Chapter 28

CHAPTER 28

4 Bruton Street was a tall townhouse fronted with black, wrought iron railings. Its facade was of the white plaster common in London and it had a brick arch at one end leading to stables. It looked out over Berkeley Square, a green oasis in the middle of London. Cecilia looked from the house to the park with wonder. The park was full of London gentry. Men with top hats and canes, women with parasols and beautiful dresses. She felt quite drab by comparison. London was a towering place that Cecilia found thoroughly intimidating.

"I did not expect it to be so big!" she exclaimed.

"It is that," Lionel agreed, leaning out of the carriage window and taking it all in with her, "but just a place, for all its size. Only different to Thornhill in scope. Don't worry, the first time I came to London, I felt much the same. You will soon get used to it."

He squeezed her hand reassuringly, smiling. Cecilia forced a smile in return. She hoped that she looked reassured. Over the last week, Lionel had been… different. As though he were preoccupied. Not all the time but as though it was something he had to make an effort to hide. It seemed to creep up on him at times, until he remembered to cover it with a smile.

Cecilia was already nervous about coming to London and being presented at Court. Now she worried that all this effort was wearing on Lionel, that he might be growing tired of all the things he had to do for her. It would be understandable, she reasoned. Not many men had to go to such lengths for their wives to be accepted by their peers. On the carriage ride into London that morning, Lionel had fallen into a silence, staring out of the window, and leaving Cecilia to draw her own conclusions. Now she was afraid to voice her fears lest it prompt him to agree with the worst of them.

Lionel opened the carriage door and prepared to disembark. He paused for a moment, frowning as he looked at her.

"Is something wrong, my love?" he asked, closing the door again, ignoring the footman that stood outside ready to aid disembarkation.

Cecilia felt a chill of fear go through her. Lionel looked genuinely concerned but a sudden terror gripped her, of seeing that concern melt away. It would be replaced by coldness, by the frosty glance that Lionel gave to those he shared no intimacy with and never would. She forced a smile and nodded.

"It is all a little overwhelming…" she began, "…but exciting. Thrilling in fact!" she continued, keen to show how happy she was, "I'm so very lucky that I have a husband willing to go to such lengths for me. I cannot imagine how difficult it must have been to obtain permission to present me from the Regent's representatives."

Lionel took her hand and kissed it tenderly. His eyes met hers and for a moment she was genuinely reassured. There was that warmth in him that spoke directly to her heart, a connection that could not be faked. Her smile became less forced and she wanted to melt into him as he kissed her lips.

"It was and is nothing. For you, there is no such thing as too much. If I had to present you to the emperor of China, I would hold it as a trivial matter."

Cecilia laughed. "Such hyperbole. How is any woman supposed to live up to such expectations! I suppose that is the artist in you."

Lionel grimaced. "Not such an artist as you will see. Once we have toured the galleries of London, you will see what true artistic talent is."

"I have seen all the paintings I need to in order to judge that," Cecilia reassured him, kissing him again. "Perhaps I might speak to some of the custodians of those galleries about your work?"

Lionel barked a laugh and flung the carriage door open. "Do it and I will put you across my knee," he whispered.

The words brought an image to Cecilia's mind that made her go weak at the knees. She fanned a suddenly flushed face furiously with one hand. Lionel's grin was suddenly wicked. He stepped down from the carriage and offered his hand to her. Cecilia stepped down too, immediately conscious of the buildings towering around her like mountains. It was like standing at the bottom of a gorge.

With one arm, Lionel smoothly guided her toward a house. The black-painted front door had a brightly polished door knocker but the door was opened by Blackwood as the pair of them walked up the stone steps in front of the door.

"Welcome to Bruton Street, Your Grace." Blackwood gave a perfunctory bow. "The air is unpleasant and the noise is something to behold, but you wanted to come to London so here we all are."

His face was sour and he twitched as a carriage went rattling by.

"No worse than a French cannonade from twenty yards away, eh, Blackwood?" Lionel laughed jovially.

"I had my ears blocked with wax for that. And it was more like thirty," Blackwood replied back morosely.

He stepped aside and they entered. The entrance hall was long and thin with a tall ceiling from which hung a glittering crystal chandelier. Sunlight from a window above the door spilled onto the chandelier and reflected in coruscating daggers. The floor was of light gray marble while the walls were paneled in dark wood. A staircase, plush with maroon carpet, rose at the end of the hall and split into two. Cecilia's footsteps echoed loudly, making her feel that she had stepped into a cathedral.

"My, this is impressive," she gasped.

"I have not used the family's London residence for quite some time. I must remember to commend the staff. They have kept it in fine condition in my absence," Lionel remarked.

"Should have been rented out to earn its keep," Blackwood put in. "The rental market is very lucrative I hear."

Cecilia nodded. "Very sound, Blackwood."

That got her a sharp nod, the equivalent of a smile from the gloomy butler. Blackwood respected nothing more than a person he judged to be competent and with common sense. He did not always see such qualities in his master.

"I just have an aversion to the idea of a complete stranger sporting about my house," Lionel groused as he trailed a hand along one of the squeaky clean corridor walls.

"Then you vet the tenants. Or allow me to do it!" Cecilia chimed excitedly.

He shrugged. "I shall leave that to the two of you. Come, let me show you around the place, if I can remember myself."

