Felicity glanced between the two most important men in her life. The offer was an unusual one for her father to make, but Axel didn’t seem at all confused by it.
“I appreciate that.”
And after dropping a bow in her mother’s direction and a chaste kiss on Felicity’s cheek, he disappeared down the stairs and into the night.
An emptiness settled around her heart at his departure, and she was forced to acknowledge the truth of her own thoughts mere seconds before.
Axel Lupton, the Viscount Manningham-Tissinton, had indeed become one of the most important people in her life—if not, in fact, the most important.
He was her child’s father. He was the last person she thought of before falling asleep and the first person in her mind when she awoke.
Westerley, and the anemic emotions she’d felt for him, had been relegated to the distant past.
Axel was her today—her now.
Him and her child. They were her future.
Cancelled Plans
Lying in bed the following day, Felicity was already awake when Susan opened the drapes to allow the morning sunshine to flood the familiar chamber.
It was a new day. She was fortunate enough to have a tiny baby in her belly and she was going shopping with her fiancé and his sister that afternoon.
All of these ought to have been enough to chase away the concerns that had plagued her the night before.
The clock on the mantel showed it was almost noon. Axel was going to collect her in just over two hours. She sat up and stretched, happy to note the dreadful sickness she’d experienced regularly for two months now was gloriously absent.
And she was hungry. She wanted pastries and eggs and meats. “Jonquil,” she announced. “I think the jonquil muslin will be perfect for today. The viscount is taking me shopping on Bond street and I do believe I’m going to insist upon ices at Gunter’s afterward.” She slid off the bed. “Or perhaps beforehand. I’m starving today, Susan.”
Her maid moved to the bell pull and tugged. “Cook will be happy you’re interested in more than toast and jam. And I’d much rather have food brought up than a second chamber pot,” Susan grinned.
“Likewise. I’m sorry I’ve been so difficult lately.” Felicity stared at herself in the looking glass, pleased that the circles Axel had pointed out the night before were less visible. “Tissinton Towers, the viscount’s estate, is near Exeter. Axel has suggested that we might forgo the remainder of the season and go there right after the wedding. You do wish to come with me, don’t you?”
Susan had been her maid since the day her governess departed when she’d turned ten and six, and she could hardly imagine finding anyone else.
“My place is with you, my lady, and it always will be. But I am glad to hear we’ll not be taking up residence with your betrothed’s family,” Susan mumbled the last part.
A cold shiver slid down Felicity’s spine at the mention of Axel’s parents. “The servants heard about it?”
“Smithy and Peters were at the door. Is it true the viscount nearly challenged his father? Pardon me if I’m overstepping. It cannot have been a pleasant situation for you and Lady Brightley.”
“It was horrible,” Felicity shivered, holding her braid so Susan could untie the strings at the back of her night rail. “And yes, he would have. If not for Lady Cordelia, I can’t imagine any other outcome.”
“Lord Crestwood should not have insulted my lady like he did, even if he is an earl.”
“But I—”
“You are a lady through and through. You have always been a lady and there is nothing in the world that will ever change that.”
Felicity appreciated her maid’s loyalty. Especially in light of what Susan knew—which was essentially everything. She’d likely even guessed to some extent the nature of what had occurred on that bench in the woods.
“I hope you are right,” Felicity sighed.A whore.Her fiancé’s father had called her a whore. “I didn’t think parents like Lord and Lady Crestwood existed.”
“They do seem rather unpleasant, don’t they?” Susan helped Felicity step into her corset, working it over her hips. Gripping the bedpost for support, Felicity wondered how much longer before she’d require larger undergarments. “Will Madam Chantal notice, do you think?” Somehow, Felicity doubted she could fool the renowned modiste for very long. The stout little French woman knew most of her clients’ measurements by heart. Of course, she would suspect Felicity’s condition when those measurements began to change.
“She will know. I’ve already let out the bodice of your evergreen silk.” Felicity exhaled as the laces tightened and then glanced down at what she’d always considered to be a somewhat modest bosom. Her breasts were unusually sensitive, and, she cupped her hand around one of them, yes, they were also more prominent.
Lately, it seemed, her entire body was extraordinarily sensitive.
