Page 58 of Tempting the Marquess

The newsthat the Marquess of Standish had been shot while in France swept across London faster than the Great Fire. While word had eventually arrived stating he lived, the curtness of the letter and the grim-faced men who delivered it spoke volumes on the hope they held for his survival. This attitude could be seen in all corners of thecity.

They already considered him buried in a silk-lined casket.

To add to her misery, a steady stream of callers had taken it upon themselves to visit the Claremont townhouse, although Samantha rarely ventured downstairs to talk with them. She didn’t want to see the false sympathy of people like Lady Havenhurst or the Baker-Fields, or Miss Yale, or any other women ruing the loss of such an eligible bachelor. Or men to tell her the mood at Brooks’ was somber, that even those William had crossed swords with in the House or who had envied him his lofty position were speaking in grave admiration of his achievements and dedication toduty.

It hurt far toomuch.

For the visitors, the sun would rise and set as usual. They would return to their husbands and sweethearts and friends. Laugh and dance and make love. None of them existed in a dark void of despair, where every breath stabbed like a knife.

The only person who didn’t mind was her mother. She was absolutely basking in the attention, and would smile and share tales of all the guests who stoppedby.

“I tell them, Samantha,” she said, perched on the edge of Samantha’s bed. “I tell them straight to their faces how you rarely leave your chamber because you are far too distraught, and still they come by in their hundreds.”

“And you let them in,” Samantha whispered, tucked under a thick blanket because it felt as though she would never be warm again.

Eva twirled a lock of sleek blonde hair around a finger and pouted. “These people have never crossed our doorstep before! I cannot throw them out, even if they do try my patience. Besides, they all want to know your love at first sight tale, so of course I have to tell them the true story, how you and Standish were dear childhood friends and it grew from there. Then I say I wouldn’t have been surprised if you and he...well I always stop there, because it is not fact you were about to become the next marchioness, now is it? And I am not a gossip.”

That hurt themost.

Knowing despite the fact she had fallen in love with him, given herself completely to him, would have done anything to spend the rest of her life with him, he hadn’t indicated any firm intention or inclination to make her his wife. And if he succumbed to his wounds in France, she would never have the opportunity to tell him, or learn if he held any kind of feelings for her other than desire.

It was a soul-destroying thought. Not to mention a stomach-churningone.

The following morning, Samantha knelt miserably next to her chamber pot, trying to breathe deeply as she sipped from a glass of water. The terrible retching had finally eased, but the thought of it coming back made her want to curl up in a ball and stay in her chamber forever. She didn’t even hear the door open until it closed with a firm click and slippered feet walked towardher.

When she looked up, Aunt Jane was staring at her with a peculiar expression on herface.

“Hello,” Samantha said, gingerly getting to her feet. “It’s good to see you. I’m sorry I haven’t replied to your notes, I’ve just felt dreadful lately. There must be some sort of illness going around.”

Aunt Jane took her hands and helped her to the bed. “Before we talk about anything else, I need to ask you a question, Samantha, and it is important you answer me honestly no matter how embarrassing. Before William went away, did he...were you...ah, intimate together?”

Answering was hardly necessary—the hot flush staining every inch of her face no doubt spoke louder than words—but she nodded and stared at the floor.

“When did you last have your courses?” Jane continued softly.

Samantha pondered. “Er...not for a while, actually. Why do you ask? Is there something wrong with me? Something bad?” she asked anxiously.

“Oh, darling,” said Aunt Jane, as she closed her eyes for a long moment then opened them again. Emotions crossed her face; somehow her aunt seemed angry, anxious, and happy, all at once. “I suspect you are suffering from something women have had to put up with since the beginning of time. Gregory only had me napping every afternoon at precisely two o’clock, but when I carried Stephen I was forever running for the chamber pot. Your uncle insisted they be set up in every room to avoid an unpleasant accident.”

“What?” Samantha cried. “No! That’s impossible. We…er…we used a, um, sponge. And before you hate him for ruining me, I wasn’t…I wasn’t a virgin. I believed a gentleman’s empty promises and ruined myself like a foolish twit two years ago in Yorkshire. It was cold comfort that I wasn’t the only twit in thearea.”

Aunt Jane took several deep breaths. “That is a lot of confessing for one minute.”

“I’m sorry!”

“Hush. Let me think. Hmmm. Firstly, I am sorry your first time with a man wasn’t special and wonderful. But you didn’t know better, and there are gentlemen who do not deserve the title. Despicable cad, more like. Secondly, I could never hate William, he’s practically my son. But I’m very cross at what he did. A sponge, even used properly, is not the most reliable form of protection. Although to be fair, neither is pulling out. Do not ask me how I knowthat.”

“Er…all right,” said Samantha, her fingers nearly shredding her sheets. “But you really think…a baby? What am I going todo?”

“You are going to hold on for a little while longer, and when William returns we will march up the gangplank of the ship together and inform him of his impending marriage. Should he have any qualms, I shall beat him with my parasol until he hasnone.”

Samantha didn’t smile. “But what if...what if he doesn’t come home? You saw the note—they all think William is going to die. Then he’ll never know about his child. I’ll be unwed and expecting a b-bastard! No one will ever speak to me again!” she said, bursting into tears.

Pulling her into a tight hug, Aunt Jane rocked her as though she were a little girl. Eventually, when her tears ran dry and her throat felt raw from crying, she drew back to look her aunt in theeye.

“How...how long do I have? Before I start, um, getting bigger? Must I tell Mother and Papa straightaway?”

“No!” Jane said quickly, her grip momentarily painful. “There is no need to say anything just yet. I presume you and William were intimate not long before he wentaway?”