“Oh, it never really occurs to Trevor to be impressed by large crowds or ceremonial claptrap. But I do believe his wife, Lady Piety, admired it greatly,” Joseph said. The pride was clear in his voice. “She likes you very much. No one can believe I’ve done quite so well for myself.” Joseph gave her a squeeze. “Least of all, me.”
Before she could stop herself, Tessa sucked in another breath and said, “Joseph?”
“Are you aware that you have not kissed me once this night?” he said lazily, staring at her mouth.
“I’ve something that I must tell you,” she pressed. The impulse to tell him increased suddenly, jumping from dull hum to a whip-snapping urgency. If she did not say the words, she would bolt from the room, running away as fast as her legs could take her.
With jerky movements, she picked her way out of his lap and stood before him. Her peignoir sagged, and she yanked it on her shoulders.
Joseph’s arms slid away and he held them out, like he couldn’t believe she’d left him. For the first time, he looked truly alarmed.
“What is it?” He leaned forward in the chair. He waited.
Tessa closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She crossed one arm low over her belly, reminding herself that the pain she would inflict was for the baby. Everything she did now was for the baby.
“In about seven months’ time,” she said, “I’m going to have a baby.”
“You’re what?” Joseph’s voice came out in a kind of airy, soundless rasp. He mouthed the word more than said it.
Tessa forced herself to hold his gaze. She watched all trace of affection and indulgence drain from his face. The blue of his eyes went icy with shock.
She nodded, endorsing the thing he thought he had heard. “I... I am ashamed to admit that I have not been entirely honest with you.” She looked down at her hands, squeezing them together. “I—the baby will come in May. We think.”
Joseph shoved from the chair. “‘We?’ Who is ‘we?’ Surely not the father?”
“Oh, no.” She winced. “I mean, we—my friends. Sabine and Willow.”
She wanted to tell him about Captain Marking then, to explain what happened—but she had scarcely found the words to reveal the truth of her condition. Who would believe that Tessa, a girl who loved nothing more than flirting and dancing and handsome men had not meant... had not wanted... had been...
She could not even articulate what she had not meant or wanted. She could not say what happened.
Joseph made a low, guttural sound of frustration and hurt and moved around her, careful to keep distance between them. For a horrified second, she thought he would storm from the room, but he pivoted and began to pace. His movements were terse and clipped, his hands on his hips. He looked at the floor.
“Of course you all knew,” he said, speaking to himself. “The advertisement and the marriages were part of a master plan, were they not?” He stopped pacing and stared at her. “Are the other girls pregnant, as well? Is this why the three of you were all so desperate to marry and leave home?”
“Oh, no,” said Tess, holding up her hands in horror. “We...” She swallowed hard and started again. “Willow has always wanted to move to London; it’s been a dream since she was a girl. And Sabine, well, you’ve seen how Sabine and her uncle...” When Sabine met Jon Stoker, her prospective groom, her right eye had been freshly blackened from her uncle’s fist.
Joseph considered this, nodded, and then resumed pacing. “Of course. ’Tis only you. How ironic.” He laughed bitterly. “I was warned of something like this, you know. Cassin and Stoker said all along that your sudden affection was too good to be true. ‘But why should your girl fall so quickly in love, Joe?’ they said. They hounded me about it—especially Cassin. ‘Her parents are rich,’ he said, ‘she lives on a sprawling estate, and has beaux aplenty. Why leave it all to be with you, Joseph?’ ”
He stopped pacing again and looked at her. His face was tight and his eyes burned bright, cold blue. “Well, I suppose now we know.”
Tessa dropped her head again, nodding to the floor. The tears had begun to spill over, running down her cheeks, and she made no effort to stop them. She’d told herself she could endure his anger and his disgust, that only his heartbreak would affect her. What a stupidly noble ideal. She was loath to endure any of it. She wanted to be loved. She wanted Joseph to love her.
“Who is he?” Joseph asked now, barking out the words. He paused at the window, bracing his hands on either side of the frame.
“Who is who?” For a suspended moment, she was confused.
“The father of the unborn child.”
“Oh,” she said, her stomach turning, “right.” It was ridiculous how little she thought of Capitan Marking. “He... he is no one. A... an officer who was garrisoned in Pixham for a time. He’s gone now. Forever gone.”
Joseph turned. “Clearly.” He smiled—actually smiled—a mean, heartless expression, pure in its contempt, and Tessa raised her chin just a notch. She might have done a horrible thing and lied about it, but some unknown store of self-respect refused to allow her to be fully condemned. She narrowed her eyes.
“Does he know?” Joseph asked. “About the baby?”
And now she did feel condemned, and she ducked her head. Marking’s door-slamming rejection would shame her forever. She nodded to the floor.
“He wouldn’t have you?” Joseph asked. His voice was flat, not a question.
