Blameless(28)

Alexia did not object to the petting—it was comforting. She assumed Madame Lefoux was simply entering into the spirit of her role. Very enthusiastic about such things, the French.

They ate a private meal in their quarters, declining to join the rest of the passengers. Judging by the rapid appearance and freshness of the foodstuffs, the staff approved of this maneuver. Most of the offerings were cooked over the steam engine—a refreshing, if bland, method of preparation.

After supper they left their quarters and made their way up to the squeak deck for some air. Alexia was amused to find that those already relaxing in the evening aether breezes hurriedly departed as soon as she and her party arrived.

“Snobs.”

Madame Lefoux dimpled slightly from behind her preposterous mustache and leaned against Alexia as they both propped their elbows on the railing, looking down at the dark waters of the channel far below.

Floote watched. Alexia wondered if her father’s faithful valet mistrusted Madame Lefoux because she was French, because she was a scientist, or because she was so consistently inappropriately dressed. With Floote, all three qualities were likely to engender suspicion.

Alexia herself had no such reservations. Genevieve Lefoux had proved herself a most loyal friend over the past month, perhaps a little guarded in matters of the heart, but she was kind of word and more importantly, intelligent of action.

“You miss him?” The Frenchwoman did not need to specify further.

Alexia stuck out one gloved hand and let it ride the rushing aether currents.

“I don’t want to. I’m so blasted angry with him. I’ve come over all numb. Makes me feel slow and stupid.” She glanced sideways at the inventor. Genevieve, too, had experienced loss. “Does it get better?”

Madame Lefoux closed her eyes for a long moment. Probably thinking of Angelique. “It changes.”

Alexia looked up at the almost-full moon, not yet high enough in the sky to vanish behind the enormous balloon section of the ship. “It’s already changing. Tonight”—she gave a tiny shrug—“hurts differently. Now I’m thinking about full moon. It was the one night we remained close, touching, the entirety of the night. Other times, I tried to refrain from extended contact with him. He never cared, but I didn’t feel it worth the risk, to keep him mortal for longer than necessary.”

“Were you afraid you would age him?”

“I was afraid some loner wolf with madness in his eyes would savage him before I could let go.”

They were silent for a brief while.

Alexia pulled her hand back in and tucked it under her chin. It was numb. Familiar sensation. “Yes. I miss him.”

“Even after what he did?”

Unconsciously, Alexia slid her other hand down to her stomach. “He was always a bit of a jackass. To be smart, he should never have married me in the first place.”

“Well”—Madame Lefoux tried to lighten the mood by changing the subject—“at the very least, Italy should be interesting.”

Alexia gave her a suspicious look. “Are you quite certain you entirely understand what that word means? I understand English is not your native tongue, but really.”

The inventor’s fake mustache was wiggling dangerously in the breezes. She put one elegant finger up to her face to hold it in place. “It is a chance to find out how you got pregnant. Isn’t that interesting?”

Alexia widened her dark eyes. “I am perfectly well aware of how it happened. What it is, is a chance to force Conall to recant his accusations. Which is more useful than interesting.”

“You know what I mean.”

Alexia looked up into the night sky. “After marrying Conall, I assumed children were not possible. Now it’s like some exotic disease has happened to me. I cannot bring myself around to being pleased. I should like to know how, scientifically, such a pregnancy occurred. But thinking about the infant too much frightens me.”

“Perhaps you just do not want to become attached to it.”

Alexia frowned. Trying to understand one’s own emotions was a grueling business. Genevieve Lefoux had raised another woman’s child as her own. She must have lived constantly with the fear that Angelique would come and simply take Quesnel away from her.

“I could be doing it unintentionally. Preternaturals are supposed to be repelled by one another, and we are supposed to breed true. By rights, I ought to be allergic to my own child, unable even to be in the same room with it.”

“You believe you are going to miscarry?”

“I believe that, if I do not lose this child, I may be forced to attempt to rid myself of it, or go insane. That, even if, by some miracle, I manage to carry through my confinement, I will never be able to share the same air as my own baby, let alone touch it. And I am so angry that my great lout of a husband has left me to deal with this alone. Couldn’t he have, oh, I don’t know, talked to me about it? But, no, he gets to blunder about acting all put-upon and getting sloshed. While I—” Alexia interrupted herself. “That’s a fantastic idea! I should do something equally outrageous.”