“My brother, the selfsame saintly man who is now married to your sister, told me not long after I came down from university that increasing women are often available for dalliance, and with their husbands’ tacit consent.” He wasn’t willing to say more. The look of fascination on Astrid’s face suggested he’d already said too much.
“You’ve dallied with women who were pregnant?”
No, he had not, but they had certainly offered to dally with him with a regularity that had felt like the fist of fate laid repeatedly and forcefully across his jaw.
“I didn’t dally with the frequency Gareth did, I assure you. I attended a birth once, if you must know. Messy business, but wonderful.” He wanted her to know the wonderful part, even if it meant he embarrassed them both.
Astrid’s hand went to her flat abdomen, and she looked up at Andrew in confusion. “I really am… expecting,” she said, consternation in her voice.
“Which really is wonderful.” He smiled across the table at her and bit into a muffin, lest he betray how earnestly he meant that sentiment. “Drink your milk.”
And yet, he could be glad for her about this, which was reassuring. That he was also jealous as hell of the dear, departed, unimpressive Amery was of no moment.
She drank her milk, and they each polished off a muffin in thoughtful silence. When the remains of the meal were strewn across the table, Andrew rose to put the food away.
“I can help,” Astrid said, standing up with quick purpose, then sitting down just as quickly. “As soon as my head clears.”
“Botheration, Astrid.” Andrew was beside her in an instant, his hand on the back of her neck as he lowered himself to straddle the bench she sat on. He scooted up, so she sat between his spread legs, and gently brought her to lean against his chest.
“Steady,” he admonished, rubbing a hand along her back. “You can’t move too quickly. Even if you aren’t light-headed, the more the child grows, the more it will affect your balance. Catch your breath, and then school yourself to a greater display of dignity.”
He hadn’t meant to scold so thoroughly, but she’d gone as white as some exotic orchid. She subsided against him with uncharacteristic meekness, sending a bolt of alarm through the pleasant torture of holding her against his body.
“Andrew?”
“Hmm?”
“I want you to promise me something,” Astrid said, her ear over his heart.
“I do not make promises lightly.” If he could help it, he did not make them at all.
“Nor do I, Andrew Alexander, though I have promised you to take better care of myself, to eat well, to rest, to groom horses, and whatnot. I would like a promise from you in return.”
He sensed impending doom, which had ever been his fate where she was concerned. “What promise would you have?”
“Don’t leave again until I have this baby?”
She had no right to ask that of him, but Astrid had seldom concerned herself with rights or proprieties. As he marshaled his sound, logical arguments, she marched on.
“Until you came upon me today, I had not cried for my husband because nobody was there to comfort me. I had not even spoken his name to anybody, because nobody asked me about him. I had not eaten a meal in days because nobody shared a meal with me. I had not considered my fatigue and nausea were related to pregnancy because there is no one to discuss it with.”
Andrew resisted the urge to hold her more tightly, and still, she wasn’t finished with her tirade.
“Yes, I could impose on Felicity and Gareth, but I have imposed on them incessantly over the past four years, and particularly the past four weeks. Moreover, Felicity’s condition is as delicate as mine, and she should not be forced to bear my worries. You are good for me, Andrew, and I am asking you not to leave England until this child is born or the pregnancy otherwise ends.”
He was doomed, but then, he’d been doomed for years—for his entire adulthood at least.
“I will not leave England until your child is born. That is the only way your pregnancy will end,” Andrew said, sounding like his imperious older brother. “But England is a big place, Astrid Worthington Allen.”
She nestled against him, making a little sound of contentment, and doom acquired painful new depths.
“You are good for me, Andrew, and knowing you have not gone abroad somewhere to fight bears or charm snakes will help keep my mind at ease.”
He had fought her memory and charmed the occasional willing woman in aid of that battle, only to lose every skirmish. “Astrid, we both know I have also been, on more than one occasion, not good for you at all, and then I left without a word.”