by M. S. Parker
I settled for trying to make her feel welcome while keeping us all away from Roston and Titus. The last thing I needed was to get Alize and Celina on their radar. As June began, however, I needed to make some decisions about the baby. I was just hoping that we'd be in our own place before that became an issue.
My husband, however, didn't seem to be in a hurry. After a couple of days re-acclimating to his world, Gracen sent a final report to Washington about our last few weeks in France. There hadn't been much to tell, but he'd made sure to be quite detailed. I hadn't understood why until he explained that if he overshared information, he could make it sound like just a friendly letter, people wouldn't try too hard to look for anything important.
I didn't know how accurate this was, but it made sense at least. We still needed to be careful as we had quite a bit in the way of monetary assets to transfer to Washington. Each of our trunks, including the ones belonging to Alize and Celina, had false bottoms. We'd decided not to go with French currency, not when France's assistance wasn't official yet, so we'd loaded up on jewels and gold and pretty much anything the Continental Army could trade for weapons, munitions, uniforms, or food.
We needed to get these things to Washington without any Loyalists finding out and turning them over to the British. I didn't even want to think about what would happen if the British got some extra funds, especially if it was made public that the money had come from France. It could change everything.
Fiction about time travel often dealt with the butterfly effect thing, but the real-life application was giving me a headache.
The worst part about being pregnant, I decided was that something that would have normally been stressful, but manageable, became almost overwhelming. It was one of those times when my head was throbbing, my back was aching, and I couldn't stop the tears, that Gracen found me hiding in our room.
“You’re awake.” He stopped short as he watched me brushing tears from my cheeks. He immediately knelt in front of me and took my hands in his. “What’s wrong, darling? Did something happen?”
I waved my hand at him, covering my mouth with the other as I sniffled convulsively. Dammit! I hated not being able to control my emotions.
“Honor, love, tell me what’s wrong.”
I worked to gain some composure. I wanted to tell him that it was nothing more than the usual pregnancy shit, but I didn't want to carry this alone. Maybe he’d been thinking about these things too. Besides, what was the point of being married if we couldn't share the things that bothered us?
“I’ve been thinking about the baby. After he or she's born.” My voice was shaky, but I reminded myself that I could be vulnerable with him. “And I realized that I don’t know anything about parenting.”
His expression softened, like he'd been preparing himself for something catastrophic. He moved to sit next to me and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. “I admit, I do not know how people do things where you are from, but I do not believe that anyone can truly know how to be a parent until they become one.”
It seemed so simple when he talked about it from his perspective. There really wasn't any other options in this time period. No classes to sit through, seminars to take. I didn't know if there were any books on the subject now, but I did know that even if there were, they wouldn't be as plentiful as anything I could have gotten in my own time.
“We can see the mistakes our parents made,” he continued. “And we can see the things they did right.”
“Didn't you have a nanny?” I asked.
He nodded. “I did. A kind woman who had known my mother back in England.”
That explained how he sometimes shifted from a very faint English accent to something a bit thicker. Roston had maintained his way of speaking, but I'd wondered about Gracen.
“When I was older, she was replaced by tutors,” he said, his fingers tracing absent patterns on my arm. “While I believe in providing a thorough education, I have no wish to repeat my father's absence in the raising of my child.”
“I didn't exactly have a traditional upbringing either.” I sniffled as my emotions began to settle.
He chuckled softly and kissed the top of my head. “My love, is there anything traditional about our relationship at all?”
This time, when he laughed again, I joined in. I knew this wouldn't be the last time I'd worry about doing the right thing. Hell, it wouldn't be the last time I'd cry over it. But at least I wouldn't be facing it alone.
Gracen and I were equally shocked when Dye came to us with a message from Roston.
“Master Lightwood says that you all need to come to the church picnic on the thirtieth.”
“My father has not stepped foot inside a church beyond Christmas and Easter since my mother died,” Gracen said. “What's so important about a picnic that he wants us to come?”
Dye glanced at me, her dark eyes asking the question I knew she wouldn't voice. I nodded approval for her to go ahead.
“Master Lightwood don't go to that church no more,” she said. “'Bout two months after you two left, the preacher gave a sermon 'bout how we all got the responsibility to rebel against the king.”
I let out a low whistle. Damn.
“So my father chose a new church,” Gracen said. “One for Loyalists.”
Dye nodded. “He been going regular like now.”
“To show his support for King George.”
Dye nodded again. “He told the staff that if we ain't going to church with him, we got to tell him where we going so he can make sure they preachin' the right things.”
I started to say that Roston couldn't do that but remembered that enforcing the idea of freedom of religion was an American concept. While there were other types of churches in the colonies, the Church of England was definitely alive and well here.
“My father wants us to go as a public declaration,” Gracen said to me, his expression grim. “He wants everyone to believe we're supporting the British.”
“Are we going?” I asked quietly.
“We don’t really have a choice.” He ran his hand through his hair. “If we refuse, my father will see it as siding with the colonies.”
