“I give you my word of honor, Your Grace.”
It was not long before Adela’s findings caught the imagination of the entire country. The Tattler, diverging from its usual gossip, printed the weekly reports sent by their young reporter. To his credit, his stories were extremely well written, factually accurate concerning every new find, and yet inspirational to all who held dreams of discovery and adventure.
Miss Appleby’s artistic talents were put to use as Ambrose hired her to draw the caves, the surrounding countryside, and their actual dig site. Those drawings would form part of their Huntsford Academy exhibit. The Tattler also hired her, at Mr. Hawkins’ urging, to draw scenes for them to put in their weekly special editions.
Miss Appleby was also working with Adela to document the cave wall drawings, sketching them with precision in order to detail the dots and other markings surrounding the various scenes depicted by the ancient artists.
Ambrose could not have been more pleased with how smoothly everything was going until one day he noticed Adela suddenly run out of the cave and into the nearby copse of trees. “Adela!”
He ran after her.
What was wrong?
He knew her parents were supposed to come by today, but had sent their apologies and assured her they would make it another day soon. This was the third time they had done this to her and he knew she had to be overset by it. “Love, what’s the matter?”
She turned away and cast up her accounts.
Ambrose did not know what to do beyond holding back her hair and putting an arm around her waist while she struggled.
Her eyes were watery and she looked quite miserable by the time she finally straightened and gazed up at him. “Must have been something I ate. My stomach has been queasy these past few days.”
He put a hand to her forehead. “You’re not running a fever. Perhaps it is eating at you that your parents–”
“No, it is just my stomach. My parents have been disappointing me for years. This is nothing new for me. Nor does it hurt nearly so much as it used to now that I have you. You are wonderful, you know.”
“So are you, love.” He brushed a few damp curls off her face, for she looked flushed and little beads of perspiration had formed across her brow.
He took out his handkerchief and left her a moment to moisten it in a nearby stream, then returned to her side and gently dabbed it on her brow and along her neck. “Does this help at all?”
She nodded. “My nausea seems to come on in the morning and then I am better by the afternoon. Perhaps I am eating too much. My clothes are getting tighter, too. Have you noticed? How about you? Are you putting on a little weight, too? The inn’s cook does serve hearty meals.”
“No, I work it off with all the physical labor I do. I’m–” He sucked in a breath.
Lord, he was dense not to have noticed sooner. “Adela, love…”
She leaned against him as another wave of nausea washed over her. “I’m so sorry, Ambrose. This time seems to be a little more difficult than usual. I’m not doing very well. I think I need to return to the inn.”
“I’ll take you there, but I am also going to summon a doctor.”
“Nonsense, this will pass.”
“Yes, in about nine months’ time. Well, probably less depending on how far along you are.”
“What?”
“Adela, it is quite possible you are not ill. I think you are carrying my child.”
It took a moment for his words to sink in, but she gasped and then her smile turned radiant. “Do you think so, Ambrose?”
“Yes, my beautiful love.” He lifted her in his arms with exquisite care and hugged her to him. “Our little duke-in-waiting. It is very possible and makes perfect sense. But this changes what you can do around here. No more lifting or heavy work for you. The most strenuous thing you are to do is write letters or jot notes in your journal.”
“But I am not an invalid.”
“No, however you are in a delicate way. I couldn’t bear it if you were hurt. You are the most precious thing to me. I know I will be a protective ape over you, but don’t deny me. I need you to be safe. My heart will never recover if I lose you.”
“You won’t, Ambrose.”
He emitted a ragged breath. “Promise me, love.”
