Some weeks later, James woke to the sound of retching. His arms were empty, and so was the space beside him where Jilly typically lay, though by the lingering warmth of the covers it had been vacated only recently. The sun was just beginning its ascent into the sky, the slight break in the curtains revealing a sliver of peach sunrise.
He pulled himself out of bed, crossing the floor to the bathing room, where the door was slightly cracked. Jilly had shoved herself into a corner upon her knees, bent over a basin as her stomach emptied itself. His heart wrenched; she looked miserable, one shaking hand struggling to hold back her hair as she trembled and gagged.
“Oh, darling,” he soothed, crouching behind her to scrape her hair away from her face. Tendrils of it clung to the back of her neck, soaked with sweat. With his free hand he rubbed her back in slow circles, willing some heat back into her cold, clammy skin.
“Water,” she croaked as the last of the spasms passed, and she sank back, drained. Only when James was certain she would remain kneeling did he rise to pour water from a pitcher into a glass. Returning to her side, he gathered her against his chest as he lifted the glass to her lips so that she could swish it about her mouth to cleanse it of the vile taste lingering there. Then she gulped down the rest of the remaining water, sighing with relief. A sheen of sweat coated the back of her neck; he wiped it away with a towel, then collected her into his arms. Weakened from her illness, she rested her cheek against his shoulder, closing her eyes as he carried her back to bed.
“Back to sleep,” he murmured. “I will summon a physician.”
“No,” she said drowsily, reaching for him as he pulled the sheets over her and tucked the blankets up to her chin. “Just lay with me, James.” Her fingers snagged his wrist in an attempt to draw him back into bed with her.
“Darling, you’re ill,” he said, smoothing her tangled hair away from her face. “You need a doctor.”
“It will pass,” she said, turning her cheek into his palm. “I’ll be well enough in an hour or so.”
Already her sickly pallor was fading, and she snuggled into the pillow with a soft sound of contentment. Still, James was unconvinced. “I won’t take chances with your health,” he said doggedly.
She gave a little huff of laughter, her nose crinkling up adorably. “I don’t need a doctor. I’m not truly ill.” She gave a tug on his hand, drawing it down to her belly, where she pressed his palm flat beneath her own. “However, in about eight months I suspect I shall need a midwife.”
James felt his legs give beneath him. His rear hit the edge of the bed with a muffled thump, and his face froze in shock. “You…you’re going to…”
“A baby, James.” She gave him a watery smile.
A baby. A baby. James took a shuddering breath, alarmed at the sudden tightness in his chest, the encroaching sense of panic. Jilly was going to have a baby. His baby. His fingers twitched beneath hers as if searching for proof of life, but her belly was just as smooth and flat as it had always been. “You’re certain?” he asked, his voice oddly hoarse.
“As certain as I can be,” she said softly. “I’ve not had my courses since we arrived here. I’m always nauseated in the mornings. And I’ve been so tired lately.” She gave a small shrug. “It’s likely too early to say for sure, but I think it’s probable. Aren’t you pleased?”
Somehow, by sheer dint of will, he managed to stretch his lips into something approximating a smile, and said, “Of course I am, darling.”