Because she faced it alone.
“He seems an honorable sort.”
Naomi glanced over her shoulder. She hadn’t realized Ester had joined her outside. When Gil had insisted she hire someone to help her, she’d initially resisted. But now…
Now.
Ester was all she had.
Naomi touched her little bump. Until the baby was born, anyhow. Which summoned an entirely different set of fears.
“Looks like rain,” she muttered somewhat inanely, and then she sighed.
Naomi was going to have to raise her and Arthur’s child alone. Her husband was never coming home to do it with her.
How dare he die? How dare he leave her alone?
She blinked away fresh tears that threatened. Her eyes ached already from all her weeping.
How had she ended up so alone? Even her mother wouldn’t be here to help her. And it was no one’s fault but her own.
Her father had forbidden her from associating with Arthur. He and her mother had been convinced by rumors and speculation that Arthur wasn’t an honorable gentleman.
Oh, buthe had been. He’d spoken of marriage to her even before she’d informed him of her condition. He would have met with her father if only…
She would not regret lying with him that one time before they were married. To regret that would be to regret the life growing inside of her. If not for this child, she would have nothing of him.
And how could she regret the most romantic memory of her life? The carriage ride to the country, the picnic. The compliments Arthur had showered on her, the flirtatious smiles, the secret assignations.
Arthur had been an expert at wooing her.
“Gah!” She swiped her arm at the tears streaming down her cheeks.
A gust of wind had her hugging herself as she watched a small vortex of debris blow into her garden.
“Come inside, Missus.” Ester opened the door. “You don’t want to catch a chill. It’s not good for the baby.”
And reminding Naomi of that was the best strategy anyone could use.
It reminded her that, like it or not, she was going to have to address all of these problems facing her. Not for herself, but for their child. She was a grown woman, no longer dependent upon her mother and father. Arthur was counting on her.
A frisson of panic sliced through her grief.
The handful of notes he’d pressed into her hand after kissing her goodbye was all but gone. She’d not been a spendthrift with the money but neither had she been overly frugal. Naomi had never in her life had to worry about funds. Arthur had assured her she would begin receiving a portion of his officer’s pay in no time at all.
Her recent purchases at Mr. Clopwell’s Store, however, had been made on credit and the balance of her account was becoming not insignificant.
In the few months since he’d gone, no monies had arrived—not a single pound. The inkling of fear she’d had when nothing had come the first month was becoming a torrent of worry. And fretting about something so worldly as coin right now made her feel selfish and guilty.
Because he’d died.
Her husband had gone and died on her.
She stepped inside and glanced around the parlor, quiet now that her guest had left.
It should not have been Major Cockfield sitting in the chair taking breakfast with her. It should have been Arthur.
Her gaze landed on a vase sitting atop the mantel of the fireplace. It was empty. She’d thrown out the flowers after they wilted and died.
