It turned out, however, that there was one person aboard whom she could not deceive.
Over the course of the past few months, Laura and Sabine Pearce had become quite fast friends. Nearly as soon as they had met, they’d discovered they had many things in common. Like Laura, Sabine ran her own business—in her case, breeding and selling draught horses—and although her husband nominally owned her assets, she was fully responsible for all the day-to-day operations and management decisions. Also like Laura, she was not British by birth, which meant her observations about English culture and manners were those of an outsider.
“What do you say we take a turn about the deck?” Sabine asked Laura on a particularly fine afternoon. The four of them were gathered in the dining room after a lunch of bread, cheese, sausages, and pickles. Laura had consumed mostly the pickles.
Knowing the activity would aid her digestion, Laura agreed.
When Thomas rose to accompany them, his wife shook her head. “I want to have a chat with Laura. A lady’s sort of chat.”
“What sort of lady’s chat?” Geoffrey asked, his brow furrowed, and Laura wondered if he was beginning to suspect.
“Oh, the usual things,” Sabine replied airily. “Fashion, needlework, the effects of the costs of staple items on one’s ability to make a profit on the sale of goods.”
Thomas shuddered in mock horror. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t have anything to contribute to a conversation on any of those subjects. Are you sure you don’t want to discuss the relative merits of rewards versus sanctions in diplomatic negotiations?”
Geoffrey chuckled and smiled at Laura. “Go. I suppose I can bear to be parted from you for a half an hour.” So perhaps he didn’t suspect, after all.
Once the women reached the upper deck, Sabine slid her arm through the crook of Laura’s elbow. The sky was a cheery shade of blue punctuated by several large, fluffy clouds, and the sun was warm enough to make the breeze that filled the sails pleasantly cool rather than chilly. The fresh, salt-tinged air did a great deal to soothe Laura’s dyspepsia, and she let out a sigh of relief.
“How far along are you?” the younger woman asked without preamble.
Laura gave her friend a startled glance. “How did you—?” she began, then laughed at herself. Sabine had given birth to two children. Of course she would recognize the signs. “Forget I started to ask such a silly question. How long have you known?”
Sabine’s eyes twinkled with merriment. “I didn’t know until just now. But I have suspected for a few weeks. You’ve been looking a bit green in the mornings for some time, but it was all the pickles at lunch that really gave you away. I positively craved them the last few weeks of our journey from Portsmouth.”
The full import of the other woman’s words took several seconds to register. When they did, Laura blinked. “Wait? You are—?”
She looked at her friend, whose slender form was currently concealed by a long, high-waisted coat made of a lightweight tweed. If Sabine had been two months along when she and Thomas had arrived in Quebec City, then she must by now be almost five months gone. Surely, she should be showing by now, especially since this was her third pregnancy. Yet there was no hint of a swelling belly beneath her clothes.
Catching Laura’s curious gaze, Sabine smoothed down the loosely flowing material of her coat over her midsection, revealing an undeniable bulge. “I am so grateful,” she said with a grin, “that high waistlines are in fashion, or I would by now be reduced to wearing nothing but shifts and Thomas’s coats. As it is, I can still wear everything I brought with me.”
Her friend’s amusement was infectious, and Laura grinned back. “Felicitations are in order, I suppose.”
Sabine squeezed Laura’s arm. “We are quite delighted, though the timing is rather horrid. I shall be big as a barn door right at the height of summer when it will be hot and miserable.” Her expression sobered. “But I think you are not quite so delighted as I. You have not told your husband yet, have you?”
The heat of shame rose in Laura’s cheeks. She did not want her friend to think she was keeping the truth from Geoffrey because there was trouble between them. “The last time I was…in this condition, I suffered a loss at about this point in time. I did not want to tell Geoffrey in case the same thing happens. Especially not with everything else.”
Nodding sagely, Sabine made a sympathetic crooning noise. “I can see why you would hesitate. And I cannot say I am well acquainted with Geoffrey, as I have only met him twice—once at my wedding and once a few years later when he was on leave during the family’s Christmas celebrations. But from what I have observed of him since we met and what Thomas tells me, I believe he would want to know, even if—no, especially if—you were to lose the babe.
“He loves you very much, you know. His heart is in his eyes every time he looks at you. I cannot imagine he would want you to try to protect him at the expense of your own well-being.”
* * *
Sabine was right, of course. Laura was doing both herself and her husband a disservice by not revealing the pregnancy. And she was past the point at which she had miscarried before. Of course, she knew the riskiest period lasted for three months, which meant she was not out of the woods yet, but it was getting harder and harder to keep her symptoms from Geoffrey.
Would he be happy? Angry? Afraid?
Probably all three, she decided. But unless she waited until after his acquittal—which would, of course, be impossible—he would experience all those emotions no matter when she told him.
So she decided she would do it that night.
They had retired to their cabin after dinner, as usual. The sun had set some time ago, but enough light still seeped in through the portholes to illuminate the small chamber in a silvery-blue glow. The length of the days at sea had been a source of amazement to Laura since they’d begun the trip. Without trees or hillocks to block the horizon, dawn came earlier and dusk lasted longer, and as they’d traveled, that effect had been increased by the lengthening of the days. Had she been asked to guess the hour, she would have said it could be no more than half past eight, but it was, in fact, nearly an hour later.
