“The illness should subside in a few weeks’ time, according to Dr. Hayes,” Hyacinth told her. “But I shall have another problem forthwith. My gowns will all need to be altered.”
“You shall have to have them taken in, do you mean? You do look terribly thin, dearest. I did not want to say so, but there you have it. Honesty is best, or at least that is what my mother always said. Has your physician given you anything to ease this illness of yours?”
Her friend shook her head. “I am afraid there is no cure, save time.”
“Time?” Lottie repeated, mind whirling with possibilities, heart lurching at the thought of some mysterious, prolonged ailment.
What in heaven’s name could be wrong with her friend?
“Most ladies in a delicate condition are only ill initially,” Hyacinth said.
“Ladies in a delicate condition,” Lottie repeated, the words taking on a new meaning. “Hyacinth, what are you saying?”
“I am with child, Lottie.”
The bald announcement, without fanfare or preface, left Lottie stunned.
But only for a moment. In the next instant, she shrieked and rose from her chair. “Enceinte? Hyacinth! You cannot be. I cannot believe it. How? My God. Whose? Is it Sidmouth’s?”
Her friend winced. “Do cease shrieking, Lottie. And have a seat. You are making me seasick with all your carrying on. Of course it is Sidmouth’s. He is the only lover I have taken.”
Astounded by the revelation—and not just a bit jealous, if she were perfectly honest with herself—Lottie collapsed into her chair with a distinct lack of grace. “Have you told him?”
“No, nor shall I,” Hyacinth answered quickly and firmly. “Ouraffaireis over. He has not attempted to contact me once in the last fortnight, and I expect he has already quite moved on and is charming the next lady.”
That hardly made sense. Viscount Sidmouth was not a cunning rake. He had followed the Marchioness of Needham about like a lovelorn puppy for some time before that lady’s husband had returned from abroad and won back her favor. The viscount had been notoriously faithful to Lady Needham, despite her marriage.
“I do not know, Hyacinth. Do you truly believe him that inconstant? He doesn’t seem the sort.”
Tears sparkled in her friend’s eyes. “I scarcely know him. But I feel certain he would not have simply ignored me for the last fortnight if he cared.”
“You have ignored him as well,” Lottie pointed out, thinking of the way Hyacinth had withdrawn from society. “And you are the one who disappeared, are you not?”
Hyacinth’s shoulders stiffened. “I hardly disappeared.”
“That isn’t what you said,” she countered, thinking of the story Hyacinth had previously relayed to her.
Hyacinth had left Sidmouth in the midst of the night, sneaking away like a housebreaker.
Her friend glared at Lottie. “Whose side are you on? You aremyfriend, are you not?”
And it was the job of every good friend to harness common sense where it was lacking. To be the voice of reason.
“Of course I am on your side, and Iamyour friend. One of your best friends, I hope,” Lottie said gently. “Which is why I feel compelled to counsel you in your best interest. You have broken not one but two cardinal rules of taking a lover. You fell in love with him, and now you are carrying his child.”
The tears that had been welling in Hyacinth’s eyes rolled down her cheeks. “I hardly set out to do either of those things. I thought I was barren. I had believed there was no possible means for such an event to occur. And I certainly never meant to fall in love with him…”
A sob racked her friend, and Lottie felt it as surely as if it had been a blade. Because she knew those feelings, those feminine fears and beliefs, the disappointments and the hope, all too well. And because her friend was hurting and the knowledge broke Lottie’s heart.
“Oh, my dearest.” She rose once more and crossed the room, this time sinking to the settee at Hyacinth’s side and gathering a comforting arm around her shoulders. “Do not cry, if you please. I didn’t mean to cause you distress, and surely it is not good for your condition.”
“I don’t know why I am weeping.” Hyacinth hiccupped.
“You are weeping because you are pregnant, my dear,” Lottie said. “My elder sister Caro wept for a full month straight when she was carrying my nephew. And my cousin Elizabeth could not stop eating chocolate cake and pickled herrings.”
“I hate him.”
“Of course you do, darling.” She nodded and rubbed her friend’s back in soothing motions.
