‘Do not say that, Dorian,’ I said sharply. ‘Maurice wrote to Harry immediately and asked him to come to London to see you. He would not have done that if he did not care.’
Dorian grunted, and I saw his eyes move from his pad and inspect my belly more carefully. I shifted on the bed, feeling uncomfortable from his scrutiny. Perhaps it was time to leave.
‘When are you due?’ he asked suddenly.
‘Er, very soon.’
‘I have been thinking that I would like to be a father one day,’ he said conversationally. He gave a small laugh and looked at me quickly, then away, as if embarrassed to be sharing such thoughts.
I did not say anything. Lucinda’s voice was sounding in my mind like a warning:Be careful, Aunty Fliss. He couldbe leading you into some kind of trap.And even worse, I was starting to feel guilty because Dorianwasabout to become a father and did not know it. Surely he had a right to know?
The words ‘But you are going to be a papa much sooner than you expect’ were on the tip of my tongue. But just as I opened my mouth to speak them, there was a light knock at the door, and Harry poked his head in.
I snapped my mouth shut instantly.
‘We should go shortly, Felicity. The rain is worsening, and the cabs won’t come near Saffron Hill if it’s too muddy for fear of becoming stuck. And, Dorian, you need to rest.’ He smiled at his brother, who laid his sketch pad down obediently, and Harry shut the door again.
I rose from the bed in a daze, smoothing down my skirts. That was close! Thank God Harry had interrupted. Otherwise, I would have let the cat out of the bag!
Dorian grasped my hand, as if he sensed I was perturbed about something. ‘Iamgrateful, Felicity, for everything you have done. I know I may have died if it wasn’t for you. And I hope that by you doing so, it means ... that it is because you care for me, at least a little.’
I squeezed his hand, then extracted mine from his gently. ‘I would have done the same for anyone, Dorian. Now you should do as Harry says and get some rest.’
He nodded and smiled, almost knowingly.
As I turned to leave, I glanced down at his sketch pad and almost gasped aloud at the image he had been drawing: It was me, holding a swaddled baby in my arms and smiling. But not just me. Dorian had drawn himself into the scene too. He was standing behind me, with his cheek against mine and his arms around my waist, peering down at the little bundle of joy with a happy expression.
My heart started pounding, and an icy shiver ran down my spine. I had thought that by our conversation and his apology, Dorian had moved on from his obsession with me. It appeared that was not the case at all!
Chapter 12
We arrived back at the house in a downpour, and after drying off, I met Harry in the parlour and suggested that we return to Godmersham as soon as possible.
‘There is no reason to delay now that Dorian is out of danger,’ I said, stretching my chilled fingers out to the fire.
‘I agree wholeheartedly,’ he replied. ‘I will choose a midwife from the applicants this minute, then inform her of the situation and of the need to be discreet. We will leave for Godmersham late tomorrow morning after I return from visiting Dorian.’
When he asked me if I wanted to accompany him for the final visit to Saffron Hill, I declined, saying that everything that needed to be said had been said.
In truth, I was feeling mightily conflicted. Overall, I felt I had made the right choice by Lucinda not telling Dorian about his baby. But there was a small part of me that felt heshouldknow the truth, and I felt bad about it, especially as he had confessed he wanted a child.
Then again, so did Max and I. And who knew what Dorian would do with the information once he had it? I did not know. He wasa wild card.
I tried to take my mind off the dilemma by writing to Jane to say to expect us in a couple of days and enquiring about Lucinda.
We will have been away for over a week by the time we return, and it is dangerously close to her due date. I pray she can hold on until we arrive with the new midwife. I do not want Mrs Busby involved in the birth!
***
The skies were dark and it was still raining heavily the next morning. But Harry insisted on going to Saffron Hill to visit Dorian. By luncheon, he hadn’t yet returned, and I was growing anxious. The midwife (a lovely lady in her late thirties who told me to call her Tilly) and I sat in the parlour, making polite conversation, but my eyes kept straying to the clock on the mantel.
Eventually, Harry turned up sopping wet with filth halfway up his trouser legs. He said that the roads were flooded and he hadn’t been able to hail a cab, so he’d had to walk back. There was no way that we could leave in such bad weather, but Harry thought it might clear by the afternoon, so we had a lateluncheon and waited.
Another blow was that Harry had returned without Maurice. Apparently, he had decided to stay with Dorian until he was fully recovered but would write to me and let me know when he was coming. It was disappointing, but I could not find fault with his decision. He was a good man and knew that Dorian needed him despite him saying he could go with me if he wished.
As afternoon slowly turned to evening and the rain didn’t let up, we had to face the fact that our trip to Godmersham was a washout. We had supper, and afterwards, I helped Tilly make up the spare room for the night and saw her settled in there.
But as I lay in bed in my own room, listening to fat raindrops splatter against the windowpanes, I could not shake a gnawing feeling of unease that we were already too late.
