Unable to reach out and hold her sister, Caillen blocked the door and motioned for the servants to leave them at once. The footmen and the butler disappeared. She had no doubt they were listening, but she would not give them a show.
“Please. Let us go into the drawing room and discuss it.”
“There’s nothing to discuss. This is my problem.”
It was like a visceral slap to everything they were as a family of six sisters who’d been as close as ever at one time. The cold pronouncement of her pregnancy being a problem was unconscionable. Yet this was London, the ton would give them all the cut direct and their younger sisters would have another despicable brand attached to their name due to Máira’s pregnancy.
Máira immediately closed her eyes, her face scrunching up with pain as tears spilled down her cheeks. “That’s not what I meant. My future is my problem.”
“Please,” Caillen begged. The desire to touch Máira warred with her need to not be touched. “Come into the drawing room.”
Máira blew out a breath and then made her way into the drawing room without another word. She stopped just inside the door. “Are there any poor aristocrats in London?”
Caillen didn’t need to look around the room to understand why her sister asked the question. Decorated in robin egg blue and white, the oversized room was a bit over the top by Scottish standards, with gold filagree trim and lavish family portraits. Plush rugs covered the floor and there were so many different seating areas, a person wasn’t quite sure where to sit. Máira settled on the plush chairs near the marble fireplace, where a fire was burning brightly in the hearth.
“More peers exist on credit than anyone knows. Ross and Astley, however, are not among the poor.”
“I would say not.”
“They are both generous with their funds.”
“I know more than most how generous both men can be,” Máira replied as she removed her coat and sat down in front of the fire. Caillen handed her a handkerchief, and her sister took a moment to compose herself before speaking.
“He’s not the father.”
“It took me a few seconds to figure that out.”
A wobbly smile crossed Máira’s face. “Do all men think women are so stupid as to believe they could perform while on their deathbed?”
“I believe all men hope to die in that manner.” A flash of the past caused a sharp pain and Caillen flinched, rubbing her forehead as she pushed the memory away.
“Are you ill?”
“No, I’m fine, it’s nothing.” She cleared her throat and brought her hands to her lap where she folded them in a display of serenity she did not feel. She did not meet her sister’s gaze. “Who is the father of your child?”
“My husband.”
It was the one thing Máira could say to force Caillen to look up from her neatly folded hands. “Your what?”
“You didn’t know? I was on my honeymoon in France when we rescued Astley.”
“But Astley proposed.”
“Because my husband obtained an annulment.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Because he told Ross and Iseabail, he would return me to London with my virtue intact.”
“But he didn’t.”
“Wedidn’t. It was my choice.”
“Your choice? But why?”
Máira paused to stare at her and she became instantly aware that her younger sister knew more about what truly happened between a man and wife than she did. Whatever it was, Máira’s experience was vastly different than Caillen’s. Although, to be honest, she and William had not had any time to… she pushed the thought away.
“What I mean to say, did you know he didn’t plan to stay wed to you?”