As Geoffrey saw to his nightly ablutions behind the shoulder-high wall that hid the washstand and privy from the rest of the room, Laura sat on the bunk—the only place to sit in the tiny cabin—and rehearsed her announcement. It was important, she thought, not to appear to be apologetic or embarrassed. At the same time, however, she did not want to project her own growing contentment at the prospect of having a baby onto her husband.
But when he emerged from behind the wall, shirtless and rubbing his overlong hair dry with a cloth, everything she’d planned to say vanished from her brain. She simply had to get it over with.
“I’m pregnant,” she blurted.
He stopped midstep, his features perfectly immobile, and she could not for the life of her interpret the expression on his face. Not angry, surely. Not happy, either. Relieved, maybe? But that made no sense…
His breath came out in rush, and his shoulders relaxed. “Thank God,” he murmured. “I was afraid you’d never work up the courage to tell me.”
Laura stared at him in a combination of astonishment and annoyance. “You knew? And you said nothing?”
“People in glass houses…” he said sternly, but his lips were curved in a half smile. He finished toweling off his hair and tossed the cloth over the top of the wall to dry.
With a groan, she threw up her hands in acknowledgment of the point. She had thought herself terribly clever for keeping the secret, but like Sabine, he had known anyway. “I wanted to be sure before I said anything. In case I was mistaken or…something happened.”
His eyes softened with comprehension and sympathy. “I know. And to be honest, I wasn’t entirely sure you knew.” He settled onto the mattress beside her and clasped her hand. “At least, not as soon as I did.”
She blinked at him in confusion. “When did you know?”
> “The night it happened. The night I failed to pull out. I knew then.”
“But,” she protested, “that happened only once. You couldn’t have been certain. I told you before I didn’t conceive for years, and not for lack of trying. There was every possibility I was barren.”
He shook his head and shrugged. “I just knew.”
“Yet you went right back to your old ways after that one time. Why bother, if you were sure I was already with child?”
“Because if I was mistaken about that, I wouldn’t have been for long. I thought if I was wrong, I had better not compound the error. And when you missed your courses the first time…”
“You noticed that?” she squeaked.
“Darling,” he said, squeezing the hand he held, “I notice any time you are indisposed. And you have not been, even once, since that night.”
Laura felt her cheeks warm. “Of course, you noticed.” She laughed. “But that could have been for other reasons. It happens sometimes, you know, as a woman ages.”
“Be that as it may, I knew the reason. And I regretted it fiercely, especially at first.” He grimaced. “When I think of you having to raise another child by yourself…”
Now she was the one who squeezed his hand, tightly enough that he flinched. “That is not going to happen. You will be acquitted.”
“I hope so. But if I am not—”
Yanking her hand from his, she stuck her fingers in her ears. “I’m not listening,” she said, sing-song. She knew it was childish, but she didn’t care. He would not die. He could not leave her.
With an indulgent smile, he leaned closer so she could not avoid hearing him even with her ears plugged and said, “Nonetheless, if the worst happens, just remember my family will see that you and the child want for nothing.”
I will want for you! she wanted to shout, but she nodded and removed her fingers from her ears.
Gathering her into his arms, he pulled her onto his lap and placed his palm over the curve of her belly. Nothing about her shape had had changed appreciably yet; in fact, if anything, her stomach was flatter than it had been in more than a decade. Even so, she felt a flutter beneath his hand, despite the fact that it was too early for such a thing. It had to be her imagination. And yet, the sensation was so powerful that she could not entirely discount it as merely her imagination. There was life inside her, and that life was strong and vibrant.
That was when she understood why he had been so certain she had conceived. Because she knew, with an instinct that could not be denied, that she would not miscarry this time.
She buried her face in her shoulder and tried to quell the wave of emotion that threatened to engulf her. After all her concern for his emotional state, he seemed to be handling this much better than she was.
He nuzzled the curve of her neck. “I have no intention of giving up without a fight, my love. I plan to be a father to this child, damn it, and to grow old with you. Well, older,” he amended with a chuckle.
Lifting her head, Laura met his eyes. “It’s about time.”
His eyebrows drew together in a frown. “For what?”
“For you to stop being stoic and fatalistic.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Ever since they came to arrest you, you’ve had one foot in the grave. If this was what you needed to get angry and defend yourself, then I am even more glad than I already was that I am carrying our child.”
“I was not—” At her frown of reproach, he broke off. “All right, I was a bit pessimistic, but I know how courts martial go. The prosecutors have all the ammunition, and the defense is lucky to have a few flimsy shields to ward off their shots. I did not want to get your hopes—or mine—too high. But I’ll be damned if I’ll just roll over and let them execute me for something I’m sure I didn’t do.” He nipped at her ear, raising gooseflesh on her neck and down her arm. “I want to stay alive, Laura. For our child, yes, but that’s just gilding the lily. You are more than reason enough.”
