A Pregnant Courtesan for the Rake

by Diane Gaston

He heard voices in the hall below. Irwin had found the doctor quickly.

  He leaned over the banister. ‘Up here, Doctor!’

  The doctor left his coat, hat and gloves with Irwin and hurried up the stairs.

  ‘What seems to be the trouble?’ he asked, out of breath from the climb.

  ‘She is bleeding. I do not know how badly or why.’ Oliver stepped quickly to Cecilia’s door and knocked. He did not wait for permission to enter, but opened the door. ‘The doctor is here.’

  The doctor strode into the room and someone shut the door behind him.

  Oliver was left to wait alone.

  * * *

  Cecilia sat up in bed as the doctor came to her side. Mary and Mrs Irwin had helped her change into a nightdress and they placed rags between her legs.

  ‘You have been bleeding, young lady?’ he asked. ‘How badly?’

  ‘I—I do not know.’

  ‘It looks a lot like if she started her monthly courses,’ Mary offered.

  ‘Still bleeding?’ the doctor asked.

  ‘Some, I think,’ Mary answered.

  Mrs Irwin wiped Cecilia’s forehead with a damp cloth. ‘The poor dear is very frightened.’

  ‘Well, let me look.’

  The doctor examined her, felt her abdomen, and listened for the baby’s heart with his wooden tube.

  Cecilia’s own heart was pounding so loud she did not see how he could hear the baby’s. Had she done too much? Walked around London too much? Rushed too fast to the shops? Or was it the tussle with Bowles, her struggle to get away from him?

  ‘Is my baby harmed?’ She was afraid to hear the answer.

  The doctor touched her hand. ‘Your baby seems to be doing very well.’

  ‘But the bleeding?’ she asked.

  ‘It could be many things. Not all are to worry over. In fact, I do not believe you have to worry, for now. If you bleed more, send for me. If you have pains, send for me, but, at the moment, I expect you will have no further trouble.’

  She released a pent-up sob. Her baby was unharmed.

  The doctor stepped away and put his tube back in his bag. ‘Stay in bed tonight and do not exert yourself tomorrow, just in case.’

  ‘We’ll make certain of that,’ Mrs Irwin said in a determined tone.

  ‘I’ll bring anything she wants, anything she needs,’ Mary added.

  Cecilia slid under the covers. Mrs Irwin and Mary tucked her in. She felt suddenly exhausted. ‘I promise I will rest.’

  The doctor smiled. ‘Good day, then.’

  * * *

  Oliver alternately paced the hallway outside Cecilia’s bedchamber and leaned against the wall, his eyes riveted on the door.

  Finally, it opened and the doctor walked out.

  Oliver straightened. ‘How is she?’

  The doctor gestured for him to move away from her door. Oliver walked with him to the stairs.

  ‘She and the baby are stable now,’ the doctor said as he descended the stairs. ‘But one never knows about these things. I’ve seen women who bleed regularly throughout their carrying of the baby and have a normal birth and I’ve seen others who bleed once and lose the baby.’

  ‘There is a chance she could lose the baby?’ A chance they would both lose the baby.

  The doctor lifted both shoulders. ‘There is always a chance.’

  They reached the first floor.

  ‘May I offer you some refreshment before you leave, Doctor?’ Oliver asked. ‘Some tea? Or brandy.’

  The doctor’s face lit up. ‘Brandy would be most appreciated.’

  He brought the doctor to the drawing room and invited him to sit while he removed the decanter of brandy and two glasses from a cabinet. He poured the doctor a glass and handed it to him.

  The doctor sipped, then glanced heavenward. ‘Mmm. That is a fine brandy.’

  Oliver was still too agitated to sit. He stood by the cabinet, fingering his glass. ‘What can be done to save the baby?’ he asked.

  The doctor sipped again. ‘Likely she need do nothing, but I do recommend she not exert herself.’

  ‘Should she stay in bed?’ He’d keep her in bed if he had to sit on her.

