Page 86 of The Theory of Earls (The Beautiful Barringtons 1)

She’d been so intoxicated by having Welles, the Broadwood, her music, Margaret had paid little attention to anything else.

“Say nothing, Daisy. I’m certain you are mistaken,” Margaret said abruptly, as panic seeped into her veins. She pressed a hand to her stomach.No. Please.Not yet.

“Yes, my lady.” The maid shot her a look of concern before leaving the room.

Margaret went to the seat by the window, staring out at the garden for the better part of an hour, mulling over every detail of her life, wondering how she could have ignored the signs. She’d become ill in the carriage several times in the last month, blaming it on the rough roads, and told Welles the vehicle needed new springs. Every day at tea she became nauseated, but she blamed it on the milk being spoiled. Or the fact that she hadn’t cared for the sugared biscuits Cook put out. Shewasmore tired than usual, but she’d been joining Welles at Elysium several times a week in addition to organizing her charitable events. Margaret had just assumed the exhaustion was due to her busy life.

He’ll grow to resent me again.

Margaret slowly caressed her stomach, wondering at the life she was now certain grew within. Her husband would not be happy at the news he was to be a father.

Nothing ever works out as I plan.

Welles would be furious. He would blame her, unfairly, as he had before. She could only hope, given the state of their marriage, he would come to terms with the child. Margaret would even agree to withhold the news from Cherry Hill if that was what he wished.

“No. I can’t be,” she whispered, a lump forming in her throat.

“You can’t be what?” Welles appeared in the doorway, smiling and looking ridiculously splendid in his riding clothes. He’d been up early, racing around the park as he liked to do, unaware his wife had just betrayed him in the worst way possible.

Well it’s his bloody fault as well.She thought of the things he’d done to her last night.

“Your cheeks are pinking, Lady Welles.” He leaned down to kiss her. “What are you thinking of?”

That I’ll lose you.

Margaret forced a smile to her lips. “Mrs. Anderson is attempting to convince me to publish my sonata. I’m not sure she’ll succeed. I don’t feel it’s ready yet.”

Welles kissed her again. “You must, Maggie. It’s a beautiful piece. And you’ve worked so hard on it.”

It was a beautiful piece. She’d written it forWelles,after all, though she’d never told him. Would he send her away? Insist she get rid of the child before it could be born? She already knew he would go to great lengths to hurt the Duke of Averell.

Her fingers tightened over her stomach protectively.

“I’ll see you at dinner,” he strode through the connecting doors calling for his valet, “Maggie mine.”

Margaret watched as Welles walked back and forth, various items of clothing coming off to reveal his beautiful form until his valet shut the door.

Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as she thought—telling Welles he would be a father.

No. It was far worse.

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