Because he could not bring himself to take the final step of making his betrothal final. Once he did so, there would be no way in which to go back.
“Talk to your father,” Trent said.
“There is no reason to,” Angelo insisted.
“Yes, there is. He should know what you are about to do and, as your father, may have advice to offer.”
Angelo took another drink. Perhaps Trent was correct, but Angelo also knew that the longer he put off speaking with St. Mullin, the harder it would be to approach him.
He finished his brandy and stood. “It matters not what my father will say as there is no choice in what I must do.” He then turned from them and stalked out of White’s.
His stomach tightened and everything within his being told him to turn around and that his intentions were a mistake, but Angelo also knew that he would feel this way no matter who the woman happened to be and that he just had to get on with it.
Chapter 29
They managed to travel nearly twenty miles that first day and only stopped because it was growing dark, and the outriders were concerned about their safety. Therefore, a coaching inn was found, and Octavia and her maid were escorted to a room, where they were to remain for the night, and one of the guards delivered their meals.
Octavia did not argue the point. She was exhausted and the swaying of the carriage did nothing to help soothe the turmoil in her stomach and often made it worse, while her maid watched on with concern. Octavia was certain she wished to say something, but pursed her lips and held her tongue.
The next morning, they rose early and finally reached Seaford by the afternoon. As her maid saw to the unpacking of the trunks, Octavia strolled down to the beach, removed her shoes and stockings and walked onto the sand, where her feet sank into the softness, but as she neared the water, the ground became firmer. She lifted her skirts and waded in only so far as to her calf and took a deep breath.
She could almost feel the tension leave her body and wished she would have traveled here much sooner.
The cottage held some of her favorite memories from childhood and when she traveled here with her mother. They would spend weeks during the summer frolicking along the beach, running into the water, then racing back before their skirts became wet from the surf.
Octavia opened her eyes and stared out at the waves, and as with the swaying carriage, the rolling caused her stomach to churn, so she closed her eyes again.
Maybe she wasn’t heartsick but suffering from a very real ailment. Though she couldn’t imagine what disease could make her feel ill only some of the time.
It must be worry, concern, and heartache that had led her to this state and she was certain that after a sennight of not being in Society, or knowing what was happening in London or with Angelo, that all would settle and she would be back to herself.
Wandering back to the cottage, she settled onto the terrace and stared out at the sea again. From this distance it wasn’t so disturbing, but peaceful, and she wondered if she would ever leave again.
Except, she couldn’t hide from her responsibilities to her sisters. She must ensure that when they wed, their marriages would be happy ones with a husband who loved them. Once Aurora and Sabina were settled, she might just ask Leopold if she could live here.
After supper, Octavia had retired, and slept with the window open, breathing in the sea air, and hoped that the exhaustion that had overcome her of late would finally go away after a good night’s sleep.
Unfortunately, when morning came, and she stirred from her bed, the sickness returned once again, and Octavia found herself rushing to the chamber pot where she heaved, though there was nothing in her stomach to expel. As the spasms passed, she fell back on her heels and cried. She could not deny the fact any longer. Something was terribly wrong and all she could do was pray that it wasn’t so serious a disease that she might die. She may be sad, even in a depressive state over the loss of Angelo, but she wasn’t ready for her life to end either.
“Lady Kepple, what is the matter?” Her maid stood at the entry of her chamber.
“I think I need to see a physician,” she finally admitted. “I cannot ignore this sickness any longer and fear that I have a terrible illness.”
Octavia pulled herself from the floor and wandered back to her bed and crawled back under the coverlet.
Her maid arched a brow then settled on to the side of the bed. “I do not believe you have a deathly illness, which is what you have probably conjured in your mind.”
“There is no other explanation,” Octavia groaned.
“Yes, there is.”
“What?” Octavia hoped it was something simple.
“You are with child.”
She nearly laughed. “That is impossible.” Yes, she knew women suffered sickness in the initial stages of pregnancy, but since she was barren, that was not what caused her nausea.
“I know you prefer your privacy, so I have said nothing, but I am aware that you had a lover in London.”
