About Last Night

Enter Evita, with a tray that carried what appeared to be a bottle of port and three glasses. Cath attempted to cover up her snort of surprised delight with a fake cough, but she could tell from Evita’s frown that she hadn’t entirely succeeded.

Port! Nev really ought to have warned her. It was too much.

She’d left her wine untouched at dinner, afraid to let her guard down. Evita wouldn’t hear of her declining the port, however, so Cath accepted a glass and set it on the table next to her. She kept her attention on Beatrice, who was now talking about all the places in America she wanted to visit.

“You’ve been to Vegas, yeah? What was it like? Did you see any strippers? I heard you can take classes to learn how to be a stripper. They give you a stripper name and everything. My stripper name would be Aurora Dawn. Or maybe Queen Bea, I can’t decide. What’s yours?”

“Ruby Tuesday,” she said, because Evita was listening, and Cath wanted to see if she could get a reaction out of her. No dice. It would take more than a stripper name to rattle Cruella. She was a pro.

While Beatrice blathered on about school and boys and where her more fortunate friends had gone for the bank holiday, Evita kept glancing at Cath’s glass. Finally, she asked, “How do you like the port, Cath? It’s one of my favorites.”

This was Cath’s cue to take a sip, but nah. She’d never gotten her rocks off letting other people boss her around. “I’ve decided not to have any. Thanks, though.”

“Oh, you must have a taste. It’s a very unusual port, and I only bring it out for special occasions. Rosemary likes it very much, don’t you, darling?”

“It’s lovely,” Rosemary said obediently.

“No, thanks,” Cath said again, hoping Evita would drop it.

She did, abruptly changing the subject. “It’s such a treat to have Beatrice here for the weekend. Grandchildren are such a joy. Do you and Neville plan to start a family soon?”

Evita’s gaze flicked once again to the port, and the penny finally dropped. Not such an abrupt change of subject after all. The port was a test. Evita was trying to figure out if Cath was pregnant.

Of course she would think that. Why else would someone like Nev marry a woman like her? So much for deceiving the Dragon Lady. You could take the mobbed-up Italian Catholic out of Chicago, but you couldn’t pass her off as the sort of girl who wore giant hats to polo matches and sipped port in the drawing room. Not even if you put her in the world’s most boring black cap-sleeved dress.

She needed to answer Evita’s question, but she wasn’t sure whether to address the actual question or one of the implied ones. Are you knocked up? Are you a gold digger who’s after my son’s money? Are you good enough for Neville?

At least she knew the answers. No, no, and no.

She’d botched her one chance at motherhood a long time ago, right around the time she’d set fire to the only shot at love-and-marriage she ever planned to take. What was she supposed to tell Evita? The last time I tried to have a baby, it didn’t go so well? I’ve ruined every relationship I’ve ever been a part of, and it’s only a matter of time before I ruin this one?

I love your son too much to marry him?

But she couldn’t say that. As far as Evita was concerned, Cath and Nev were already married, most likely because Cath carried the Royal Offspring in her low-class womb.

Surprise! No toddler with Nev’s blond hair and green eyes. No womb, in fact. But I’ve got this lovely new wardrobe from Harrods as a consolation prize.

When she opened her mouth to speak, the bland words she’d lined up got stuck behind the painful lump in her throat.

Thank God, Nev showed up just then in the door

way. “I think I’ll steal Cath away now, Mother, if you don’t have any objection. It’s been a long day for both of us.”

Cath blinked back her tears and rose immediately. “Thank you for the lovely dinner, Evita,” she managed to say, pleased to find that her voice only shook a little. “I’ll look forward to talking with you more tomorrow.”

Nev took care of the rest of the polite good nights and steered her quickly from the room.

They didn’t say much as they prepared for bed. Nev’s shoulders were tense, and Cath wondered what had been going on in the library.

Never a dull moment with the Chamberlains.

He’d bought her a nightgown, but she slid between the sheets naked, craving the comfort of his skin against hers. Nev turned out the light and did the same, wrapping one arm around her and pulling her into the curve of his body.

“I’m sorry I left you alone with her,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t have done.”

“It’s okay.” She paused. “It’s just, uh, she thinks I’m pregnant.”

Cath was grateful she couldn’t see his face. She didn’t want to know if he found the idea amusing or appalling. Or if it pleased him. She didn’t want to know.