sat back down, eyeing his dish. ‘Of course, my dear, I will be here when you return. This delicious meal will occupy me for at least another half hour.’
If one could turn green, Olivia was certain she just did. As she reached the grand staircase the rolling of her stomach had stopped and she sucked in the pure air of the entrance hall. She was so focused on inhaling deep breaths that she barely heard Gabriel’s approach.
Concern was etched across his chiselled features and filled his hazel eyes. ‘Tell me what is troubling you.’
The caress of his fingers along her cheek gave her comfort and she leaned into his hand. ‘I find my stomach is not pleased with me this morning. All those smells mixed together were too overpowering.’ She closed her eyes and took a few more deep breaths.
‘I will make an excuse to our guests. You should not be forced to entertain anyone if you are not well.’
‘Even if one of our guests is His Royal Highness?’
‘Even then.’ A gentle smile lifted his lips, and he cupped her neck with his large warm palm, seeping relief into her. ‘Go to your room, call for Colette and lie down. I’m certain she can find something to ease your discomfort. I do not recall you suffering so in the past. Is this something I simply have blocked from my memory?’
She never had the urge to cast up her accounts and always enjoyed the aroma of good food—at least until this morning. Thinking back, she remembered the last time nausea overtook her.
It was when she was carrying Nicholas.
Her eyes flew to Gabriel and were met with his concerned expression.
‘Tell me, Livy.’
Her legs wobbled under her and she dropped down to sit on a step of the staircase. Gabriel carefully lowered himself next to her and grabbed her hand.
‘You are frightening me. Tell me.’
Excitement and fear mixed together inside of her. Only time would tell if she was correct. Taking a deep breath, she looked into the eyes of the man she loved. ‘I think I know what it is that has affected me so.’
‘Do I need to call for a physician?’
She shook her head and traced his wrinkled brow with her finger, smoothing out his worry lines. ‘There is no need as of yet.’ From the silence of the entrance hall it felt as if they were completely alone in the house. This wasn’t the ideal place and time to tell him, but it was also not something she would be able to hide from him for very long, especially if the smell of food would make her ill. ‘I think I am with child.’
His eyes widened, and that heart-melting smile lit up his face. ‘But we haven’t been trying for that long.’
‘Long enough, apparently.’
He leaned over and kissed her. It was a gentle kiss—a kiss that conveyed how much he cherished her. ‘You’re certain?’
‘As certain as I can be this early on. I only know the last time I felt this way, I was carrying Nicholas.’
He took her hand. ‘It might be a girl.’
‘It might. Would you be terribly disappointed if it is?’
His smile widened. ‘I confess I would be rather pleased if it is. She might resemble you.’
‘And we would have to continue trying to conceive a second son.’
‘And there is that.’
His lips rose into that smile she remembered so well. She would love to tell him what that smile did to her, how it made her heart swell with happiness. But they had an entire lifetime ahead of them—a lifetime of smiles, and children, and love.
* * * * *
Regency Surrender: Scandalous Return
Return of Scandal’s Son
Janice Preston
Saved by Scandal’s Heir
Janice Preston
Janice Preston
For Elizabeth Bailey, whose encouragement and advice during my early writing attempts was invaluable.
April 1811
Eyes streaming, coughing and choking, she tugged at the window, but it refused to budge. The floorboards scorched her feet and she could hear the ominous roar of the fire below. Dragging the pungent air deep into her lungs, she screamed.
‘Ellie. Ellie. Wake up!’
‘What?’
Eleanor, Baroness Ashby, roused to the gently rocking rhythm of her carriage. She stared groggily into the anxious eyes of Lucy, Dowager Marchioness of Rothley. Eleanor levered herself upright on the squabs, her nightmare still vividly real.
‘You screamed. Was it the nightmare again?’
Eleanor drew in a deep breath—fresh, clean, untainted. ‘Yes. I’m sorry if I frightened you, Aunt.’ Her heart slowed from a gallop to a fast trot. ‘Everything seems so real in the dream. And I can never get out.’
‘Well, we must be thankful you escaped the real fire, my pet. It doesn’t bear thinking about, what might have happened.’
‘Milady?’ Lucy’s maid, sitting on the backward-facing seat, opposite Eleanor, leant forward.
‘Yes, Matilda?’
‘Is it true someone set fire to the library deliberately?’
‘Yes.’
Eleanor did not elaborate. Someone had broken into Ashby Manor—her beloved home—at the dead of night, piled books into the middle of the library floor and set fire to them. The whole east wing had been destroyed. All those beautiful books!
‘I told you.’ Lizzie, Eleanor’s maid, also travelling in the carriage to London, nudged Matilda. ‘If milady had not woken up when she did, she’d be—’
‘Lizzie!’
Lizzie
