Page 82 of A Whisper of Desire
“Are you sure?”
“Positively.”
He smiled before racing off to fetch the physician.
Priscilla stood to take her leave. “We may be celebrating tonight.” She pressed a kiss to Marisa’s cheek. “Maitland will be overjoyed.”
“Let’s not get our hopes up just yet.”
—
Marisa sat on her bed in her shift, covered by a robe, excitement coursing through her body. She placed a hand on her stomach. She could be carrying Maitland’s child. She hoped it was a son. He so wanted a son. Now she understood what women in love, who were married to titled gentlemen, prayed for. They wanted to give their husbands their heart’s desire—a son and heir.
A knock at the bedchamber door shook her dream away. “Come in, Dr. Philips.”
The Lyttleton family physician was a middle-aged gent, with graying hair and a friendly, weathered face. He was not very tall, but he was solid. His smile instantly put patients at ease, and from day one, when he’d treated her upon her homecoming, she’d never been frightened of him.
“Your Grace, it’s wonderful to see you looking so well. I must admit I was surprised upon receiving your summons. I was worried, but the little lad said you simply wanted me to check your dressings. I knew that to be a lie, as I removed the last dressings two days ago.”
The excitement rose so that her words tumbled out of her mouth in a rare babble.
“I haven’t had my courses for over six weeks, since before the accident. I think I might be with child,” she gushed. “Is it too early to tell?”
At the stunned silence, fear crept in and pushed out her hope. The doctor’s face filled with pity and tinged a faint pink, as if he were embarrassed.
“Has your husband talked to you about the injuries you suffered?”
Coldness swept the room even though the fire was blazing in the hearth.
“Why don’t you inform me again of my injuries in case I have misunderstood?” she all but commanded.
The doctor looked round for some way to escape. He wanted to be anywhere but in the room with her. “I think it would be better if you talked with His Grace.”
“And I want you to tell me—now.”
“You are putting me in a very awkward position. His Grace—”
“His Grace is not here, and am I not the patient?” At his nod, she said, “Then you must tell your patient what she wishes to know. You are obliged to do so, are you not?”
“Of course, but perhaps we should wait for His Grace to be here with you.”
That is when Marisa knew she would not like what the doctor would tell her. The coward in her almost relented, and it was on the tip of her tongue to agree to wait for Maitland. She couldn’t wait. The woman in her wanted to know, wanted to know so badly she was prepared to face what she knew was dark news on her own.
“From the look on your face and the fact you want my husband here, I already know what you have to tell me is not good news. Please, tell me.” She left her bed and took a chair by the fire. Dr. Colbert followed and sank into the chair on a sigh.
“I was told a splinter of wood pierced my stomach. What else was I not told?” She gripped the sides of her chair, lying to herself. She knew what he would tell her. She wasn’t a stupid woman, but until the words passed his lips she could still hope.
“The crash caused you to miscarry. Dr. Colbert says the pregnancy was very early.”
Her hands tightened on the wooden handles of the chair. She’d lost a child. Her stomach roiled, but she would not cry. Not in front of the doctor.
“Thank you for telling me.” Her voice sounded distant.
He looked hesitant, and she saw something else pass across his face.
“There is more?” Without realizing it, she placed her hand on her wound.
The doctor would not look her in the eye. “I think we should wait—”
