Widow in White

Chapter Eight: A Good Wife

Laura awoke late the next morning. She stared at the ceiling, her stomach very liquid inside her, and tried to remember exactly what had happened last night. Sensations came to her — Lord Wiltshire's expression as she had stepped on his toes, the vile tang of Lady Roynor's vinaigrette, the sharp snap of flesh against flesh as she slapped Neil's cheek, Richard's voice in her ear telling her it wasn't possible.

Her stomach gave an unpleasant jolt and she queasily sat up. She was alone in the bed, but wrinkles in the sheets next to her told her that Richard had been there with her until recently. She was relieved by that. After his reaction last night, she had been afraid. Part of her reluctance to tell him, she realized now, had been fear that he wouldn't believe her, wouldn't trust it to be his. The way Neil hadn't.

Swallowing her fears, she scrambled out of bed. She had to speak to Richard. She had to know how he felt.

The maid, when Laura called for her, said that he was in the attics. Puzzled, Laura put on her dressing gown and slippers and climbed up two flights of stairs, to where the ceilings were low enough that she could have touched them if she jumped.

It was dark up here, one rather grimy window at the far end of the passage letting in just enough light to reveal warped floorboards and stained walls. A door stood open on the dim landing, light slanting softly into the corridor. She went to it and peered through to see Richard sitting on a crumpled dust sheet on the floor, rummaging through a wooden chest. Around him, the room was cluttered with vague stacks of furniture hidden under dingy dust sheets. Against one wall, a small cabinet and a chest of drawers had been uncovered.

"Richard?"

He jumped and turned, then climbed to his feet. There was dust on his cheek and in his hair.

"What are you doing up here?" she asked.

"Um." He was holding something in his hand and raised it towards her. It was a wooden toy carriage, missing one wheel. "I woke up this morning and I did a lot of thinking. We—" His voice trembled. "We're going to need a nursery, aren't we?"

Relief swept over her: he believed her. She nodded and held her arms out towards him. He pulled her into a tight, clumsy hug, the toy carriage poking into the small of her back.

"All night I kept waking up," he said into her shoulder, "thinking it had been a dream. I can still hardly believe it now. It's true, tell me — one more time."

"I'm with child." Laura's throat contracted and she swallowed. "You're going to be a father."

Richard's arms tightened around her. A moment later, she felt something warm and damp on her shoulder and realized he was crying. His hands on her back trembled and the carriage he held dropped to the floor with a sharp thunk. Laura had never seen Richard cry before. She'd seen tears in his eyes, but he'd never cried. And now he was weeping and gripping her like a lifeline. She stroked his hair. She didn't quite understand it. She'd expected smiles and kisses. But she thought he was happy.

Slowly, he got control of himself, relaxing his grip and steadying his breathing. He drew back, blinking, and rubbed his eyes dry on the sleeve of her dressing gown.

"Are you alright now?" she asked.

"Yes." She got a smile from him at last. "I'm sorry. I— I'm so happy it hurts."

"There's no need to apologise for that." She wiped a smudge of damp dust from his cheek, the last vestiges of her anxiety fading. "I'm happy you're happy. I've been waiting a long time to tell you."