Page 60 of The Devil of Clan Sinclair
“After the first three months, it was for me,” she said. “Before that, I felt seasick all the time.” She wished she could lean forward, grab her friend’s hand or wrap her in a hug. In her position and as difficult as it was to rise, all she could do was smile at Ceana.
“You’ll be a wonderful mother,” she said. “I’m so happy for you.”
“Peter wants the baby to be born at Iverclaire,” Ceana said. “We’re leaving for Ireland tomorrow.” She sighed. “Which means I’ll be alone, with none of my family around. I wouldn’t mind but Macrath is so far away.” Looking directly at Virginia, she asked, “Does he know?”
For a hideous moment she thought Ceana had penetrated her masquerade.
“You asked for his address. I can only think you wished to communicate with him. Does he know about Lawrence?”
Dear God, she was so grateful Hannah wasn’t in the room.
Would the rest of her life be filled with moments like this one? Or, once her child was born, would everyone forget everything but the fact he was the eleventh Earl of Barrett?
“Does he know about your child?”
She shook her head.
“We really should have been sisters,” Ceana said.
For the blink of an eye Lawrence lingered between them, disembodied and ghostly.
How difficult it was to talk. She could barely push the words past the lump in her throat. “Macrath’s away?”
There, that sounded dispassionate enough. She didn’t reveal anything, did she?
“He’s in Australia. He’s been there for months and months. My Peter thinks he should be gone more, but then, he’s a bit intimidated by Macrath. Which he shouldn’t be. Peter is a paragon in his own right.”
Ceana’s husband was the younger son of an Irish duke, and a financial genius, from what she’d heard. He managed the family’s considerable fortune, increasing their wealth each year. Although he was several inches shorter than Ceana, her friend obviously adored him, as he did her.
“I think he should come home, but when he does he’ll probably bring a wife. How do you think an Australian wife will fare in Scotland?”
“As well as an American in England,” Virginia said.
Ceana was still talking. “I do hope our child will take after my family and not Peter’s. Two of his brothers have bright red hair.”
“Is he due back anytime soon?”
“Peter? Oh, you mean Macrath. We don’t know. When he left, he wouldn’t tell us when he was coming back. Perhaps there’s a reason he’s lingered. A woman might have kept him there.”
Would she stop saying that?
“Did he know?” Ceana asked.
For a second her mind would simply not focus.
Ceana’s smile faded as her eyes softened. “Dear Lawrence. Did he know he was going to be a father? How utterly sad, if so.”
She hadn’t considered the question and didn’t know how to respond now. She looked away, and a moment later one of the maids entered the room bearing a tea tray. Ceana served them, her concentration on the task releasing Virginia from having to tell another falsehood.
The maids knew to serve her only a special kind of green tea, one Enid had decreed would be good for her digestion. Thankfully, she had grown to like the vegetal taste, and sipped it now, grateful it gave her an excuse not to talk.
She hadn’t thought how difficult it would be to lie. Nor had she considered the questions people might ask. For the last several months she’d been a hermit at home, kept from society not only because of her mourning but her condition.
The rest of the conversation was blessedly Macrath free. They spoke of things maternal, including their wishes and hopes and dreams, all the while skirting over the topic of giving birth. Other matrons were more than happy to convey what a hideous experience it would be, how much pain they’d personally endured, and how fortunate each woman was to have survived it.
Listening to these stories seemed to be part of the entrance fee to a select and secret sisterhood.
Neither she nor Ceana mentioned the delivery, but it was on her mind as she bid her friend good-bye.
