She tilted her head to one side, and Olivia shivered at the intensity in her eyes.
“You’re sensible in not wanting a child,” Nicola said. “Women die in confinement. And your husband is so…”
“So what?”
Olivia stared at her friend, who leaned closer.
“Sobig,” Nicola said. “Imagine the size of his child! The old earl was just as big. They say the late Lady Devereaux almost died giving birth. She bled for weeks.”
Olivia shifted her thighs at the memory of the pain when her husband had taken her last night—the soreness that still pulsed between her thighs, and the tight cramps that had beset her body shortly after.
“Nicola, I’d rather not speak of—”
“And there’s Lucy.”
“Lucy?”
“Pa’s second wife.”
Olivia nodded. “Susie mentioned her.”
“Did she tell you how Lucy died?”
“No.”
“She died in childbirth. I was there.”
“Sweet Lord!” Olivia cried. “How horrible. Does Jacob—”
“No!” Nicola said, and Olivia winced at the sharpness in her voice. “Forgive me, I’m not supposed to say anything. Pa has never recovered, and he gets angry if I speak of it. You mustn’t say a word to anyone, not even to Jacob—please.”
Nicola wiped her eyes and sniffed, and Olivia took her hand. “Of course I’ll say nothing. Your secret is safe with me.”
“And yours with me.”
“What secr—”
“About not wanting a child.” Nicola glanced toward the door. “I can help,” she whispered. “My grandmother can brew a potion to prevent a child. She does it for the women at the brothel in the next town and won’t mind if I bring you some if you promise not to tell.”
“I don’t think—”
“I’m only thinking of you,” Nicola said. “I wouldn’t want you to suffer the same fate as poor Lucy. I loved her so much, and…” She wiped her eyes. “I know we’ve only been acquainted for a little while, but I see you as a friend. A sister.” She let out a small sob.
“Very well,” Olivia said, “but I’ll not need it.”
Nicola’s eyes narrowed, the pale blue glistening like ice. “Has the earl not—”
She broke off as someone knocked on the door, then the housekeeper entered.
“Your ladyship, is now a convenient time to discuss the household accounts? I’m sure Miss Faulkes has plenty to be getting on with at Mill Farm.”
Olivia rose, glancing at the mantel clock. “Yes, Mrs. Brougham. Forgive me, I hadn’t realized how late it was. Nicola—would you mind?”
“Of course not, Olivia,” Nicola said, rising.
Mrs. Brougham frowned, then rang the bell. Shortly after, a maid arrived.
“Ethel, please show Miss Faulkes out. The rear entrance, if you please.”
