At least, she thought, it might have seemed like heaven if she could just have sent Mama downstairs after the doctor had left, to send Ralph to her. She could have held out her arms to him as he came into the room and waited until he sat beside her. And then she would have told him and he would have hugged her and kissed her and they would have proceeded to live happily ever after.
The trouble was that she could not do any of those things. And through her own stupidity, as usual. At least she had had the presence of mind to make the doctor promise to say nothing about her condition as he left the house. And of course, Mama had promised too. It would be unimaginably awful if Ralph found out that part of the truth first before he found out the other. Her stomach felt quite unsteady again at the mere thought of his discovering that she was increasing when he believed her to be still virgin.
But even though she had ensured that he would not find out, she still felt under pressure. She must let him know about the identity of his "mistress" without delay. And for several reasons. She could not keep her condition a secret from him for more than a few days at the most. It would be unfair. And there was always the danger that that imbecile Stanley would take it into his head to blurt out his suspicions to Ralph after all. That would pose a major embarrassment.
It was perfectly clear to her now, of course, that she should have told Ralph the truth a long time ago. After their second or third encounter at Kensington would have been the ideal time. By now she felt paralyzed by inaction just to think of broaching the topic with him. "By the way, Ralph, you know that girl you visit in Kensington twice a week?"
No, much too casual an approach.
"Ralph, I have something to tell you that will make you dreadfully angry, but I hope you will forgive me when you have had time to think about it."
No, far too bland, meek, and mild.
"Oh, Ralph, dear, I have a shocking confession to make, but I know you will laugh with me once I have done so."
Worse and worse. Perhaps she should just burst into tears. Or get dressed in her black outfit and have her maid send Ralph up. Or...
Georgiana pulled a pillow from behind her head and hurled it over the foot of the bed. The other pillow followed it two seconds later. She felt better for a moment, until she realized that the display of temper had brought her no nearer a solution to her problem.
Well, she decided, climbing out of the bed in order to retrieve her pillows, she would set herself a limit of two days. Tomorrow, if she was as brave as she thought she was, or the day after, if she was the coward she feared she was, she would go to Ralph and make a clean breast of the whole thing. She would not let it go beyond two days.
And once she had cleared up everything with Ralph, she would go after that Stanley. A slut and a whore, indeed! It was a great blessing that her stomach had forced her to run the night before. Otherwise, she would probably have brought permanent disgrace on Ralph's family and her father's by punching him in the face. Impudent, silly boy! He deserved no better. And the disgrace might almost have been worthwhile. At least she would have succeeded in making an idiot of him.
Georgiana rang for her maid and lay down again on the bed. She clasped her hands loosely across her abdomen and gave the canopy a self-satisfied smile. When she was putting herself through the agony of telling Ralph about her recent exploits, she must fortify her courage by remembering how glorious it was going to be to tell him about his child. He would be so surprised and so happy. Ralph would make a wonderful father. She just knew he would .
He had seemed touchingly concerned about her earlier in the evening when he came to see her for a few minutes. He had refused to sit down and had been pale and ill-at-ease. Poor Ralph! He probably imagined that she was dying at the very least. He had been on his way out. She smiled. At least she knew he was not going to keep an assignation with another woman. The next Kensington night was tomorrow. The thought sobered her. She would not be able to go, of course. But the fact that she was supposed to do so must make it all the more important for her to talk to Ralph tomorrow.
She smiled at her maid and directed the girl to snuff the candles. She would try to sleep and dream up some magically tactful way to break the awful truth to her husband.
Ralph in the meanwhile was being shown into Lord Beauchamp's dressing room, where his lordship's butler was helping him into a particularly well-fitting evening coat.
"Ah, Ralph, my lad," he said cheerfully, "looking for company, are you? I am on my way to a card party. Do you care to join me?"
"No." Ralph said. "But I would like to have a word with you before you leave."
"Well, fire away, my boy," Roger said, smoothing the fine lace of his cuffs over the backs of his hands while his valet pulled the coat into place across his shoulders. "Oh. You may leave, Perkins. I believe you have done a good enough job that your reputation will not suffer when I appear in public."
The valet gave a doubtful glance at his master's neckcloth, which still lay in its starched perfection on the dresser. But he turned and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
"Well," Roger said heartily when they were alone, "I can see from your face, my boy, that you know. So I might as well save us both from the tedium of pretending ignorance and surprise. It is a dreadful coil, Ralph. He took me completely by surprise, you know, and I had said pistols before having a chance to think. Quite a disastrous choice! I shall delope, of course, but that will leave me dreadfully exposed to the young lunatic's bullet. Is he a good shot, by any chance?"
"My God," Ralph said. "What are you talking about?"
Roger looked back at him and then closed his eyes for a few moments. "I should have put us both through the tedium," he said. "You did not know after all, did you?""
"No," Ralph said. "You are talking about Stanley, are you not? A duel? Has the world gone mad?"
"I seriously fear young Stan might have," Roger said, turning and picking up the unfolded neckcloth. He proceeded to arrange it himself, with the aid of the mirror in front of him. "You should seriously consider packing him off to Oxford, Ralph. He could work off his energies there in acceptably unruly undergraduate activities. He maneuvered me very handily into accepting his challenge and then I blurted out pistols without a thought to the consequences. Someone is likely to get killed, and I very much fear it might be me."
"Is it true?" Ralph asked quietly.
Roger swiveled sharply on his chair. His brows were drawn together. "Is what true?" he asked.
"Is Georgiana your mistress?" Ralph asked. "I swear if it is true, Roger, I shall kill you myself before you even leave this room."
Roger pulled the half-tied neckcloth off his neck again and slammed it down on the dresser. He got to his feet. "Damn you, Ralph," he said. "I never thought to hear you ask me such a question."
"I want to know if it is true, " Ralph persisted.
