"Perhaps you should have gone easier on the claret and the port," she said with asperity, not a whit appeased by this explanation.
She turned her head toward the window, feeling her own temples tighten. His attack had not been simple petulance, Nathaniel in a bad mood taking it out on a safe object-wives were supposed to fulfil that function occasionally. No, it had been directed at her as the cause of his anger.
Could he suspect anything? But there was no proof and there never would be. Just that carelessness with the blotter, and that was easily explained. Even if he did suspect something now, it would die away in time when nothing happened to confirm those suspicions. She would just have to keep cool and calm until that happened. And accepting his treatment this evening was not consonant with the presumption of innocence.
"If you ever do anything like that to me again, Nathaniel, I'll create such a scene, you won't want to show your face outside your own door for a six-month," she declared in a low, fierce voice.
"Don't threaten me, Gabrielle." But he sounded more weary than menacing. "If I embarrassed you, I beg your pardon. I was desperate to get away."
"You could have gone home on your own."
"I needed the comforting company of my wife." Again without volition, the declaration emerged as sardonic as the feeling behind it.
The carriage drew up in Bruton Street before Gabrielle could come up with an appropriate response. Nathaniel jumped down and held out his hand to assist her down. Gabrielle ignored the hand, stepped down to the street, and stalked past him into the house. Her hands shook as she stripped off her silk gloves.
"I'll bid you good night, my lord. I suggest you take a powder for your headache. I can't think what to suggest for your temper, however."
In a rustle of emerald silk skirts she marched up the stairs, leaving Nathaniel in the hall.
He swore a savage oath and went into his book room, slamming the door behind him. He poured a glass of cognac from the decanter on the pier table, then tossed the fiery spirit down his throat and reached again for the decanter. He seemed to have a great cold hole in his chest that he could neither warm nor fill. It was a long time before he went up to bed.
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Gabrielle slept badly and awoke late the next morning. She lay in bed, wondering for a minute why she felt so leaden and melancholy, and then she remembered. Last night's scenes replayed themselves with depressing accuracy. How long was it going to continue… and how long could she keep quiet and put up with it?
Damn Talleyrand!
She pulled the bellrope beside the bed and waited for Ellie to come up with her hot chocolate.
"Miserable day, it is, m'lady." Ellie greeted her cheerfully, placing the tray on the bedside table before pulling back the rose velvet curtains on a gray, overcast sky. "I'd best light the candles," she said, bustling around.
Gabrielle hitched herself up on the pillows and reached for the cup of chocolate. The rich scent came up and hit her, and her stomach rose into her throat. "Dear God, I'm going to be sick!" She flung herself from the bed and behind the commode screen.
Ellie was plumping the pillows when Gabrielle re-emerged, paler than usual.
"Maybe tea would suit better than chocolate, m'lady," the maid said matter-of-factly. "Folks take agin different things… sometimes it's coffee, sometimes tea-"
"What are you talking about?" Gabrielle climbed back into bed. "I must have eaten something last night that disagreed with me. It was probably the crayfish pudding. I thought it tasted a bit odd."
"I don't believe so, m'lady," Ellie said, smoothing the coverlet over Gabrielle's knees. "It's been near six weeks since you last 'ad your time."
"What?" Gabrielle lay back on the pillows, absorbing this. "That long?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Sweet heaven." She touched her belly fleetingly.
"Shall I fetch some tea?"
"Yes, please… anything but that revolting stuff." Gabrielle's mouth twisted in distaste. "And, Ellie-"
"Ma'am?"
"For the moment this is just between the two of us. I don't want to say anything to his lordship until I'm certain."
"Of course, m'lady." Ellie bobbed a curtsy and disappeared with the tray of chocolate.
Gabrielle closed her eyes, a smile on her lips. Nathaniel was not going to be overjoyed, not at first, but he'd have to realize that however scrupulously careful he'd been, in the excess of passion that so often shook them like an earthquake, it was not surprising that his caution had been insufficient.
Anyway, this news should serve to divert his thoughts from his present obsession. It would give him something else to worry about, something much easier for her to handle.
She'd have to pick her moment to tell him. And soon. She touched her belly again, and the sweet hope became a certainty. There was no need to wait for further signs. She knew that Nathaniel's seed had been well planted.
Ellie reappeared with tea. "A little dry toast often 'elps in the morning, m'lady," the maid observed. "So I took the liberty of bringin' a piece. It worked a treat for me mam when she was 'avin' our Martha."
"I can see I'm going to be relying on your experience, Ellie," Gabrielle said, nibbling the toast. She took a sip of tea. "So far so good."
"Other best thing is rose hip tea, Mam always says." Ellie poked the fire and threw kindling on the sparking embers. '"What gown will you be wearing this morning, m'lady?"
"Oh, a riding habit, please. I'm engaged to ride in the park." Gabrielle threw aside the covers and stood up. No nausea. Tea and dry toast in the morning from now on.
Nathaniel was in the breakfast parlor when she went downstairs. He looked up without smiling from the Gazette as she entered.
"Good morning. I trust you slept well."
"Not particularly," Gabrielle said, finding no desire to smile herself in the face of this patent unfriendliness. "How about you?"
"All right, I suppose." He resumed his reading.
The shadows under his eyes told another story, Gabrielle reflected, surveying the chafing dishes on the sideboard with an unconscious moue of distaste. Nothing appealed. A dull nausea had settled in her belly. She glanced across at Nathaniel and decided this was not the moment to share her news.
She sat down and took a piece of toast, buttering it lightly before cutting it into thin strips. Idly, she dipped the finger of toast into her tea and ate it with relish.
"What on earth are you doing?" Nathaniel stared in disbelief.
"What?" Startled, she looked up in the act of dunking another finger. "Oh." She looked at the piece of toast with some surprise. "I don't know, it just seemed like a good idea. And it tastes lovely."
"It's disgusting," Nathaniel declared. "Pure slop. Anyone would think you hadn't got any teeth."
"Well, I'm sorry if it offends you. but-"
Her words were cut off by the violent shattering of glass as something flew through the long window and crashed against the far wall.
"What the hell!" Nathaniel sprang to his feet as the cricket ball rolled beneath the sideboard. "That's the second window in three days! I told him he was not to play anywhere near the house!"
Gabrielle rose from her chair. "Easy now, Nathaniel," she cautioned swiftly. "It's only a window."
But if Nathaniel heard her, he made no acknowledgment. He flung open the window. "Jake! Come in here at once."
A stricken Jake appeared at the breakfast room door a couple of minutes later. "I b-beg pardon, sir," he said. "I was practicing bowling overarm, and it sort of slipped."