  The doctor lifted one hand. ‘Not necessary. But it would be best if she remains calm. Nothing to distress or upset her.’

  Like fearing another attack.

  ‘She will remain calm.’ Oliver would make certain nothing distressed her.

  The doctor finished his brandy and lifted his glass towards Oliver, who promptly refilled it.

  ‘I cannot pretend to know the relationship between the two of you,’ the doctor said. ‘And I am not in a position to judge, but I will tell you that society treats unmarried women with bastard children very badly.’ He tasted the brandy and looked over his glass at Oliver. ‘I trust you will at least support the woman and her child? A father’s duty, you know.’

  The doctor had no right to presume anything—except he was correct on all counts.

  ‘I do my duty, sir,’ Oliver answered curtly.

  ‘Excellent!’ The doctor finished his brandy, this time placing the glass on the table and standing. ‘I should take my leave. I am certain someone else will have need of me today.’

  Oliver accompanied him to the hall where Irwin brought the doctor’s hat and coat.

  Oliver shook his hand. ‘I thank you for coming.’

  ‘Send for me again if you need me,’ the doctor said.

  After he left, Oliver took the stairs two at a time, slowing down as he reached Cecilia’s door. He knocked softly.

  The maid opened the door a crack.

  ‘Good day, sir.’ She curtsied.

  ‘Ask if she will see me, Mary,’ he said.

  She closed the door and returned a minute later.

  ‘Come in, sir.’ She stepped aside for him to pass her, then she and Mrs Irwin left the room, closing the door behind them.

  Oliver walked up to Cecilia’s bed. ‘How are you feeling?’

  She sat up against the pillows, now wearing a nightdress. ‘I feel like nothing happened.’

  Her face, however, was taut with worry.

  He tried to smile reassuringly. ‘The doctor said you should be fine. Just do not exert yourself.’

  She raised her knees and hugged them. ‘Think how much better it would be if I’d lost the baby.’

  ‘Better?’ He recoiled in surprise. ‘Do not say you wish you’d lose the baby.’

  ‘No.’ She gave him a direct look. ‘Not me. You. You must have wished for it, though.’

  ‘Unfair, Cecilia,’ Oliver shot back. ‘I have never said anything like that.’

  ‘But you thought it,’ she persisted.

  He tried to remain calm. To keep her calm. ‘Cecilia, I will not debate with you on this. What do you need? Would you fancy something special to eat? Shall I ask Cook to fix you something?’

  She shook her head. ‘I am sorry I snapped at you, Oliver.’

  He stepped closer and lightly touched her arm. ‘It is forgotten.’

  ‘Will—will it be acceptable for Mary to sleep here in the dressing room tonight?’ she asked.

  Why be so reluctant? Until this moment he’d given her whatever she’d wanted. What made her think he would stop now? ‘Of course it will. Shall I have Irwin find a cot to set up in there?’

  ‘That would be good,’ she murmured, lowering her legs and again leaning against the pillows. ‘And tomorrow we can decorate the house?’

  Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, a traditional time for arranging evergreens throughout the house. ‘If you promise not to overdo it. The doctor said—’

  ‘I know,’ she said solemnly.

  ‘I’ll bid you goodnight, then, un
less you need to summon me for any reason.’

  She looked up at him, her eyes wide and still filled with uncertainty.

  He leaned down and kissed her on the top of her head. ‘It will be all right, Cecilia.’

  She did not look so sure.

  He left her, although he wanted to stay. He wanted to be the one who stayed with her this night instead of her maid.

  Instead, he took his latest book—Description of the Character, Manners, and Customs of the People of India—to the drawing room and, lighting a lamp, opened the book to where he’d last read.

  He read of how a Hindu girl and her family were expelled from their caste, simply because the young man who she was to marry died before the marriage took place and she married another. According to the rules, she was supposed to live as a widow for the rest of her life.

  Oliver closed the book. Had his mother been expelled from her caste for being his father’s mistress? When his father took him to England and left her in India, had she been completely banished from anyone who might care for her?

