Page 104 of The Work of Art

She was tempted to smile, but something in his expression stopped her from making light of his words. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, but…we must talk a moment.”

“Must we?” She stroked his cheek, kissing him softly once more. “What about?”

“I summoned the surgeon yesterday.”

“Oh?”

“And then Mrs. Lamb summoned old Mrs. Ingram from the village.”

Philly looked up at him, uncomprehending. “Mrs. Ingram?”

And then, in a flash, understanding came.

The warmth she’d experienced after their kiss drained away. She drew back from him. “Did I…? When I fell…?”

“Good lord, no. I didn’t mean to imply that anything was amiss. Mrs. Lamb feared it might be, but all is well, I promise you.”

“But then, did Mrs. Ingram say that I’m increasing? She’s sure of it?”

“I don’t know how much her opinion is worth. She seems an odd, eccentric sort of creature, and owns to not having properly examined you, but since she’s all but staked her fifty-year reputation on your being with child, I suppose we must have no doubt.”

Philly had heard enough. She pressed her face back into her pillow. It was all too much. The accident with Hyperion, the throbbing in her head, and now this. A baby.

The news should have been joyous. And it was. Truly, it was.

It was also completely overwhelming.

Arthur moved his hand soothingly on her back. “You might have told me.”

“I didn’t know.”

“But you suspected?”

Philly hadn’t suspected. Not at first. Her courses had always been irregular. It was only when she’d missed them a second time that she’d begun to wonder. “A little,” she admitted.

“Will you not look at me?”

She grudgingly turned to face him. He didn’t look angry. Nor did he look unhappy. He looked anxious. Anxious for her and her health? Anxious about becoming a father? She couldn’t tell. “If it’s true…If I am in a promising way…” she faltered. “Do you wish us to have a child?”

Arthur lowered himself down next to her. “I confess, I didn’t expect it to happen so soon, but—”

“It’s too soon.”

“That could hardly be avoided, my love.”

Heat rose in her cheeks. “But this can’t be what you wanted.”

“You think not?”

“It’s all come about so quickly. And it’s all so much chance. If Basil had never run into my uncle’s library that day, or if we’d never happened upon each other that afternoon in the park when I was out walking with Sara—”

Arthur gave a wholly unexpected, and completely uncharacteristic, shout of laughter. “Happened upon each other? I waited over an hour for you to walk by that day.”

Philly gaped. “You did not!”

“And the next time, as well.”