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“He is joining us for dinner,” Harry said, waiting for Simon to finish writing.
“Good,”
Louisa replied.
Simon stared down at the list that had brought the impetuous woman into his path. With a smile, he wrote down the missing item number ten. As he finished, Louisa took the tray back to the desk and returned the ink and quill to their places.
“Where do you want this?” she asked, waving the paper to help the ink to dry.
“Third drawer on the right. I doubt Emma would get to that drawer if she happened to be in here looking for paper or a quill.”
“As you wish.” Once she closed the drawer, Louisa glanced over at her husband. “We should hurry if we are going to get ready for dinner.”
Simon suppressed a laugh as it was only three in the afternoon. Dinner was not on his sister-in-law’s mind.
“Is someone going to make sure I get a bath?” Simon asked.
“Yes, Simon,” Louisa said from the threshold. “A footman will be up in a few minutes with your bath and to help you get ready.”
“Don’t be late, Harry,” Simon added with a smirk.
Harry turned with a rakish grin. “No guarantees there, brother.”
By the time Simon walked finally downstairs to the salon, he was exhausted but happy. The bath had taken far more out of him than he’d expected. But it would all be worth it for Emma. A sense of peace had come over him.
Until he walked into the salon and noticed Emma missing, only Harry stood near the fireplace, sipping sherry. And with his brows furrowed and a frown on his face, Simon knew something was amiss.
“I will take some of that,” he said to his brother.
Harry walked to the corner table with the bottles of sherry and brandy. “I have bad news.”
“What is it?” A sense of foreboding swept over him, but he refused to give into it. He refused to let anything upset him tonight.
“Emma is requesting a tray in her room.” Harry handed a crystal snifter to him.
“Is she unwell?”
“Louisa is trying to determine that right now.”
Simon placed his glass on the table and then strode for the door. If she were ill, the least he could do was check on her.
“Simon, let Louisa handle this.”
He stopped and looked back at his brother. The grim set of Harry’s lips foretold an omen. “What do you know?”
“It’s her monthlies.”
Simon closed his eyes and released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. The idea of a child had given him the strength to arrange a quick wedding to lessen the talk of an early baby. He briefly wondered if she was relieved or sad. “I need to see her, Harry.”
“Wait until Louisa returns.”
Simon walked to his glass of sherry and drained his glass. “Brandy.”
“Go easy. You’ve been ill.” Harry still poured him a snifter.
“I was shot, not ill. And I’m perfectly recovered now.” Simon took the glass and sipped it slowly when all he wanted to do was gulp it down. He closed his eyes. Soon she would be with child. His child.
EMMA CURLED INTO HER pillow as she tried to keep the tears from falling. While she always had difficult courses, this month seemed particularly painful. After being a week late, she’d been certain there could only be one reason for the delay. Clutching her belly, she finally let the tears flow. She prayed she wasn’t like Tessa, who took two years to get with child.
