Mrs. Farquhar gazed upon her husband as if he were Sir Galahad.
“Yes. There are clearlytwobeautiful women in thismail coach,” Hawkes said with dignified indignation. “As anyone with eyes in his head could see, and you have eyes in your head, soldier. Forgive me for being abrupt, it’s just . . .” He took a breath. “I always assumed our soldiers possessed more grace. And I’m very disappointed and rather embarrassed for you, and for all of England. I fear I must know your name, Sergeant, so I can inform your superior officer.”
The sergeant’s mouth was still hanging open.
“I...” The word he finally uttered produced a dry squawk. He clapped his mouth closed again.
The expressions of the four soldiers behind him reflected that they were variously amused, embarrassed, and deeply uncomfortable.
The sergeant rallied. “I was told that both Mr. Hawkes and Lady Capet had unusual blue eyes,” he said stubbornly. “And yours are rather unusual and—” He looked at Aurelie. “Hers... hers are...” He drifted off, and while Hawkes couldn’t blame him because that’s what Aurelie’s eyes did to him, too, he fixed him with a deadly warning glare.
And then he gestured sardonically and abruptly with both hands to his companions, both of whom, because the fates were on their side, had blue eyes. Mrs. Farquhar’s were quite large and round. Mr. Farquhar’s were narrowed with outrage.
“Half if not most of England has blue eyes,” Mr. Farquhar said in disgust.
Hawkes nodded in indignant agreement.
A fraught silence ensued.
The coach driver stood with his hands on his hips, his expression increasing in outrage with every passing second.
“And Sergeant, sir.” Hawkes softened his tone, and then he sighed. “I fear the word ‘dissolute’ was painfulto hear, because I’m certain there’s a little truth in it. If I look a bit hard done by it . . .” He swept a hand through his hair, and lowered his voice and stepped toward the soldier. “My wife isenceinte...” he said delicately. “It’s our first child, you see, and we are so very excited... but she’s been ill all morning. I’m worried. It’s been so difficult for her. We haven’t slept at all. But she insisted we should go to London to see my father, who is ill... before he died because...” he turned to smile meltingly at Aurelie “...she’s brave and very thoughtful and kind.”
Aurelie smiled bravely and meltingly back at him.
And everyone at once visibly melted, soldiers included.
“Awwww,” crooned Mrs. Farquhar, her hands clasped beneath her chin. “How lovely! You know, I thought something like that was afoot! It was like that with my first, too, my dear. I will tell you all about it during our journey.”
Mr. Farquhar’s blue eyes went wide with alarm.
The driver was the only one who had not melted. He was doing a veritable dance of impatience atop the coach. “THIS IS THE ROYAL MAIL, boys. Can we get on wi’ it? They’ll tan me ’ide! I’ve a perfect record with punctuality. This is obviously all bloody nonsense!”
The soldiers backed away. “Our apologies sir, and congratulations and felicitations on your blessing, Mr. Gallagher, Mrs. Gallagher,” the sergeant said stiffly. He was a little pink in the cheeks.
Hawkes nodded, curtly as one who is graciously forgiving an egregious affront would nod, and he helped Aurelie back into the coach as if she was made of spun glass.
And the coach tore off again.
Chapter Twenty-Five
As promised, Mrs. Farquhar regaled Aurelie—well, the whole carriage, really—with stories of morning sickness and babies.
Aurelie had seemed unnerved into utter silence for a time for a few minutes after they were rolling again, but Mrs. Farquhar seemed wholly undaunted.
Mr. Farquhar slumped and vanished behind a newspaper, half of which he handed to Hawkes, so that he might do the same.
And after a time, Hawkes saw the tension leave Aurelie, and far from being appalled, frightened, or nauseated, a sort of animated fascination lit her up. She leaned forward and listened and asked questions and Mrs. Farquhar was clearly absolutely in heaven to have such an audience.
Hawkes wasn’t entirely certain why this charmed him mercilessly. Her resilient embracing of the new, her willingness to learn and hope... It was like breathing clean air after too many years lived in a stifling room. He realized he had been released from a cell, but the cell was still in the process of releasing him.
He imagined what a delight it would be to travel with her, discovering new places.
But raising a family was a new frontier, too.
And the notion that she could, in fact, even now beenceinte... stole his breath.
So Hawkes pretended to read but he listened, too. Because frankly he rather hoped this extraordinary and ordinary part of life, the charming, disgusting, amusing rearing of children, would be part of their story, too.
