A beating heart

Chapter 8

8.

By mid April Mary's belly was already clearly visible. She felt the courtiers' looks on her in the corridors, the pregnant Dauphine the center of all gossip around the castle. Spirits had been low after a hard winter, the promise of the birth of a young prince or princess taking peoples' attention away from the scares resources and food shortages plaguing France.

Bash would try to pamper her, always making sure she and the unborn child were taken care of. His concern for her only further fueled her guilt. He was all she could have ever wished for in a husband. He showered her with presents, made snarky remarks to her, making her laugh, he held her close in his arms at night and woke her from her nightmares, calming her mind. He was perfect, all she shad wanted, but he wasn't Francis, he would never be. Still after so much time she couldn't let him go, simply couldn't forget him and she hated herself for it. Her expanding baby was a constant reminder of his missing presence.

Sometimes she would wake at night, Bash soundly asleep next to her, and she could very distinctively feel the child move inside of her. They weren't really kicks yet, but rather soft movements, small nudges, just enough to stir her from her dreams. Instinctively the memories of Francis would kick in, his beautiful blue eyes and blond locks swimming before her teary eyes. The beautiful images in her head paralyzing her body. All she could do was lay there, wishing him next to her. She would struggle to fall back asleep and when she finally did, he would follow her into her dreams.

Bash sometimes seemed to notice the sorrow in her eyes, of course he did, he knew her too well. He would rush to her side, caressing her cheek and gently putting one of his protective hands on her swollen belly, whispering sweet things to her and the child, the child that wasn't his. The guilty feeling would creep under her skin, forming a dry lump in her throat and stealing the air from her lungs. It pained her to think that her lie was making him so happy, made his eyes sparkle in joy and anticipation of the life growing inside her. His words only making it worse. He would promise to protect and love her and the child, his intentions so sincere so innocent.

Sometimes the thought that he would never know would ease her mind. For all he cared, it was his child and he would love and cherish it, she was sure. But it was so selfish, who had given her the right to take this away from Francis, who had given her the right to lie to her husband.

She longed for nothing more then to tell Francis. It was foolish of course, she had pushed him away so far, had made him miserable beyond words. He was surely angry with her, for all the pain she had caused them both and telling him of their child inside her, a child he could never meet, would only add to his burdens. Still, the thought of their child growing up without it's father, never even being allowed to know him, pained her beyond words. Her dreams were filled with images of him, holding their child, two pairs of identical blue eyes smiling at her. It was all they had ever wanted, could have ever wished for, a child, a family of their own.

She desperately wanted for Francis to find his happiness again. She knew in the depths of her heart that she would never truly be as happy anywhere else as she had been in his arms. But it was selfish of her, she had pushed him away and he deserved better, more than the pain she had left him with.

She would try to stop herself, knowing it wouldn't help, but still she asked Greer about Francis multiple times. Her lady had visited Leith often these past months, and had spent the last two weeks in Paris with him and Francis. Every time Mary tried to mentioned Francis' name, Greer would merely shake her head, refusing to talk to her queen about him, only offering her a quick „He's well". The lie in her words evident in the pitiful look in her big hazel eyes, as she spoke the words.

Mary would resign and, with a sight, continue listening to Greer gush about Leith, telling her friends of the events in Paris. Leith had proposed to her a few nights ago and her whole face would glow, when recounting the glorious details of the moment, fidgeting with the gracious golden ring, he had given her, on her finger.