“It would appear that my late husband suffered from this condition; and by connection, so did I.”
Bridget took a hold of his hand and raised it to her lips. For a moment Stephen was in two minds as to her motive for this sudden display of affection. Was she offering comfort or trying to prevent him from fleeing?
Her grip tightened. “Stephen, I am pregnant. With your child.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Fatherhood . . .
Stephen had once had a rope break from under him while scaling down the side of a castle in France during the war. The fall to the ground, while not a long one, had still left him with serious bruises and a sore back. It had taken many weeks for him to recuperate.
But there was no way of ever recovering from what Bridget had just said. This was life altering. He was dumbstruck.
The only saving grace was the fact that he was still in possession of his faculties, and therefore not foolish enough to inquire as to whether she was sure it was his child.
“Would you like a whisky?” she asked.
He shook his head. While he could cheerfully have murdered a glass or three, alcohol was not the solution to his problem. The problem of what to say to Bridget.
“Now I know this has probably come as a bit of a shock to you,” she said.
Understatement of the year.
“Yes. Of course, if I had known that the issue lay with your husband, I would never have put you at such risk,” he replied.
Bridget’s fingers slipped away. He turned as she shifted on the sofa, creating a definite space between them.
“Forgive me. I don’t expect that was the first words you wished to hear from my lips after receiving your news,” he said.
She got to her feet. “Should you want nothing to do with either me or our child, then please say so. If that is the case, I shall make my own arrangements to deal with the situation going forward.”
He finally summoned up the courage to meet her gaze. “This child will have my name. As to the rest of it, I don’t honestly know. Marriage was never in my plans.”
“Nor mine,” she bit back.
That hurt. He could dish out rejection but had never been good at receiving it.
Stephen rose from the sofa and came to Bridget’s side. “Just give me a little time to absorb the shock. We will marry, and I shall organize to have suitable financial settlements made. There will be no scandal, and you will be protected.”
He would give her a wedding and ensure that their child was legitimate. The urge to pull Bridget into his arms, kiss her, and make further promises battled with his hardened heart. He didn’t know how to offer comfort or affection. Honesty was his only true weapon.
Bridget closed her eyes and nodded. “Have your solicitor send over the paperwork as soon as possible.”
“Bridget, I . . .” he stammered.
She pointed toward the door. “I am not surprised. Disappointed, of course, but you are nothing if not true to form. You can see yourself out.”
Stephen bowed then silently left the room. It was only when he was outside and headed for Gracechurch Street that the reality of what he had just done finally sunk in.
That was cold, callous, and uncaring of me. I am just like my father.
Chapter Thirty-Three
It could have been worse. He could have refused to marry her. Dealing with an illegitimate child brought with it all manner of social and legal problems. She would likely have had to retire permanently to the country. At least this baby would now have its father’s name.
“And you will have the child which you longed for all these years,” she muttered.
She would also have Toby. Stephen had been quite taken aback at her demand for the young boy to come and live with her, but Bridget was determined that he should have a proper home. No child deserved to be living in the dusty, poorly furnished rooms of a coaching company.