I blew out a long breath. “He's trying to force our hand. He thinks that he can hold us to whatever side it looks like we're taking.”
My eyes flicked over to Dye, and she curtsied before hurrying out. I didn't know how much she'd figured out about our loyalties, but I didn't want to put her in the position of knowing too much.
“Maybe this could be a good thing,” I continued. “Washington knows that we're for America. If we can convince your father that we're loyal to King George, then maybe we'll be in a position to pass along important Loyalist information to Washington.”
Gracen sighed as he reached for me, pulling me into his arms. “I did not want to be a soldier, but I am beginning to think that it is preferable to being a spy.”
“This war will give America their first spy ring,” I said as I leaned my head on his chest. “The work they do is crucial to winning the war. If we can help them, even a little bit, isn't it worth the deception?”
It was strange, thinking of spying as something dishonorable. While I was sure there were personal issues involved with lying to loved ones, most people in my time viewed spies as necessary evils at the worst, heroes at best.
“Do you think Alize and Celina should come with us?”
I nodded. “If we have them stay here, people will wonder what we're hiding.”
“We do not need to give them anything more to suspect.”
“Agreed.”
Even though the discussion was done, we didn't move from where we were standing for several more minutes. When it was just the two of us, like this, it was easy to pretend that the outside world didn't exist, that nothing but the two of us mattered.
Once we finally broke the embrace, we moved off to do what needed to be done. Gracen went to his father to accept the invitation and say that we'd be bringing Alize and Celin
a with us as well. I went to go tell the girls that, in three days time, we would be walking into the metaphorical lion's den.
I wasn't sure which was causing more of a stir, the presence of two French women, or the fact that I was so clearly pregnant and not trying to hide it. By now, most people in the upper social circles knew about the young French nobleman who was supporting the American cause. That, plus the rumors that had obviously been spreading about Gracen and me, meant that all eyes were on us as we arrived at the picnic.
The ring on my finger should have meant there wasn't much to be scandalized about, but I'd underestimated the appeal of anything mildly outrageous to this crowd. I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised, not when I thought about it. In my own time, social media was starting to show just how much gossip and exhibitionism were still primary forms of entertainment.
“Don't give them the satisfaction,” I murmured to Alize from behind my fan. “Smile and pretend that you're above it all.”
“Some things are the same in the colonies as they are in France,” she said tightly.
“People don't really change,” I agreed.
“You must be Gracen Lightwood.” A woman with impossibly coifed hair the color of champagne approached us, her smile wide.
I stepped up next to him and wrapped my arm around his. “He is. And I'm Honor Lightwood.”
Her dark gaze flicked over to me, then turned back to Gracen. “My name is Theodora Lester. My husband, David, is over there.”
She gestured toward a man who was easily twenty years her senior. I would've felt sorry for her if she hadn't been staring at my husband with that hungry look on her face.
“This is Alize St. James and Celina Rosier.” I kept talking. “It's their first time in Boston.”
Theodora gave me a tight smile that held absolutely no warmth in it. “How lovely for you all. Is it your first time in the city as well?”
“No.” I looked up at Gracen, essentially dismissing the other woman. “We should mingle.”
“Gracen!” Roston called from a few feet away. “I have someone you need to meet.”
I wasn't sure who was more surprised that Roston was talking to him, Gracen or me. He glanced down at me, and I shot him what I hope passed for a pleasant smile. “Go on. The girls and I will be fine.”
He kissed my cheek. “Do not tire yourself.”
“Yes, sir.”
He glanced over at Alize and Celina. “Make her rest if she needs to.”
“We will.” Celina moved up to stand next to me.
It was the first time I'd seen her take the initiative, and I wondered if she was just feeling comfortable for the first time, or if it was because Gracen had entrusted me to her. For some people, it was responsibility that gave them strength and purpose.
Theodora waited until Gracen was out of earshot before speaking to me again. “It must be quite the adjustment for you, Mrs. Lightwood.” She glanced up at me, but still managed to make me feel like she was looking down on me. “Then again, from what I have heard, you have always thought yourself above your station.”
“What does she mean?” Alize whispered the question, but Theodora still heard it.
“I would have thought you would know the story, being as you are such good friends.” Theodora fanned herself, the gesture clearly made to draw attention to herself as much as it was to cool down. “Honor should be proud of the way she worked her way up from kitchen girl to wife of one of the city's most eligible men.”
Celina's fingers tightened on my arm as my temper started to rise.
Theodora gave my stomach a pointed look. “And you have been busy working for that position, have you not?”
“Putain de pute,” Alize muttered.
That was one of the French phrases I learned, and I couldn't stop the smirk curling my lips.
“Excuse me?” Theodora looked at Alize.
The younger girl gave Theodora a superior look before turning her attention to me. “Honor, was there someone important to whom you wished me to speak on behalf of my dear cousin Louis?”
