Page 51 of His Bride

Lydia has caught me creeping away from dinner one too many times. I knew she would eventually. She is far too perceptive,and she has nothing to do but watch me. She asks me the question as I emerge from the bathroom.

“Nothing,” I lie. “Just a little stomach upset.”

“You’ve been sick every night for the last three nights at least. I am going to tell your husband.”

I have been sick every morning and every evening for three weeks now. I don’t have the energy to beg her not to, because I know she won’t listen anyway.

Arthur

“I have to inform you that your wife is not feeling well,” Lydia says.

I look up from the conversation I’ve been having with our guest, one of the many faithful servants of the Artifice that I have been quietly interrogating. It is my job to ensure that New Boston’s aristocracy is properly loyal, and the abundance of Soma in the city has made me certain that they cannot be.

“Mila? She seemed fine a moment ago.”

“I can assure you, she is not,” Lydia says.

“Excuse me,” I say to our guest. “Lance, entertain Mr. Walker, would you?”

Lance, always by my side, picks up the social slack as I am called away. I wonder if Mila is simply wanting some attention. I knowI have not been indulging her in conversation as often as she might like.

I go with Lydia to the bedroom, where Mila is emerging from the toilet looking noticeably pale.

“You’re sick?” I ask the question perhaps a little too sharply.

“I promise I didn’t get any more drugs. I don’t know why I feel like this,” she says. She looks pale, but not feverish.

“Don’t worry,” I say. “You don’t look happy enough for this to be a reaction to a drug, unless, of course, you’ve been getting your hands on street materials.”

“She hasn’t,” Lydia says. “She’s been good for some time now, since the Elizabeth Idaho incident.”

“How long have you been sick for?” I ask the question, immediately noting the shadow of guilt that passes over her face.

“A little while,” she says.

“How long, exactly?”

“Two weeks. Maybe three?”

I bite back a sharp word and turn to Lydia.

“Call the doctor. Now.”

The doctor comes swiftly and examines Mila thoroughly. He takes some blood and also tests her urine. As the little dipstick changes color, he nods, as if he understands what is happening.

“You don’t need to worry. Her symptoms are very typical for a woman in her condition.”

“And what condition is that?”

“Early pregnancy.”

Those two words stretch out and echo for what seems like an eternity.

“I’m pregnant?” Mila says the words in a small, shocked voice.

We both knew it was a possibility, but there is something about the actual confirmation of pregnancy that changes everything in an instant. What seemed like a remote potential, a phenomenon that only happens to others, suddenly feels very concrete and final.

“Yes,” the doctor says. “These symptoms are common for the first trimester. If they increase, and you find yourself dehydrated, or unable to maintain weight, we can look at some treatments, but for now you are doing quite well. Ginger and plain crackers should help, avoiding rich meals, and taking plenty of rest if you need it.”

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