Page 64 of The Forgotten
“That’s witchery, that is.” Quinn laughed. “So, what did you tell her?”
“I told her that I would let her know as soon as you finally decided to tell me.”
“You knew?” Quinn demanded, amazed that he hadn’t let on.
“I suspected.”
“How?”
Gabe arched an eyebrow, making Quinn laugh. “Well, for starters, your period is late. You’ve blanched the last two times I ate a bacon butty in your presence, and you have declined offers of wine, which is a flashing neon sign in itself to someone who is familiar with your boozy habits.” Quinn playfully smacked his arm, acknowledging the truth of everything he said.
“You’ve also been more tired lately, and often close to tears for no apparent reason.” Gabe cupped her cheek and met Quinn’s gaze. “You didn’t seem pleased with the possibility, so I thought I’d give you a little time to sort your feelings out, if it proved to be true. And it seems that you have.”
“You really notice things, don’t you?” Quinn asked as she touched Gabe’s cheek. “You really care.” Luke wouldn’t have noticed a thing; he’d been too absorbed in himself, and his reaction to this type of news would have been displeasure and some sort of a rebuke, blaming her for allowing it to happen. Luke wouldn’t have cared how she felt, only how the situation would affect him.
“Don’t you ever doubt it,” Gabe replied, covering her hand with his own. “I love you, and I love our baby.”
“I love you too, Gabe. More than you’ll ever know. There’s no one else I’d rather have a child with.”
Quinn leaned into Gabe, and he put his arm around her, pulling her close. “We’re not making it to the altar, are we?” Quinn giggled. “I’m not waddling down the aisle, looking like a cream puff.”
“We have a few months before you begin to show, don’t we? I really would prefer to do this right, Quinn. I know it sounds old-fashioned, but I want our child to know that we were married when he was born.”
“He?”
Gabe laughed softly, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
“What’s so funny?” Quinn demanded.
“My mother asked when ‘he’ is due. Phoebe Russell hasn’t been wrong in forty years, so yes, it’s a boy.”
Quinn laid her hand gently over her flat stomach. A boy. A son. The idea made her unbearably happy. She would be just as happy with a girl, but the notion of a boy felt right somehow, as if some Earth Mother instinct was alive and well within her.
“So, what are you saying?” Quinn asked, her mind reluctantly returning to their conversation.
“I’m saying that we should set a date. April would be too soon, but maybe in May? Call your parents and tell them to book a flight, and if you don’t feel like dealing with the details of planning a wedding, there’s nothing my mother would enjoy more. Just tellher what you like, and leave it in her capable hands. All you have to do is buy a dress and show up at the church. What do you say?”
Quinn considered this for a moment. Was it really that simple? She’d always imagined a big, white wedding, but what she wanted at this stage of her life was a small, intimate affair with only friends and family. Suddenly, getting married in Berwick seemed like a lovely idea. They could have a wedding reception at the house or out in the garden if the weather was fine. In May, everything would be in bloom, and with any luck, the sky would actually be blue rather than that particular shade of English slate gray.
Quinn reached for her mobile and opened the calendar. “May 24th,” she proclaimed. “I will be about four months pregnant then. With the right gown, I can pull it off.”
“May 24th,” Gabe agreed and kissed her tenderly. “Shall we put General Russell in charge?”
“I think your mother has just been promoted to Brigadier. I’ll draw up a list of ideas and discuss it with her, and I’ll ask Jill to find me a dress. She’ll know exactly what I’ll need.”
Gabe removed the phone from Quinn’s hand and pushed her down onto the sofa.
“Oh no, you don’t. Emma can walk in at any moment.”
“Right,” Gabe chuckled. “I keep forgetting we have to act like respectable, law-abiding citizens.”
He stood up and scooped Quinn into his arms, easily carrying her to their bedroom and kicking the door shut with his foot. Quinn’s last coherent thought was that she quite liked being respectable.
FIFTY-FIVE
MARCH 1347
Dunwich, Suffolk
