“I’ve also arranged for the doctor who will come out here to deliver our baby when the time arrives. He’ll visit periodically to be sure you’re doing well. Also, when it’s no longer possible to hide what you have in store from anyone who visits, we’ll get you the prettiest maternity clothes made, even if we have to travel to New York City to get them. Okay?”

“I suppose,” I said. Did I have a moment to take a breath? I was back in that rushing stream, that current my father had described. I couldn’t decide to swim faster, because I couldn’t go any faster.

“Now, I’ve spoken with your father about your leaving, and he agrees you shouldn’t. There’s too much to do here.”

“What? Shouldn’t I leave?”

“Your parents will leave the day after tomorrow, and you’ll stay. Don’t worry about clothes. I will open my mother’s closets to you, and the same dressmaker who does your wedding gown will come out to adjust anything you want.”

“But her clothes are . . .”

“What?”

“Old,” I said.

He laughed.

“She’s been dead for years, hasn’t she?”

“Some of the garments were worn only once. Most of it looks brand new. I think there are things with tags still on them, in fact.”

“But it’s not today’s fashion.”

“Oh, again with fashion. Don’t worry about it. After you give birth, we’ll buy you an entire new wardrobe, and you can buy some new clothes now, too. That’s a . . . a given truth,” he said, and stood. “It will be so wonderful having this time alone before our wedding. It will be like an early honeymoon, and what better place to enjoy one than Foxworth Hall?”

He didn’t give me a chance to offer an opinion.

“We should start back. You’ll want to freshen up for tonight’s dinner.”

He reached for me, and I gave him my hand. When he pulled me up, he embraced me and then kissed me. Smiling wryly, he said in a loud whisper, “Once your parents are gone . . . don’t worry. No limoncello,” he said, and laughed.