “How are you? You’re spending a lot of time in bed as of late.”

“You’re spending a lot of time at tea parties.”

“They’re better than balls to find a husband, in my opinion. More talking in a shorter time. It’s easier to understand if the gentleman is a good match. And the more tea parties, the less time to take more lessons on being a lady.” Helen rubbed her forehead. “I feel ungrateful when I say that.”

“You shouldn’t. There’s nothing wrong in having your personal interests, and Mother can be tiring.”

Helen seemed aged a few years in a moment. “She can.”

“Are you going to marry that earl?”

“I don’t know.” Helen sat on the bed. “Mother keeps saying a duke would be better. The duke took you home the other day.”

“He was very kind.”

“Do you think he’ll answer my letters now?”

“I don’t know. I’ll ask him.”

Helen toyed with a ribbon on her skirt. “Mother says I should?—”

“Helen, please, stop doing everything Mother orders you to do.” She regretted her tone. But honestly, if she heard ‘ Mother keeps saying ’ one more time, she would yell at the top of her voice.

“It’s easy for you say that.” Helen sat up. “You’re strong-willed, and Mother doesn’t bother you as much as she bothers me.”

“Just tell her what you want or don’t want to do. Grow a spine, for Pete’s sake. It’s that simple.” Again, her frustration and worry crept into her voice, but she hadn’t meant to be so bitter. But everything was too much right now.

Helen flinched, her mouth opening.

Isabella sat up. “I didn’t mean to be so harsh.”

“Helen?” Mother called from the corridor. “We need to plan your week. Come quickly.”

Helen stooped her shoulders. “Plan my life is more correct.” She left before Isabella could say anything else.

“I’m sorry,” she said, but her sister was already gone. She lay back with a huff. Everything she did ended up a mess.

Lawson brought her mint tea. Tea was the only thing Isabella could drink without feeling sick.

“You should talk to your mother.” Lawson set aside a dirty cup and a book to make room for the tray.

“Mother will be horrified. She’ll demand to know who the father is, and it’ll be a disaster. Father will preach to me about having broken the rules, and I’ll be on the street before the week ends.”

“You have no choice. If you want to move to the country for the next few months, your mother must know.”

She sat upright. “Dozens of girls enjoy themselves constantly with no consequences. I have fun one single time, with all the precautions, and this happens.”

“There’s no point in ruminating about what happened. Focus on finding a solution. You should go to the estate in the Lake District to give birth,” Lawson said. “Far from London.”

“It’s not that easy. I can’t simply leave for the Lake District without an explanation, and I would need to tell Mother.” She massaged her temples.

Every solution brought bigger problems.

Lawson lowered her voice. “Please don’t think about seeing a midwife to end your problem. You have no idea how many women die at the hands of these so-called experts. They often use dirty tools that start lethal infections, and too many times the parsley apiol causes the woman to bleed to death.”

Her head was about to burst with all the bad news. “I don’t want to see a midwife for that.”

“Then there’s only one solution. Marriage.”

“Patrick won’t be back in months.”

“I’m talking about his brother.” Lawson sat on the chair, her expression grave. “I’ve seen how the duke looks at you.”

“Concerned. That’s how.”

“He’s attracted to you. And you know that, too.”

“Even if he wants to marry me, he wouldn’t want a hasty wedding.”

“I think he would. The duke isn’t a man who likes frills. If he decides to marry you, he’ll be happy to have a quick wedding.”

She put a hand on her belly. “I don’t want to lie to him.”

“The child is his nephew. He has only to believe the child is his son.”

“I can’t deceive him like that.”

Lawson took her shoulders. “What’s the alternative? If you tell him the truth, he won’t marry you. If you wait too long, your belly will show. And then what? Your parents will disown you or send you away. You saw what happened to Lady Mary. Or do you want to see the midwife and bleed to death on a dirty table?”

A sob remained trapped in her chest. “There must be another solution.”

“I’m sorry to be blunt, but aside from the duke, you don’t have any other suitors. The timing is perfect. You and the duke are getting close again. He wanted to propose. He can do it now. And to be honest, I doubt Lord Patrick will marry you. He’ll ask you to take the apiol.”

“We don’t know that.”

“Anyway, what he would do doesn’t matter since we can’t ask him. You’d better convince His Grace you want to marry him.”

* * *

Before talking to Anthony, there was someone else Isabella needed to see—Lady Mary.

Her pulse was racing when she knocked on Mary’s door in a secluded alleyway on the border with St. Giles. Rats scurried along the wet cobbles, and glass shards littered the ground. Someone drunk was singing at the top of their voice.

Lawson stood next to her. “If this place doesn’t convince you that marrying the duke is your best option, then nothing will.”

“I just hate deceiving a man who has been nothing but kind to me.”

“Lady Isabella.” Mary held the door open. “What are you doing here?”

She entered the small flat. The child slept in a corner among piles of clothes and baskets. Cold draughts sneaked inside from a window that didn’t lock properly.

Mary smoothed down her worn apron and fixed a wayward curl to her chignon. “I apologise for the state of the house.”

“Don’t, please. I brought you something.” Isabella put the envelope with the banknotes on the table. There were enough pounds for Mary to rent a better place.

“Thank you.” Mary lowered her gaze. “The brooch you gave me helped me a lot. I have a nice sum aside now. Please take a seat.”

“My visit has another reason.” She licked her lips. “I’ll be blunt. I’m with child, and I don’t have a suitor.”

Mary paused while sitting. “Dear me. If you came here for advice, I’m not sure what I can give you.”

“The Duke of Gloucester showed interest in courting Lady Isabella,” Lawson said. “I insist that marrying him with a special licence is the only solution. Lady Isabella isn’t convinced.”

Because that solution implied a lot of lies. “I would deceive him, and I don’t know how to convince him to marry me quickly without raising any suspicions.”

“Lady Isabella, please listen carefully.” Mary took Isabella’s hand. “Your life and your child’s life depend entirely on your decision and your willingness to lie. If I had the opportunity to marry a gentleman and pretend the child belonged to my husband, I would have done it without a moment of hesitation. What awaits you is nothing but misery, at best. Death, at worst. The friends you have now will shun you. Your parents will send you away in the best of cases. You’ll become nothing more than an embarrassment no one wants to talk about. I was lucky to find a job as a seamstress, but I earn so little I can barely feed my son. Ladies can’t make mistakes. Ladies can’t break the rules. Ladies have no help when they need it.”

“It can’t be that dark.” Isabella turned towards the crib when the baby let out a cooing sound.

Mary picked up her child. “Look around, my lady. It is that dark.”