should be in bed.”
Daphne threw up again.
“After you’re through,” Belinda corrected. “You should be in bed once you’re through with . . . ah . . . that.”
“My maid,” Daphne finally agreed. Maria would deduce the truth instantly, but she would not say a word to anyone, servants or family. And perhaps more pressing, Maria would know exactly what to bring as a remedy. It would taste vile and smell worse, but it would settle her stomach.
Belinda dashed off, and Daphne—once she was convinced there could be nothing left in her stomach—staggered to her bed. She held herself extremely still; even the slightest rocking motion made her feel as if she were at sea. “I’m too old for this,” she moaned, because she was. Surely, she was. If she remained true to form—and really, why should this confinement be any different from the previous four—she would be gripped by nausea for at least two more months. The lack of food would keep her slender, but that would last only until mid-summer, when she would double in size, practically overnight. Her fingers would swell to the point that she could not wear her rings, she would not fit into any of her shoes, and even a single flight of stairs would leave her gasping for breath.
She would be an elephant. A two-legged, chestnut-haired elephant.
“Your Grace!”
Daphne could not lift her head, so she lifted her hand instead, a pathetic silent greeting to Maria, who was by now standing by the bed, staring down at her with an expression of horror . . .
. . . that was quickly sliding into one of suspicion.
“Your Grace,” Maria said again, this time with unmistakable inflection. She smiled.
“I know,” Daphne said. “I know.”
“Does the duke know?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, you won’t be able to hide it for long.”
“He leaves this afternoon for a few nights at Clyvedon,” Daphne said. “I will tell him when he returns.”
“You should tell him now,” Maria said. Twenty years of employment did give a maid some license to speak freely.
Daphne carefully edged herself up into a reclining position, stopping once to calm a wave of nausea. “It might not take,” she said. “At my age, they very often don’t.”
“Oh, I think it’s taken,” Maria said. “Have you looked in the mirror yet?”
Daphne shook her head.
“You’re green.”
“It might not—”
“You’re not going to throw the baby up.”
“Maria!”
Maria crossed her arms and speared Daphne with a stare. “You know the truth, Your Grace. You just don’t want to admit it.”
Daphne opened her mouth to speak, but she had nothing to say. She knew Maria was right.
“If the baby hadn’t taken,” Maria said, a bit more gently, “you wouldn’t be feeling so sickly. My mum had eight babies after me, and four losses early on. She never was sick, not even once, with the ones that didn’t take.”
Daphne sighed and then nodded, conceding the point. “I’m still going to wait, though,” she said. “Just a bit longer.” She wasn’t sure why she wanted to keep this to herself for a few more days, but she did. And as she was the one whose body was currently trying to turn itself inside out, she rather thought it was her decision to make.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Maria said. “We received word from your brother. He’s coming to town next week.”
“Colin?” Daphne asked.
Maria nodded. “With his family.”
“They must stay with us,” Daphne said. Colin and Penelope did not own a home in town, and to economize they tended to stay with either Daphne or their oldest brother, Anthony, who had inherited the title and all that went with it. “Please ask Belinda to pen a letter on my behalf, insisting that they come to Hastings House.”
Maria gave a nod and departed.
Daphne moaned and went to sleep.
By the time Colin and Penelope arrived, with their four darling children in tow, Daphne was throwing up several times a day. Simon still didn’t know about her condition; he’d been delayed in the country—something about a flooded field—and now he wasn’t due back until the end of the week.
But Daphne wasn’t going to let a queasy belly get in the way of greeting her favorite brother. “Colin!” she exclaimed, her smile growing positively giddy at the familiar sight of his sparkling green eyes. “It has been much too long.”
“I fully agree,” he said, giving her a quick hug while Penelope attempted to shoo their children into the house.
“No, you may not chase that pigeon!” she said sternly. “So sorry, Daphne, but—” She dashed back