Page 39 of Fair as a Star

“No. You won’t. I’ll see to that.” Henry’s face was set with unwavering resolve. “My father did enough harm indulging his weaknesses. I’ll not permit you to do the same. These low spirits of yours, we shall exorcise them. Once we’ve married, you will see how soon they dissipate.”

She felt the unholy urge to laugh—or to weep. She didn’t know which. Thank heaven she was able to suppress it. Such behavior would hardly bolster Henry’s confidence in her. “You sound very sure of yourself.”

“I am. Mr. Cooper had suggestions.”

Her face fell. Not Mr. Cooper again. It seemed the man and his odious medical opinions would haunt her to her grave. “Surely you don’t countenance—”

“Yes, yes, I know what you think of the fellow. Any female might feel the same given the circumstances. But you cannot discount his medical opinion.”

“I do discount it, most strenuously.”

“Some of what he recommended was harsh, I grant you. However, he did have one suggestion that struck me as being eminently sensible.” Henry picked up his teacup. “I hope we might discuss it further after we’re married.”

After they were married? She could no longer imagine it. All she wanted was to leave this place. To run all the way back to her bedroom at the Grange, and to the illusion of security that it gave her.

Good lord. To think, she’d come here to argue over the fate of a horse!

“I’ve already heard his suggestions,” she said, “as has my mother, and none of them deserve consideration.”

“You won’t have heard this one.” Henry paused before adding, “It’s of a delicate nature.”

She steeled herself for the worst. “What is it? What did he suggest?”

Henry sipped his tea in silence.

Beryl had never been so frustrated with a person in her life. “Really, Henry. If you think I’m going to wait until we’re married to find out, you must be dreaming.”

“This willfulness is unbecoming.”

“I daresay it is. Nevertheless, I must demand that you tell me now. It’s my own health we’re speaking of, not some aspect of your personal business.”

Henry’s mouth tightened. “Very well. If you insist.” He lowered his teacup back to its saucer. “Cooper gave me to understand that your spirits would settle once I got you with child.”

A blazing heat crept into Beryl’s face. “He said that?”

The very thought of it shocked her already tattered senses. And yet Henry could reference the condition with such calm matter-of-factness! As if the getting of that child wouldn’t entail the greatest intimacy of her life.

Intimacy with him.

“He did, yes,” Henry said. “And I tend to agree with him. Children will give you something to occupy yourself. You’ll be too busy with them to pander to your low spirits.”

“Children,” she repeated. “You speak of more than one.”

“Naturally,” he said. “If we’re blessed in that regard.”

She wondered how many blessings he had in mind. A half dozen? More? The prospect nearly had her racing from the room.

What lady desired to be rushed into childbed? It was fraught with risk. One was always hearing stories of women dying or being made an invalid from the experience.

And what about the intimacy that came before? The necessary intimacy? All this talk of children, and yet she’d never properly considered that aspect of her impending marriage. Never truly contemplated the reality of sharing Henry’s bed. If she’d thought of it at all, it was only in terms of a duty. Something to be got through. Not unpleasant, but certainly not enjoyable. Mama had alluded to that much.

Beryl hadn’t questioned her further. And she certainly hadn’t interrogated her own feelings on the matter. Not until now, sitting across from her soon-to-be husband. A man who’d known about her melancholy all along. Who was mapping out the course of her married life with the same ruthless efficiency he used to determine the next season’s plantings on his estate.

She brought a hand to her temple, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “And these children are going to cure me?”

“You sound skeptical. But I suspect that once you’re a mother—”

“What if they don’t? What if I get worse instead of better? Am I to simply keep having children until I expire from—”