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. He must not think of this. Not now.

  He glanced around the room and a profound loneliness descended upon him, a familiar loneliness suffered when he was taken from India and many times afterwards when he seemed not to belong.

  His typical means of dispelling these feelings was to engage in a torrid affair, or challenge himself to some dangerous escapade, a race, a bout of fisticuffs, a high-stakes card game.

  He had no taste for any of those distractions.

  What he wanted most at the moment was to be seated at Cecilia’s bedside, sharing her fears and her hopes.

  Chapter Twenty

  Upon waking the next morning, Cecilia immediately checked to see if she’d bled during the night. She hadn’t! It was enough to fill her full of energy and vigour. The baby must be safe or why would she feel so well?

  Mary was already awake and dressed and carrying in a jug of clean water. ‘Good morning,’ she said cheerfully. ‘I hope you slept well, because I did not hear a peep from you the whole night.’

  Cecilia had slept well. Better than many nights here in London.

  And before.

  ‘I slept,’ she responded. ‘And I feel remarkably well this morning.’

  ‘That is good.’ Mary poured the water into a basin on a nearby chest of drawers. ‘But remember what the doctor said. You mustn’t do too much.’

  Too much? She felt as if she could dash across fields as she’d done when she was a child. She felt as if she could climb to the highest bell tower of Notre Dame. It would be difficult to force herself to rest.

  ‘Mr Gregory and I are going to decorate the house for Christmas today,’ Cecilia said.

  She climbed out of bed and pulled off her nightdress.

  ‘Well, you must take care.’ Mary sounded much like a concerned mother.

  Cecilia had wished for her mother when she discovered the bleeding. She was certain Oliver would have sent for her mother, if she’d asked. But she’d thought of all the trouble it would cause her mother to come to her. It was not worth putting her mother through that.

  Besides, her mother did not know of the baby and Cecilia intended to keep it that way.

  And Cecilia had Mary, Mrs Irwin...and Oliver to help her. She was no longer alone.

  She rose from the bed and washed herself with the fresh water Mary had brought.

  Mary stood nearby, holding a towel.

  ‘I think one of my old dresses will do,’ Cecilia said. No need to dress up this day, not while working with plant cuttings.

  ‘Oh.’ Mary raised her voice more than necessary. ‘They—they need mending.’ She blinked. ‘I’ll tend to them today, but you’ll have to wear one of the pretty ones now.’

  Cecilia could not remember her dresses needing mending, but she supposed it did not matter much. Mary chose a pale rose morning dress Cecilia had not worn yet, since it was unsuitable to be worn during the Queen’s mourning, but she would not be going outside the house, so what difference did it make?

  Mary helped her into her shift and corset. She put the dress on Cecilia over her head and adjusted the laces in the back.

  Cecilia sat at the dressing table and Mary twisted her hair into a knot at the top of her head. She tied a pink ribbon around Cecilia’s head. ‘There!’

  Cecilia rose and glanced at herself in the full-length mirror. ‘Thank you, Mary. I’m sure this will do.’

  Mary grinned and curtsied.

  Cecilia left her room and walked down to the dining room. Oliver was seated there, reading a newspaper.

  He stood at her entrance and his eyes scanned her up and down. ‘You look beautiful, Cecilia.’

  Her cheeks grew warm. She usually detested a man’s admiration.

  ‘Thank you,’ she murmured.

  He cleared his throat. ‘I hope that means you are feeling better.’

  ‘I am feeling quite well.’ She quickly turned to the sideboard and selected an egg and a slice of bread with butter and jam. She poured a cup of tea.

  ‘Might we still decorate today?’ she asked.

  She was asking permission, just as she’d done in her marriage. For every little thing.

  She spoke with more strength. ‘I would like to decorate today.’

  He glanced up. ‘As you wish, Cecilia.’

  ‘And before you scold me about it, I will not overdo.’

  He nodded. ‘Good.’

  Why did he seem so distant?

