Page 59 of Surrender Your Grace
Andrew froze. His throat tightened. “What child?”
“You didn’t know?” Lady Benton asked, her voice raw with weeping.
“No,” he said hoarsely. “Cici never mentioned it.”
“She may not have known,” Lord Benton said quietly. “Dr. Wadsworth believes she was only a few weeks along.”
Andrew’s legs turned to water. He braced a hand against the wall, eyes burning. A child. Their child. Even though he hadn’t known, the loss was gut wrenching.
He straightened, pushing past the hollow feeling in his chest. He needed to see her. Now.
Inside the room, the fire crackled in the hearth. The air smelled faintly of lavender. Cici lay small and still in the center of the bed, her vivid auburn hair like flames against the bleached white linens. A faint sheen of sweat clung to her brow.
She looked pale and fragile. Too still.
At the sound of the door, her lashes fluttered. Dazed green eyes blinked open and searched the room until she found him.
“Andrew?” Her voice was scarcely a whisper.
He crossed to the bed in two strides. “I’m here,” he murmured, dropping to his knees beside her.
Dr. Wadsworth stepped back, giving him space. “She’s groggy. Likely concussed. She hasn’t pieced it all together yet.”
“I remember only fragments,” she murmured. “I was at the opera, felt a headache coming on, and went to get some air. Either my shoe slipped, or I tripped on the stairs. It’s all such a blur.” She raised her hand as if to rub her forehead but grabbed her shoulder, wincing in pain.
“Try to lie still, Your Grace. I had to pop your shoulder back into place,” the physician advised. “It will be tender for a while.”
“My head hurts too,” she whispered, panic creeping into her voice. “And… there’s a tightness in my belly. Cramping.” She gripped the edge of the coverlet, her voice trembling. “Andrew—I’m frightened. What’s wrong with me?”
He took her hands in both of his, his throat burning. “Sweet pea…” His voice broke. “You were found unconscious at the bottom of the stairs. And… we lost the baby.”
Her eyes widened in shock. “Baby?” she repeated.
He nodded once. “I’m so sorry.”
She stared at him—first with disbelief then devastation. Her face crumpled, and a sob tore free from her throat. “No…”
Andrew wanted to hold her, needed to comfort her, but was afraid to touch her and hurt her more. Carefully, he eased onto the bed on her good side and stretched his arm along her pillow above her head. She leaned into him, burying her face in his chest as sobbed. They were jagged, deep, the kind that wracked her whole body.
“There will be chances for other babies, Your Grace,” the physician offered as he packed up his bag.
Andrew bit back a scathing reply. The words felt hollow. Insensitive. As if one child could simply be replaced by another.
“Can she be moved?” he asked tersely. “I’d like her to recover at home.”
“I see no issue with that, once the bleeding stops,” the doctor replied. “She needs nourishment, rest, and no stairs for at least a week. And no marital relations until she’s cleared,” he warned. “If the bleeding continues beyond three days, send for me.”
Andrew nodded.
The doctor hesitated at the door. “She may regain her memory in fragments. That’s common with a blow to the head. Don’t push her. Let it come naturally.”
When he left, Andrew held her, stroking her hair until her sobs slowed to hiccups.
“I had no idea,” she whispered. “I didn’t even know to be careful.”
“You’re not to blame, Cici,” he said firmly. “There’s nothing you did wrong.”
He tilted her face toward him, thumbs chasing her tears away. “Sleep,” he murmured. “You’ve been through so much.”
