He glanced at Cortland in horror.
“What is it, Hugh?” Michael asked. “You look as though you’ve just seen your own ghost.”
“I’m going to be a father!”
He burst to his feet. He needed to leave. He needed to get to Penelope now!
“I know, Hugh, sit down. You aren’t going anywhere in this storm.” Michael’s voice was calm but more concerned now.
His hands were shaking. He’d not realized Cortland had crossed the room until he was there, crouched down before him. “What is it, man? Is the notion of fatherhood really so deplorable to you?” He took the glass out of his hand, stood up, and poured another splash into it.
Hugh had not intended to explain the entire situation to his oldest friend. He’d not wished anybody else to think poorly of her for what she’d done. No, that had been his exclusive right.
But now, in light of his revelation, it all came pouring out. It was surprisingly simple, in a complicated sort of way.
He had taken her bait far too easily. He’d swived her and then gotten her with child. To uphold his honor, he’d married her. The rest of it ought not to matter. It only revealed more of his own weakness and wrongdoing.
But it did. It mattered greatly.
He’d left her! He’d abandoned her when she needed him most!
She’d told him she loved him.
“I need to go to her. Now.” He ground out the words as he headed for the door.
But Cortland grasped him by the arm. “It’s a downpour out there. Not safe for you or your mount. You’re of no use to her injured or dead.”
Hugh realized the truth of Cortland’s words. Rain pelted against the windows in droves and the wind could be heard tearing through the trees.
He could do nothing for now.
He sat down and buried his head in his hands. All he could think, all he could imagine, were scenarios of her giving birth knowing he was gone. Of her pain, of her courage. “She’ll never forgive me.”
* * *
In spite of Penelope’s disgust with her husband, she could not help but hope to see him come riding up the lane, returning to beg her forgiveness. But after four weeks of his absence, she’d considerably hardened her heart.
And now, the time had come it seemed, and he was yet absent.
The stretching and pulling sensation awoke her just before dawn. Was it real? Was this it? She lay in bed on her side for several minutes before another one overtook her. It was tighter, and somewhat more painful even. When she got out of the bed and walked over to the window, Rose rushed in.
“Are you all right, Pen?” Rose wore only her own nightgown, and her hair was in a long braid behind her back.
Pen rubbed her back and winced. There must have been either pain or fear in her face, for Rose became more alert instantly. “I’ll get the duchess.”
Oh, yes, Abigail.
Both Abigail and the duke had come quickly after receiving her letter, along with two additional carriages, a nurse, a wet-nurse, and a virtual army of outriders.
Nonetheless, her cousin, as always, brought her peaceful and calming influence to the entire household. But even more importantly, she managed to strengthen Penelope’s courage for the coming blessed event. She’d not uttered inane platitudes, nor promises that meant nothing. They both knew of the risks, but Abigail had delivered twins successfully years before. As an unwed mother, she’d been forced to give them up and had since discovered that both of them had died tragically as children.
And Abigail had endured it all.
Penelope could do this, circumstances notwithstanding.
Women had done this for years. They’d given birth to live children, and they’d given birth to stillborns. And some women died, but most of them lived.
Penelope was in excellent health and of a strong willful mind. The babies were actively moving inside of her. In these final days of her confinement, it was most important that she focus on all of these things.
