by Anne Ireland
“The poor woman,” Hester said. “I hope people will not be unkind to her. I do not wish to see her ostracized, Paul. If we meet, I shall nod my head in passing, and so must you.”
“Indeed?” His eyes were bright with laughter. “And why must I, Hester? Am I to be petticoat ruled from now on?”
“You know better,” she said, “and I know better than to try, but you must humor me for a little. It is my right as . . . the mother of your child.”
“My . . .” His eyes darkened and then he smiled in delight. “Is it truly so, Hester? Are you carrying my son?”
“I believe I am with child,” she admitted. “I think it must have happened on our wedding eve. But I cannot be certain just yet, and I am not promising it will be a son, though I shall do my best.”
“A daughter will do just as well if you are safe,” he said and kissed her lightly on the nose. “You know that I love you, my darling, and though I am delighted with the news, it is you who will always come first with me.”
“Do you think Sylvia will feel a little jealous?” Hester said wrinkling her brow. “She has had us such a short time and now there will be a brother or sister to compete for attention.”
“We must show her that we love her just the same,” Paul said, “and while babies are very well, some time must pass before they can compete with our little charmer.”
“Yes, I know,” Hester said, her face glowing as she looked up at him. “We are so lucky, Paul. I feel as if I have everything that I could possibly want.”
“We have been blessed,” he said. He reached out to touch her face. “Do you think our son or daughter would object if I made love to you this night?”
“I do not think that he or she would object at all,” Hester said. “It will be some months yet before I begin to suffer any discomfort.”
“And this time you will have me to look after you,” he said, bending down to scoop her up in his arms and carry her gently to the bed. “This time you will be spoiled and loved, and you can be assured that both you and the babe will be loved.”
“Yes,” Hester said and laughed softly. “Why do they call a child born out of wedlock a love child do you think? I believe that any child born to us would be a child of love.”
“So wise and beautiful,” he said as he lay down beside her and gathered her to him. He stroked her hair for a moment, and then, running one hand down the satin arch of her back, he deftly removed her nightgown with the other. “And you will grow lovelier to me as our child quickens within you. I may have had a reputation as something of a rake before we married, but I promise that I shall never take a mistress as long as we live, my darling.”
“In that case I shall never take a lover,” she said, laughing huskily as she saw the fire in his eyes. “But you knew that anyway I think?”
“Do you know, Hester, I think that if you were not carrying my child, I might spank you.”
She gurgled with delight and snuggled against him, content that at last they could laugh and talk together, free of the shadows that had for so long hung over them.