Lionel took Cecilia's hand and led her towards the staircase. As they passed doors to either side, he pointed out a ballroom, study, library, and drawing room. Remembering the frontage of the house, Cecilia could not quite believe it all fitted in.

By the time they ascended to the second floor, which Lionel told her was the guest floor, Cecilia suddenly fell rooted to her spot. Her mouth was watering furiously and her stomach felt like it was turning somersaults inside her. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead.

"Oh my. I really do not feel well at all," she breathed, pressing her hand against Lionel's bicep for support.

He frowned. "Are you ill? Shall I send for a physician?"

"I am certainly…" she trailed off.

At that point, she realized that more words would be impossible. She clamped her mouth shut and put her hand over it. Lionel stared at her for a moment, then realization dawned. He flung open the nearest door and swept Cecilia from her feet, carrying her at a limping dash through the door and into a bedroom. Depositing her on the bed, he dropped to his knees with a groan of pain and rummaged beneath the bed before he came up with a chamber pot. Cecilia was violently sick into it.

Fortunately, she had not eaten much before their journey had begun that morning. She coughed and spluttered, head hanging from the edge of the bed while Lionel held back her hair and rubbed a hand on her back. Finally, she pushed the chamber pot away and fell back onto the bed, clenching a fist around her stomach. Lionel looked stricken and Cecilia had a sudden thought that she would rather he was worried for her health than growing tired of her.

"Christ. You are as white as a sheet, Cece," he began, eyes wide in unease, "is it something you ate? It can't be, we were served the same at breakfast."

Cecilia knew what it was. It was not the first morning that she had been stricken with nausea, though it had occurred out of Lionel's sight thus far. She had developed a horror of such a thing happening in front of him. It was driven by his moments of distance from her. Surely, her beauty could not withstand the sight of her doubled over and emptying her stomach. Lionel tugged furiously on the nearby bellpull and then arranged pillows behind Cecilia's head.

"It is nothing like that," Cecilia whispered, weakly.

The room felt like it was spinning around her and she had to close her eyes and clutch the bedclothes to make the sensation stop. She heard a door open and Lionel bark out an order for brandy for the Duchess. The very idea made her stomach lurch and she opened her eyes.

"Perhaps tea, peppermint if the kitchen has it," Cecilia suggested, "lots of honey if not."

She put her head back. Lionel lay next to her, cradling her in his arms and stroking her hair from her face.

"You seem to know what this might be. Will you tell me?" he asked.

"It will occur every morning for a while and it began about a week ago. It will be followed by cravings for unusual foods and weight gain," Cecilia told him, "but will last less than a year."

She looked at him directly. He returned her look blankly.

"Did your tutors explain to you about the birds and the bees?" Cecilia asked. "Clearly they did not think to explain the female experience in that process."

Realization dawned on Lionel's face. It washed over him, a series of distinct emotions. Shock. Suprise. Joy. Cecilia realized that she had been tensing, waiting for anger to rear its head. How long had it been since Lionel had been convinced that she was trying to trap him? But it never came. Lionel sprang from the bed and turned a circle in the middle of the room, hands running through his hair. His mouth hung open and his eyes were wide.

"You are…we are…you will be…I will be…great heavens! Good Lord!"

He returned to the bed with a thump, kneeling beside her and hesitantly reaching for her hand. He raised it reverently to his lips. Cecilia felt a blessed relief flood her, a feeling of utter joy. Muscles that she had not realized were taut, became relaxed. She took his hand, smoothed it out, and pressed it against her stomach.

"Could it be a son?" Lionel suddenly asked.

"I do not know, but if there is anything I can do to make it so, I will do it," Cecilia whispered.

"No. Do nothing. I do not care. A daughter may inherit my estate as easily as a son. I will see to it. I just want a healthy child. And mother."

"I hope that I am, though I may not seem it for a while," Cecilia murmured.

Suddenly, London didn't seem such an alien, frightening place. She felt confident that she could rise to its challenges. Even to the challenge of meeting the Regent, the sovereign of Great Britain. As long as Lionel was beside her, she could face anything. Lionel and their child. Their family.

Lionel was teeming with questions, she could read it in his face.

"Go on, what is it?" she finally prodded.

"How long does the sickness usually last?" he spluttered.

"It varies, but I would hope to be free of it after a few weeks," Cecilia told him.

"That… we can work with that. I will write to the Palace at once and postpone your audience," he immediately answered.

"No! On no account. It does not last a full day. Just an hour or two first thing in the morning. I will be fine to meet the Regent," Cecilia assured him.

Lionel seemed uncertain, but eventually nodded.

"As you say. The appointment is in the afternoon. I will be guided by you. But do not hesitate to speak up if anything feels… wrong. I care not a fig for the Regent next to you and my child," Lionel added nervously.

"I will speak so that the whole of Berkeley Square hears me," Cecilia giggled softly.

Lionel smiled too and put his head to the pillow beside her. She turned onto her side, stroking a finger down his handsome jaw, marveling at the strength and majesty she saw there. He was god-like in his perfection and beauty. How had she been so lucky that this man had fallen in love with her?

A few minutes later, there came a tap at the door.

"Bring it in!" Lionel barked, rising from the bed.

But it was not just the servant with the tea. Blackwood followed the maid into the room.

"Begging your pardon, Your Grace. The Scotsman is downstairs requesting an urgent audience."