My days in London were lonely. I missed the life we’d had in Cornwall. I missed Penryth Hall.
Everything had changed.
Was it about to change more?
Distracted by my thoughts, I almost missed my stop at High Street Kensington. I exited the underground station and then, not daring to meet the pimply sales clerk’s eyes, I bought a pregnancy test from the pharmacy on the corner.
Edward had offered his driver’s services to take me to auditions, but I didn’t think it would do me any favors to arrive via chauffeured car, like the kept woman I’d somehow become. Plus, then I would have had to actually go to the auditions. Easier to take the underground and keep my independence—and my secrets. I didn’t want Edward to feel disappointed in me, as he would if he knew I hadn’t made it to a single audition in two months, in spite of all my bravado.
I hadn’t wanted a driver then, but now, as I trudged up the street with my pharmacy bag tucked into my purse, the cold gray drizzle turned to half-frozen rain, soaking through my light cotton jacket, and I suddenly wished I had someone to look after me. Someone who would take me in his arms and tell me everything was going to be all right. Because I was scared.
I reached Edward’s beautiful Georgian townhouse, with its five bedrooms and private garden, in an elegant neighborhood a few blocks from Kensington Palace. Heavily, I walked up the steps and punched the security code, then opened the front door.
“Diana?” Mrs. Corrigan’s voice called from the kitchen. “Is that you, dear?”
“Yes,” I said dully. No need to panic, I told myself. I’d take the pregnancy test. Once it said negative, I’d relax, and have a good laugh at my fears, along with a calming glass of wine.
“Come back,” she called. “I’m in the kitchen.”
“Just a minute.” I went to the front bathroom. Trembling, I took the test. I waited. And waited. Be negative, I willed, staring down at it. Be negative.
The test looked back at me.
Positive.
The test fell from my numb hand. Then I grabbed it and looked at it again. Still positive. I stuffed it at the bottom of the trash, hiding it beneath the empty bag. Which was ridiculous.
Soon there would be no hiding it.
Pregnant. My teeth chattered as I stumbled slowly down the hall to the large modern kitchen at the back. Pregnant.
I looked out the big windows by the kitchen, overlooking the private garden that would be beautiful in spring, but at the moment was bleak and bare and covered with shards of melting snow.
“There you are, dear.” Mrs. Corrigan, his full-time London housekeeper, was making a lemon cake. “Mr. St. Cyr just phoned for you.”
“He called here?” My heart unfolded like a flower. Edward had never called me from work before. Had he somehow known I needed him, felt it in his heart?
She looked up a little reproachfully from the bowl. “He was dismayed that he couldn’t reach you on your mobile.”
“Um...” The sleek new cell phone he’d bought for me last month was still sitting on the granite kitchen countertop, plugged in, exactly where I’d left it two days ago. “I’ll phone him back now.”
My hands shook as I walked down the hall to his study, closing the door behind me. Dialing his number, I listened to the phone ring, in that distinctly British sound, reminding me I was a long way from home. And so did the fact that I needed to navigate through two different secretaries before I finally heard Edward’s voice.
“Why didn’t you answer your mobile?” he demanded by way of greeting.
“I’m sorry, I forgot it. I was at an audition and...” My voice trembled.
“The deal just went through.”
His voice sounded so flat, it took me a moment to realize that he was calling to share good news. “That’s wonderful! Congratulations!” I said brightly. My heart was pounding in my throat. “But, um, we need to talk—”