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“Families are what we make them,” Darby said. “I have two brothers, Henrietta, did you know that?”

She shook her head, fascinated. “I had no idea. Where are they now? And what are their names?”

“I didn’t think you were the sort who had memorized De-brett’s Peerage. Their names are Giles and Tobias. They are twins. But as to where they are . . . no one knows.”

“What do you mean?” Henrietta asked. “Where could they be?”

“The world is a wide place.” His fingers slipped over her shoulders and wandered down her back. “They left England when they were eighteen.”

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“But you must have some idea where they are!”

“None. My father put out inquiries every year, and I have continued the practice. My father was quite certain they had not been lost at sea. I am not so sanguine. It’s one of the reasons that I decided not to have children. It has given me a sharp sense that no one knows what may happen on the morrow.”

Henrietta slung an arm around his neck, and rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. “I’m so sorry. You must miss your brothers dreadfully. I do hope they weren’t lost at sea.”

“So do I,” her husband said. “So do I.”

They sat snugly together in the twilight while Henrietta thought about lost brothers and found children. And then she decided that a wife’s role included cheering her husband in moments of despondency.

So she stood up, smiled down at Mr. Simon Darby, and began slowly, deliberately undoing the tight lacing that graced the front of Madame Humphries’s fete dress. In the end, Simon Darby missed his closest friend’s debut as a composer of comic opera. The note he sent Rees the next day said that he’d come down with a sudden ailment that necessitated a few days confined to his chamber. Rees read the note and snorted. One could only dream that Darby was covered with chicken pox. But he didn’t hold out much hope that an invasion of small itchy spots was keeping Darby on his back.

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Of Frost Fairies and Other Surprising Beings Henrietta wasn’t thinking in terms of routines. Cycles. Days of the month. But one morning she found herself lying sleepily in her bed, thinking about Millicent’s marital advice and how sad it was, truly, that her stepmother had found the experience so unpleasant, and that Millicent thought of mess rather than of pleasure.

Thinking of messiness made her entire body rigid. She’d had no flux. Feeling as if the breath were being squeezed from her body, she began to count backward. They had been married almost four weeks. That meant it had been over six weeks since she last had her monthly bleeding. She was late.

She lay back, arms and legs leaden, and tried to catch her breath. How could this have happened? She had followed Esme’s instructions regarding the sheath faithfully. She kept counting and re-counting the days, as if that could make a difference. Her maid appeared with an offer of clothing. She waved her away. Why dress when you’ve received a death sentence?

It was one of the worst mornings of Henrietta’s life. Darby Fool for Love

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was meeting with his man of business. The children were upstairs playing with a lively new nursemaid. She had never felt more alone in her life. She spent the morning staring into the lace canopy over their bed. She didn’t cry. She just tried to breathe.

Finally she rose and took off her night rail and looked at her body in the mirror. It looked precisely the same. No signs of a swelling in the belly. Her eyes stared back at her, ringed with dark circles. As far as she knew, her tummy might pop out at any moment. There were a few women in the village who seemed able to conceal a pregnancy for a matter of months, but the small ones like herself looked very large from the beginning.

She spread her hands over her tummy and thought dangerous thoughts. Inside her, a little bud had started to grow. A baby. A child of her own. Perhaps a little girl with Darby’s somber beauty. Her body shook with longing at the thought. If only . . . But the moment her husband found out, he would inquire about that little bottle he gave her on their wedding night—

the pennydub, or pennyroyal, whatever it was. And Darby would be right, she thought, trying to persuade herself. Everyone said it was a miracle that she herself survived. Would she give up her life, only to lose the baby’s life in the process? What would be the good of that?

No good, beat her heart. No good. No good. No good. Blood pounded through her body, telling her with every beat that she had no choice. She could hear it roaring in her ears. If Henrietta had been capable of it, she would have had a fit of the vapors. But instead her heart just keep beating, and her mind kept racing.

That night she requested privacy, pretending that she’d taken cold. Darby slept in another room. He asked what was wrong in such a sweet fashion that she almost told him—but telling him meant the end. She couldn’t do it, not yet. Not take that bottle, and give up her little babe. Not yet. 310 Eloisa

James

An hour or so after he retired to the other room, she realized that when one’s life might be counted in a matter of months, spending even one night alone was idiocy. She slid into bed beside him in an ecstasy of gratefulness for the familiarity of his roughened legs against hers, for the sleepy way he turned and drew her into his arms. For the way they lay together, she curled inside the circle of his arms as snug as a walnut in its shell.

She drifted into uneasy dreams. At first, she thought she was still in a dream. He was touching her gently and his strong hands rolled her to her back. Sleepily, she thought about protest, but there was something about her husband that made her allow him liberties. Her stepmother wouldn’t approve. But then the realization of what he was doing sank in. Was there no privacy in married life?

“Simon Darby!” she snapped, sitting up in bed. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

He grinned at her. “I took care of that sheath, my dear. And now that we have that out of the way . . .” He picked her up and carried her over to the window overlooking the garden. At that she really did protest. The room wasn’t cold, due to a large fireplace with a still glowing fire, but it was winter and she was naked, thanks to someone removing her nightgown while she was sleeping. But he ignored her, just brought her to the window seat, and said, “Look, Henrietta.”