Page 36 of The Music of Love

She sighed, exhausted and annoyed by her pointless fretting.

“Why the heavy sigh, Portia my darling? Are you thinking about how much you will miss me and my sage counsel and clever wit?” Serena teased.

Freddie gave a delicate snort but Portia smiled into Serena’s affectionate hazel eyes. “I will miss you both, dearly.”

Serena lifted her wine glass. “I propose a toast—to old friends, the very best kind.”

“To friends old and new,” Freddie corrected, her serious gaze on Portia. Although the reserved, private woman hadn’t pried, Portia knew Freddie was concerned about her new life in Cornwall and where it would all lead.

Portia gave the other woman a reassuring smile. “To friends old and new,” she echoed.

After she’d taken a drink Portia left her glass lifted a moment longer, silently toasting somebody who was not at the table, but who was present all the same.

Chapter Eleven

Portia knew she was pregnant two weeks after she returned from London.

She woke up before dawn, retching and sweating with an odd heaviness in her pelvis. After vomiting a third time she crawled back into bed and fell into an uneasy sleep. When she woke again it was after eleven and somebody was knocking on her door.

“Signora? Signora Stefani?” It was Daisy.

“Come in,” she called weakly.

The maid poked her face into the dim bedroom. “Are you ill, Signora? When you didn’t come down to breakfast Mr. Soames worried you might be having trouble.”

Portia almost laughed. She was having trouble, all right.

“I’m feeling a little fatigued so I decided some extra sleep would not be amiss. But I should love some tea and toast if you wouldn’t mind, Daisy.”

“Oh, I don’t mind at all. Mayhap you’d like a nice hot bath, ma’am? I know that always sets me up all right and tight.”

“That sounds lovely. Perhaps in an hour?” Portia collapsed back onto the bed once the door shut. What a mess. At the very least she would have liked to keep her situation a secret. Not that being ill necessarily meant pregnancy—except to a suspicious mind. She lay in bed and massaged her sore stomach. What on earth was she going to do?

Stacy was leaving his chambers and saw Soames and Daisy conferring outside Signora Stefani’s room. “Is aught amiss, Soames?”

The girl scuttled off and his butler turned to him. “When Signora Stefani did not appear at breakfast I became concerned.”

Stacy’s heart lurched into a gallop. “Is she ill? Does she need a doctor?”

“She’s feeling a bit under the weather and asked for tea and toast, sir. She has not requested a doctor.”

Stacy looked into the old man’s suddenly not-so-vague eyes and nodded. “Inquire as to whether she would like the doctor when you bring her meal. Please let me know what she decides. I shall be in the library.”

“Very good, sir.”

Stacy didn’t bother lighting any candles when he reached the library. He slumped into his chair and stared into the darkness.

“Hell.”

Was she ill or was she pregnant? He knew women sometimes became ill during pregnancy. He could hardly breathe for the thumping in his chest. He was still sitting in the same position a half-hour later when Soames entered. The butler did not look surprised to find his master sitting in the pitch dark.

“Signora Stefani thanks you but declines your offer of a doctor. She is feeling much better.” He stood in the doorway, waiting.

“Very good, Soames. That will be all.”

Soames closed the door without making a sound.

Stacy tried to get work done, telling himself he was acting foolishly. All the same, his pile of paperwork did not diminish and he found himself in the music room an hour before his lesson. He could think of no other way to calm himself other than to play. He’d been restless ever since his trip to Plymouth. He’d only stayed for three days even though Kitty had wanted him to stay longer. But, for whatever reason, he’d been unable to relax. So he’d come home and worked on the new music he’d picked up in Plymouth, a piece by Beethoven, his Sonata 14. It was haunting, riveting, and almost mad. The third segment, the presto agitato, was beyond his skill and likely always would be, but he was determined to master it all the same.