And then he proceeded to demonstrate his devotion in a most convincing manner.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The Venture docked in Portsmouth just after midnight on May sixth to no fanfare and minimal notice. Geoffrey had been expecting the ship to be met by soldiers sent to take him into custody until the trial. Instead, an officious man of little height, middle years, and extraordinarily large eyebrows swarmed up the gangplank before any of them could disembark. Introducing himself as George Lewis, the commissioner in charge of the Portsmouth dockyards, he demanded the ship’s manifest and crew list. Upon being informed that the Venture had returned to England from Canada with a skeleton crew and a British officer for court martial, Lewis attempted to scurry right back off the ship in search of someone with the authority to take the criminal in custody.
“I do not think that will be necessary,” McLeish rumbled, reducing his Scottish burr to a bare minimum. “Mr. Pearce here—” he gestured at Thomas, “—is a high-ranking member of the Foreign Office and can surely be trusted to deliver the Lieutenant Colonel to his destination. No need to trouble the high-and-mighties.”
Geoffrey had to work very hard not to choke audibly. Even now, McLeish was subverting the authority of the crown with gay abandon. Thomas had not even been sent by the government to find Geoffrey, let alone to escort him back to London. And the captain’s blithe omission of the close relationship between the Pearces and the Langstons, of which he was well aware, was a further bit of cheek. If Geoffrey wanted to evade the court martial by slipping from custody and making his way back to America with his wife, McLeish was offering him ample opportunity to accomplish the task.
And Thomas played right along. “Oh, yes, that’s quite correct. Would you like to see my papers, Commissioner? Just to ease your mind if you’ve any hesitation.” As he spoke, Thomas bent to retrieve the smaller of his valises, which he presumably intended Lewis to believe contained documents that granted him the authority to take charge of a military prisoner.
Geoffrey would always wonder what would’ve happened if Lewis had taken Thomas up on his offer. Perhaps nothing different from what actually transpired. Thomas was, after all, in possession of documents that indicated he operated with the official permission of the British government, and that might well have been enough to convince Lewis. But the commissioner was in no hurry to roust an admiral from his bed at this time of night and waved off the necessity of such proof.
“If a captain of the Royal Navy tells me it’s so, I’ve no cause to question him. Be on about your business, gentleman…and ladies,” he added as an afterthought, making obsequious bows to Laura and Sabine before he debarked.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Geoffrey said to McLeish once Lewis would out of earshot, and then turned to glower at Thomas. “And you shouldn’t, either. You realize you both land in the soup if I scarper, don’t you?”
MacLeish gave a shrug worthy of a Frenchman. “And if ye do, I’ll take my lumps, but we all know ye won’t. Ye’re too bloody honorable for that.”
“More’s the pity,” Thomas said darkly. “This is the perfect opportunity, Langston, Every one of us would look the other way if you and your wife got off this ship and got on another one back to America straightaway.”
“And spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders?” Geoffrey shook his head. “No. I gave twenty-five years of my life in loyal service to the crown, and I am not going to let them tarnish my reputation and reduce me to a fugitive for the next twenty-five. Especially given the paucity of good options available to me.”
Thomas sighed. “Worth a try.”
To Geoffrey’s surprise, Laura backed him up. She slipped her hand into his and said firmly, “My husband is innocent, and we will prove it.”
And that was the end of the discussion.
* * *
The nearly nine-hour journey from Portsmouth had been accomplished in two stages with a stop for luncheon in Guildford, so it was late afternoon on the same day when Geoffrey to
ok his wide-eyed wife’s hand and helped her down from the carriage to the pavement in front of his family’s Mayfair residence. She stared up at the four-story white-stone townhouse, which occupied the corner of Brooks Street and Davies Mews, while Thomas and Sabine descended behind her.
“I had no idea it would be so…grand,” she said with some consternation. Her gaze darted down Brooks Street in the direction of Grosvenor Square, visible as a patch of green corner at the end of a long line of imposing brick and stone edifices, and then back at Langston House’s wide façade with its tall sash windows and elaborate cornices.
Geoffrey slid his arm around her waist and pulled her reassuringly closer to his side. Not until they had reached the outskirts of London had he given much consideration to the fact that Laura had never been in a city of any significant size. While he had no idea of the precise population of Plattsburgh proper or any of the nearby cities might be, it was a minuscule fraction of London’s teeming million or so inhabitants. Add to that the density of the streets and buildings and the sheer amount of land they occupied, and it was no wonder she was feeling overwhelmed and a trifle intimidated.
“I may have failed to convey to you how sodding rich my family is,” he told her apologetically. “But I promise, they put their legs into their breeches one at a time, just like everybody else. Well, everybody who wears breeches, but as that includes my sister, it really does apply to most of them.”
Sabine sidled up on Laura’s opposite side, thereby giving the driver room to unload their luggage from the carriage. “And you are going to love Tish, the viscountess. She is one of the kindest, most welcoming people I have ever known, and she won’t give a fig about your background or breeding or any of that nonsense.”
Sleeping with the Enemy: Lords of Lancashire, Book 4 Page 17
