She was pregnant.
With child.
Very possibly bearing Jason’s heir.
For one very long moment, she considered not telling him. But that was impossible. Much as she might wish to prolong the time he spent with her—surely last night had simply been his reaction to her supposed indisposition?—she doubted she could keep the news from him and still keep her self-respect. He was waiting for this to occur before he returned to London. He was only doing what his family wished in that respect; the need for an heir was obvious, even she understood that. The requirement had been the principal element in his reason for marrying.
And now she had met it.
Staring, unseeing, at the pale pages inscribed with her flowing script, Lenore called on all her inner strength. She must tell him—and then show a brave face when he took his leave of her. That would be the hardest part. For it had happened much as she had predicted: she had fallen in love with him—when, exactly, she did not know, but weeks ago, certainly. Deeply, totally, irrevocably in love.
And she had known it for weeks, but had tried not to acknowledge it, knowing this day would dawn. Now it had, and she had to carry on, do what she had to and pretend it didn’t hurt.
With her usual calm Lenore closed her diary and pushed it into the desk drawer. Then she stood and smoothed down the skirt of her green muslin morning gown before heading for the door. She had to find her husband and tell him the glad tidings—before she broke down and cried.
But Jason was not at the breakfast-table; when applied to, Morgan informed her he thought his master had gone riding.
There was nothing to do but retreat to the library and try not to think of the black cloud hanging over her.
In the end, Lenore did not set eyes on her husband until dinnertime. Arriving in the drawing-room just ahead of Morgan, he looked so severely handsome that she had to blink rapidly to clear her vision. She accepted his arm into the smaller dining parlour where they sat at either end of the table with space for six between. The presence of the servants made private conversation impossible. Jason seemed abstracted; after casting about and coming up with no subject for inconsequential chatter, Lenore followed his lead and kept silent.
But when it came time for her to leave him to his port, her confidence faltered. What if he did not join her in the drawing-room? Twisting the fingers of one hand in the other, she stood as Morgan pulled back her chair. “My lord,” she began hesitantly. “There is something I must discuss with you, if you would be so good as to spare me a few minutes.”
Jerked from his thoughts, Jason looked up, frowning as his sharp eyes detected her distress. “Yes, of course, my dear. I’ll join you in a moment.” God—had it come to this, that his wife needs must make an
appointment to see him?
As the door closed behind her, Jason drained his wine and waved aside the decanter a footman proffered. “Leave me.”
Alone with his thoughts, he grimaced. What the devil had happened between them? He had spent all day in a fruitless endeavour to define just what had changed—was it him or her or had they both altered in just a month? With a despondent sigh, he pushed back his chair and stood, stretching, trying to shake the tension from his shoulders.
Whatever had happened, he could not concentrate on anything other than the fact that his wife was worried about something. Useless to try to focus on his problem until he had straightened hers out.
Lenore had only just settled in her favourite chair by the hearth when Jason came through the door. She immediately sat up, clasping her hands tightly in her lap. He smiled reassuringly, coming forward to take the chair opposite, stretching out his long legs and crossing his booted ankles.
“Well, madam wife, you perceive me all ears. What has occurred to put you in such serious vein?” In an effort to lighten her mood, Jason tried for a bantering note. “Let me guess—you’ve discovered that many of the books in the library are fake? No? Don’t tell me—you’ve conceived of a wish to redecorate in the romantic style and want my permission to drape the front hall in yards of pink silk?”
When his ridiculous badinage raised not a glimmer of response, Jason became seriously alarmed. He straightened in his chair, his expression sober. “Lenore, what is it?”
“I…” Lenore looked at him helplessly. “I’m pregnant.” Despite her best intentions, she could not make the fact sound like anything other than the catastrophic occurrence she felt it was.
As it transpired, Jason did not notice, too bowled over by her news. A streak of pure elation seared through him, followed by a jumbled medley of pride, joy and truly humble thanks to a fate that had given him all this. As the first flush of reaction faded, he realised he was grinning inanely. Then his eyes sought Lenore’s only to find that her head was bowed, her gaze on her interlaced fingers, twisting in her lap. “My dear, you’ve made me the happiest man alive.”
Lenore looked up, startled by the sincerity ringing in his tone. “Oh…I mean, yes. That is…” Lenore faltered to a stop, nonplussed. She could hardly tell him it was not entirely her doing—he would laugh at her. Instead, she took a deep breath and, holding her serene mask firmly in place, forced herself to take the next step. “In the circumstances, I expect you’ll be returning to London shortly, will you not?”
She had intended to keep her gaze level with his, but could not prevent it falling. Consequently she did not see the frown that passed through Jason’s eyes, or the way his jaw clenched as his moment of joy was abruptly curtailed.
For a moment, Jason thought he had not heard her aright. Then his world came crashing down about his ears. She wanted him to leave. He had played his part in fulfilling the expectations of their marriage; he was free to depart. As if from a distance, he heard himself say, “Yes, I rather suppose I will.”
An inane response. He did not want to leave but what else was he do do? Stay and make a fool of himself over a wife who did not want him?
He cleared his throat. “There are a few things I should attend to but I expect I’ll head back in a day or so.”
It was an effort to draw breath but, now the moment was upon her, Lenore found the strength to carry through her charade. Looking up, into his grey eyes, she smiled. “I was wondering, my lord, if you could get me some books from Hatchards? There are one or two studies on cataloguing I would like to consult before I make a start on the library. If you could send them down to me as soon as possible I’d be extremely grateful.”
It was not her gratitude he wanted. But, if that was all she was offering, so be it. Stunned, confused, Jason studied her, his expression bleak. “I’d be happy to do so. If you’ll give me your list, I’ll have my secretary arrange for the matter to be attended to immediately when I reach town.”
She managed to keep her mask from slipping even though the thought that her request would be handled by his secretary slipped under her guard and hurt dreadfully. Lenore inclined her head, her smile still in place. “Thank you, my lord. I’ll write it down immediately, if you’ll excuse me. I would not wish to have you delay for it.”