“I am certainly…” she trailed off.
At that point, she realized that more words would be impossible. She clamped her mouth shut and put her hand over it. Lionel stared at her for a moment, then realization dawned. He flung open the nearest door and swept Cecilia from her feet, carrying her at a limping dash through the door and into a bedroom. Depositing her on the bed, he dropped to his knees with a groan of pain and rummaged beneath the bed before he came up with a chamber pot. Cecilia was violently sick into it.
Fortunately, she had not eaten much before their journey had begun that morning. She coughed and spluttered, head hanging from the edge of the bed while Lionel held back her hair and rubbed a hand on her back. Finally, she pushed the chamberpot away and fell back onto the bed, clenching a fist around her stomach. Lionel looked stricken and Cecilia had a sudden thought that she would rather he was worried for her health than growing tired of her.
“Christ. You are as white as a sheet, Cece,” he began, eyes wide in unease, “is it something you ate? It can’t be, we were served the same at breakfast.”
Cecilia knew what it was. It was not the first morning that she had been stricken with nausea, though it had occurred out of Lionel’s sight thus far. She had developed a horror of such a thing happening in front of him. It was driven by his moments of distance from her. Surely, her beauty could not withstand the sight of her doubled over and emptying her stomach. Lionel tugged furiously on the nearby bellpull and then arranged pillows behind Cecilia’s head.
“It is nothing like that,” Cecilia whispered, weakly.
The room felt like it was spinning around her and she had to close her eyes and clutch the bedclothes to make the sensation stop. She heard a door open and Lionel bark out an order for brandy for the Duchess. The very idea made her stomach lurch and she opened her eyes.
“Perhaps tea, peppermint if the kitchen has it,” Cecilia suggested, “lots of honey if not.”
She put her head back. Lionel lay next to her, cradling her in his arms and stroking her hair from her face.
“You seem to know what this might be. Will you tell me?” he asked.
“It will occur every morning for a while and it began about a week ago. It will be followed by cravings for unusual foods and weight gain,” Cecilia told him, “but will last less than a year.”
She looked at him directly. He returned her look blankly.
“Did your tutors explain to you about the birds and the bees?” Cecilia asked. “Clearly they did not think to explain the female experience in that process.”
Realization dawned on Lionel’s face. It washed over him, a series of distinct emotions. Shock. Suprise. Joy. Cecilia realized that she had been tensing, waiting for anger to rear its head. How long had it been since Lionel had been convinced that she was trying to trap him? But it never came. Lionel sprang from the bed and turned a circle in the middle of the room, hands running through his hair. His mouth hung open and his eyes were wide.
“You are…we are…you will be…I will be…great heavens! Good Lord!”
He returned to the bed with a thump, kneeling beside her and hesitantly reaching for her hand. He raised it reverently to his lips. Cecilia felt a blessed relief flood her, a feeling of utter joy. Muscles that she had not realized were taut, became relaxed. She took his hand, smoothed it out, and pressed it against her stomach.
“Could it be a son?” Lionel suddenly asked.
“I do not know, but if there is anything I can do to make it so, I will do it,” Cecilia whispered.
“No. Do nothing. I do not care. A daughter may inherit my estate as easily as a son. I will see to it. I just want a healthy child. And mother.”
“I hope that I am, though I may not seem it for a while,” Cecilia murmured.
Suddenly, London didn’t seem such an alien, frightening place. She felt confident that she could rise to its challenges. Even to the challenge of meeting the Regent, the sovereign of Great Britain. As long as Lionel was beside her, she could face anything. Lionel and their child. Their family.
Lionel was teeming with questions, she could read it in his face.
“Go on, what is it?” she finally prodded.
“How long does the sickness usually last?” he spluttered.
“It varies, but I would hope to be free of it after a few weeks,” Cecilia told him.
“That… we can work with that. I will write to the Palace at once and postpone your audience,” he immediately answered.
“No! On no account. It does not last a full day. Just an hour or two first thing in the morning. I will be fine to meet the Regent,” Cecilia assured him.
Lionel seemed uncertain, but eventually nodded.
“As you say. The appointment is in the afternoon. I will be guided by you. But do not hesitate to speak up if anything feels… wrong. I care not a fig for the Regent next to you and my child,” Lionel added nervously.
“I will speak so that the whole of Berkeley Square hears me,” Cecilia giggled softly.