I almost laughed as I realized what she was doing, but I managed to keep a straight face as I replied, “Of course. We really should make the rounds ourselves.” I gave Theodora a bright smile. “If you'll excuse us.”
The three of us walked away before Theodora could find her voice. I waited until we were several feet away before bursting into laughter.
“That was amazing, Alize.”
“No one speaks poorly of my friends,” she declared. “Someone needed to put her in her place.”
“You are a true friend.” Celina beamed at her girlfriend.
If we hadn't been in public, I was pretty sure Celina would've shown her approval with a kiss rather than a smile.
I was starting to think that perhaps this picnic wouldn't be so bad after all...and then we walked past a pair of older women who weren't even bothering to keep their voices down.
“Such a scandal. Most men who take a servant to bed at least have the decency to not speak of it.”
“And how awful for Clara. The embarrassment of having everyone know that her fiancé had someone warming his bed was bad enough, but for him to then marry the girl.”
The first woman saw me watching and simply raised her eyebrows, as if challenging me to say a word in my defense. “Roston should have sent her away to have her bastard. He could have saved the engagement.”
Alize took my other arm, and the three of us kept walking, eyes straight ahead. Our previous levity had vanished, but I refused to let what I was feeling show. The opinion of these people didn't matter. Four days from today would be the day America would eventually recognize as its official birthday. In a few years, the people here would either be scrambling to get out of the country or singing a whole different tune about their allegiance.
At some point during the day, I took to humming the national anthem, but by the time we were ready to leave, even that couldn’t keep me from clenching my jaw hard enough to give myself a headache. But then we were on our way back to the estate and the shitty day was over.
Except, as we pulled up to the house, a British soldier was waiting on the porch.
Fuck me, it was that son of a bitch, Quincy Axe.
Chapter 13
The carriage hadn't come to a stop yet, and a part of me wanted to shout out for it to keep going. The British corporal had been quartered at the Lightwood estate when Gracen and I left last year, but when I hadn't seen him upon our return, I assumed he'd moved on with the rest of the British troops.
Then I realized that he might have done just that. His reasons for being here might have been the kind of thing the British army would send a corporal to take care of.
Like taking in a traitor.
“Why is he here?” I whispered the question in the hopes that my voice wouldn't shake.
“Relax,” Gracen murmured in my ear.
“What if he knows what we've been doing?”
“Breathe, love.”
I didn't understand why my husband wasn't freaking out. “He could be here to arrest us.”
“If we run, we will look guilty.”
“We are guilty,” I hissed as the carriage came to a stop.
“Pretend we are innocent,” he suggested as the door to the carriage opened.
Before I could tell him that his advice sucked, Gracen was helping me out of the carriage, and the two of us were walking toward the porch while the asshole soldier watched us come toward him.
“Gracen, Honor.” Axe's smile was just as smarmy as I remembered.
“We weren’t expecting to see you here.” Gracen's grip on my arm tightened.
“I had two days leave and decided to come see Miss Stiles.”
“She's not here,” I said.
“Mr. Lightwood has been kind enough to allow me to stay here when I call on Clara.” Quincy's dark eyes were crawling all over me. “It was a shame you missed Christmas. No worries, though, Gracen. Your fat
her accompanied me to the Stiles estate.”
“Thank you for that,” Gracen said.
“And I see that congratulations are in order.”
I put my hand on my stomach, not caring if it looked protective. It was. “Thank you.”
Quincy's gaze darted behind me, and then back. “I heard that you brought friends back from France.”
“The ladies wished to see the colonies,” I said quickly. “And they were kind enough to offer to help while I'm...limited in what I'm able to do.”
“Perhaps they will be willing to help Clara when her time comes.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Is she expecting?”
Color flooded Axe's face. “I was referring to the future. After Miss Stiles and I are married, of course.”
Right. Eighteenth-century morals. I wasn't entirely sure I bought it that Clara and Quincy weren't sleeping together, but no matter how much I despised my husband's former fiancé and the corporal, it wasn't my business if they were having sex. And, as I well knew, it didn't mean anything disparaging about either of their characters. My opinion of the sort of people they were had nothing to do with conventional morality.
“Of course.” I smiled. “Are you engaged?”
“Not yet.” Quincy's mouth tightened, and I wondered if he'd proposed already but had been turned down.
If that was the case, I sincerely hoped it wasn't because Clara was holding out hope for Gracen.
“I would not want to subject a newly wed wife to worrying about becoming a widow,” Quincy continued. “Once this cursed war is at an end, I will be able to dedicate myself to making Clara my wife.”
It sounded noble, but I doubted that was the only reason. I was seven months pregnant, and he was still ogling me. I had no doubt that Clara's father would have issues with his daughter's husband or fiancé fooling around. A soldier merely courting during wartime might be excused more easily.
“I would not expect you to understand how the rigors of war can interfere with what a man wants.” Quincy's words were cordial enough, but I could see the hostility behind his eyes. “Some of us must sacrifice our desires to make it possible for others to live the life they wish.”