That she would have to marry. And not just that she’d have to marry, but that she’d have to marry Lord Whitcombe, a man nearly thrice her age, who had agreed to deliver a parcel of land to her father for him to begin agricultural work on if he would simply gift Whitcomb one of his daughters to marry. Lily would have kicked up a horrible fuss, and Amelia was already happily wed with Arran, which left only her.
And now, she was due to be married to him. She knew not exactly when the date was to come, but it was only a matter of time till her father, the weaselly little creature that he was, decided to walk her down the aisle to be with that ancient old thing. The mere thought of his hands on her, the two of them having to share a marital bed where she performed her wifely duties… ugh. She pushed the thought from her mind at once.
Amelia had avoided the same fate by marrying Arran. While the circumstances that had brought them together at first had been far from normal, they seemed utterly content now. And perhaps, if she could find a man who was willing to wed her before Whitcomb got that ring on her finger, she would be able to convince her father to give her the freedom she so craved.
1
Amelia glanced up from the book she had been leafing through, and a furrow appeared in her brow. Mary could feel her sister staring in her direction, but she kept her focus on the page in front of her, pretending as though she’d hardly noticed.
“Are you alright?”
Finally, Mary lifted her head, smiling at her sister. Amelia’s hand was resting protectively on her swollen belly, as it often did these days. Mary could scarcely remember a time when her eldest sister hadn’t been carrying around the enormous bulge under her dress, though the child was due any day now.
“Of course I am,” Mary replied, rising to her feet and making her way over to her. “Are you?”
“Yes, I—oh, my feet hurt…” she complained, slipping one of them out of the shoe she’d been wearing and pulling it awkwardly into her lap to massage the sole for a moment. Mary furrowed her brow sympathetically, and Amelia shook her head.
“I suppose I must look like a beached whale to you,” she joked, and Mary frowned at once.
“You look absolutely beautiful, Amelia. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you as radiant as you are now.”
Amelia chuckled.
“I’m not certain I believe you,” she replied. “But I appreciate your sweet words, Mary.”
“Here, let me,” Mary murmured, brushing her hand aside and tending to her sore, swollen feet. It seemed as though every part of her sister had been aching recently, as she entered the last days of her pregnancy—everyone had been fussing around her, rushing this way and that as they tried to make sure she was taken care of. At any moment, the process could begin to bring the new member of the family into the world, and Mary smiled at the thought.
“Are you looking forward to meeting her?” Amelia asked, as though sensing what was on her sister’s mind. Mary glanced up at her, eyebrows raised.
“You’re still sure it’s going to be a girl?”
“I just know it,” Amelia replied, stroking her bump lovingly. “Of course, I’ll adore them no matter what they come out as. But I think it will be a little girl, a little daughter. A little niece for you and Lily!”
Mary pressed her thumbs into the arches of Amelia’s feet as she pondered it.
“I can scarcely imagine Lily as an aunt,” she confessed, “She seems too wild for it…”
“I think it’ll do the girl good to have some balance,” Amelia replied firmly. “A little wildness from Lily, and then some more… grounded teachings from you.”
Though Mary knew that her sister meant it only in the kindest way possible, her heart sunk slightly when she heard that. It was the truth, of course. Lily had always been the wildest out of the three of them, especially in this last year or so, as she had come into her womanhood at last. She seemed distinctly aware of how much power her newfound status had given her, power that Mary could rarely see in herself—perhaps becauseshe knew that her father would be using her womanhood to buy himself some new land soon enough, if he got the chance…
“What are you so consumed by?” Amelia asked, drawing her from her reverie. Mary shook her head quickly, and painted a smile on her face so her sister would not see the truth of what was going on inside her head. She had not spoken to Amelia about her father’s plans for her, knowing that it would cause her sister no end of stress. As long as she was with child, Mary had sworn to herself not to speak of what was going on with her family—she felt as though it would have laid too much pressure at her feet. Amelia had always felt responsible for Lily and Mary, and, though she would be a mother soon herself, Mary was sure it wouldn’t have vanished so quickly.
“I’m just thinking about the baby,” she replied as she straightened up. “How much I’m looking forward to meeting them?—"
“Her,” Amelia corrected Mary. But then, all at once, her face twisted into a mask of pain, and she gripped her lower belly. Mary sprang to her feet.
“What’s happening? Is it the baby?”
“I don’t rightly know,” Amelia replied with a grimace. Mary’s eyes widened when she saw a puddle of wetness staining her sister’s dress. Amelia gasped, and Mary rushed for the door.
“I’ll get the midwife!” she exclaimed. “And Arran! You wait here, Amelia, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
She raced downstairs, taking them two at a time, until she arrived, near breathless, in the main entrance hall to the Keep. She realized, as she stood there, that she had little idea of where she was meant to be going, but much to her relief, Mairead, one of the housemaids, rounded the corner. When she saw the look on Mary’s face, she stopped dead in her tracks.
“Is it the lady?” she demanded. “Has it begun?”
Mary nodded.