  ‘Do you not wish to decorate?’ she asked.

  He looked up from his paper again. ‘Me? No. I am willing.’

  ‘You are not obligated, though, Oliver,’ she went on. ‘I am certain Mary or Irwin could help me.’

  He laid down his paper. ‘Would you prefer that?’

  ‘No,’ she admitted.

  Why was she going on about this? She longed to spend the day with him, as they had done the day before. Decorating his house for him for Christmas day seemed a delight.

  Unlike the one Christmas she’d shared with Duncan. That had been a horror. He’d beaten her for mentioning the day. After that she’d been alone on Christmas and her celebration had been confined to attending the services at Notre Dame. This year she would not be alone.

  She would share the holiday with Oliver.

  When they’d walked through St Paul’s or browsed the stalls at Covent Garden, catching a glimpse of him had taken her breath away. He was so handsome, so different and so kind. She longed for his lovemaking again, that singular joy, a connection that made her forget every unhappy event she’d ever experienced. With the bleeding she didn’t dare to share his bed again.

  She glanced at him and her breath fled. Even in something as ordinary as breakfast, he was extraordinary.

  But she must not be seduced by him. Duncan had been charming and kind once upon a time. And Oliver was capable of violence, just like Duncan.

  What harm could come from sharing the best of the Christmas festivities with him, though? Just this once.

  She gulped. ‘I—I want very much for us to decorate your house together. You seem disturbed, though. Perhaps angry at me for causing so much commotion yesterday.’

  ‘Commotion?’ He straightened. ‘Not commotion. You thought something had happened to the baby.’

  That worry came sneaking back. ‘Let us not talk about that. I am well today. The baby is well.’

  The baby must be well.

  Something was amiss with Oliver, though. She felt it.

  ‘I am not imagining this,’ she blurted out. ‘You are not happy. I must be the cause.’

  His gaze softened. ‘You are not the cause, Cecilia. Sometimes unbidden sadness permeates every part of me. I
start thinking of what I’ve lost.’

  She reached over and touched his hand. ‘We must not think of what we have lost. If we do, how can we ever lift our chins from the floor?’

  He clasped her hand.

  ‘There is nothing to do but see if we can enjoy today.’ How many times had she told herself just think about today? Not tomorrow. Not yesterday. Today.

  She ought to heed her own advice.

  He smiled, though his smile seemed a sad one. ‘Then let us enjoy today.’

  She squeezed his hand. ‘We shall adorn every room!’

  He lifted his cup. ‘After we finish breakfast?’

  She laughed. ‘As you wish, Oliver!’

  He returned to his newspaper and she finished her egg.

  ‘Is there anything noteworthy in the newspaper?’ How nice it was to merely have a conversation.

  He looked up. ‘Two men were apprehended for the murder in Hornsey.’

  ‘There was a murder in Hornsey?’

  ‘About a week or so ago. A young man was robbed and killed when he walked through Hornsey wood at night.’

  ‘How dreadful.’ She shivered. She used to walk through Paris at night. Not in London, though. Oliver always walked her home from Vitium et Virtus.

  He put down the newspaper. ‘How do you wish to proceed with the decorating?’

  ‘I want to arrange the greenery in each of the rooms. Decorate with lace and ribbon—’ She put a hand to her mouth. ‘The ribbon! What happened to the packages of ribbon and—and other things that I purchased yesterday?’

  After the altercation with Bowles, she’d forgotten all about them. Her gift to Oliver was one of them.

  ‘Irwin collected them,’ he said.

  She again saw the ferocious fight between Oliver and Bowles, but did not wish to remember it.

  She stood. ‘I want to find Irwin and get my packages. Then perhaps we can start in the drawing room?’

  He smiled and her spirits lightened. ‘I will carry up the greenery.’

  * * *

  Oliver walked below stairs to the room where they’d stored the cuttings they’d purchased.

  Both Mrs Irwin and Cook stopped him.

  ‘How is our young lady today?’ asked Mrs Irwin.