other women I’d seen in the slums who had been with child. Still, it was embarrassing to speak about my pregnancy in front of Mr. Wrolf, a man I’d only met a few months ago. “Have I?”
It wasn’t the first shocking thing he’d said to me. There were times when I felt as if he made wretched comments on purpose, just to hurt and confuse me. Aye, he used the cover of concern, but deep down I knew he enjoyed ridiculing people.
I shuffled around him and waddled toward the table. “Shall I pour your tea, or will you wait for the dowager?”
Mr. Wrolf started toward a chair. Before his visits, the dowager had rarely received calls. Three months ago, he’d appeared, and his visits had not ceased. Every other day, for two hours, rain or sun. And during those visits, I, and I alone, was forced to serve them tea.
“I do hope you don’t have a painful pregnancy.” He settled back in his chair, watching me closely. He couldn’t have been much older than thirty years. Really, if one could overlook his menacing aura, he was quite attractive. “Why, I know of five women who have died in the last year. Quite common. Wretchedly painful deaths.”
Feeling suddenly light-headed, I swayed. What would happen to the babe if I died? Blast the man for bringing to light my worst fears.
Mr. Wrolf stared at the scar on my wrist. I had to resist the urge to tug at my sleeve. “I do have a rather good doctor. If he’s not too busy, and I put in a word, he might be able to stop by.”
Aye, and then I’d owe them both a favor. I reached for the tea, shuffling the plates and cups around the tray to keep my hands busy. Why was he offering to help me? The dowager wouldn’t like that. Not at all. “That really won’t be—”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Mr. Wrolf,” the dowager snapped, as she swept into the room. “Tis our lot in life to experience pain. The bible says so. Ginny, here, is perfectly fine.”
Desperate to escape another lecture on the evils of the feminine species, I reached for the teapot. “God doesn’t seem to like women very much, does he?”
Her startled gaze met mine, and I realized I’d once again spoken too plainly. Too blunt. Heat rushed to my cheeks. There were so many rules in this entitled world. So many things I couldn’t speak of. Carefully, I placed the teapot upon the tray. “I apologize.”
“Do watch what you say,” she warned. “I know you think it modern and smart, but most would see it as blasphemy, and I will not have that in my home.”
I nodded meekly. She was right. I was tip-toeing dangerously close to doing the unforgiveable. Sleep with a man? As long as you ask for forgiveness. Have a child out of wedlock? As long as he or she is raised in the church. Question the bible and a woman’s lot? Unforgiveable.
Mr. Wrolf watched me while he sipped his tea. A shiver of unease raced down my spine. No man had ever frightened me as this man did.
I somehow managed to curtsey. “If that is all, my lady…”
The woman waved her hand through the air, dismissing me.
I started toward the door, eager to escape. There was something not quite right about the lot of them. And she was the worst of the bunch. The way she would stop whispering to the maids when I’d appear, as if they were sharing secrets about me. The way they locked my bedchamber at night, as if they feared I’d escape and steal the silver. And then there was Mr. Wrolf, a man who made my skin crawl. A man who was in her company much too often lately, and therefore, in my company.
They oozed with an underlying darkness that I couldn’t ignore. Even as I made it to the door, I could feel Mr. Wrolf’s gaze burning into my back. The urge to run overwhelmed me. I forced myself to walk slow and steady. Confidently. They would not intimidate me. I was not a prisoner here, despite how I felt at times.
The baby moved, rolling in my womb. My stomach cramped as I stumbled into the hall. I prayed they hadn’t noticed.
No. No. No. This isn’t happening.
Darting behind the open door, I braced my hand against the wall, pausing to catch my breath. My lungs felt tight. My insides cramped. The world faded and all