He came bellowing into Sophie’s bedchamber. “Sophie! Sophie!”

She looked up hopefully as her husband thrust open the door. After having lost her Turkish grammar to the waves, Sophie was still adhering to her self-imposed ban on languages. Unfortunately, except for when she visited Madeleine, her days were painfully dull. She talked to the housekeeper or went shopping. Given that the season wasn’t in full swing, many of her friends were still in the country.

At the moment she was reading through the plays of Ben Jonson, in a rather haphazard fashion. She couldn’t make head or tail of the old-fashioned dialogue. In fact, Sophie admitted to herself, I’m no scholar. I have only one skill, for languages.

Patrick crossed the room in one bound and dropped to his haunches next to her chair. “Listen to me, Sophie! I climbed the ladder to your room three and one half months ago! Have you—did you—bleed during that time?”

“Has it been that long?” Sophie hadn’t figured out the likely dates.

Patrick’s face softened. “Yes, it has,” he replied. “I’m afraid, Sophie, that unless you are a very irregular sort of female, we are expecting a child.”

“It’s odd, isn’t it?” Sophie said rather dreamily. “It doesn’t seem possible. Why, we haven’t been married nearly long enough.”

“There’s no enough,” Patrick said. “One day is enough.”

“That’s not true!” Sophie retorted. “Why, my mama told me …” But then she fell silent, remembering the talk of maids who undoubtedly knew more of the practicalities of conception than did her poor mama.

Patrick misunderstood her silence. “Some women have trouble conceiving. Perhaps your mother is one of those sort, and that is why you are an only child. I’m sure your parents have tried to have another child, given that titles pass only to males.”

He straightened up and walked restlessly to the window, looking out.

Sophie contemplated her parents’ separate—extremely separate—bedrooms in silence. It felt like betrayal to blurt out the truth.

The room fell into stillness. Sophie’s mind was racing. She had delayed telling Patrick about the baby. Their recent happiness seemed so fragile that she hadn’t wanted to disturb it. And yet a corner of her mind blossomed with pure joy every time she thought of the babe. It was time that her husband knew he was expecting a child.

A tiny bit of that joy withered when she turned her head and caught a glimpse of her husband’s face.

He looked about as happy as a cat thrown into puddle water. His face was rigid, his eyes angry.

“What’s the matter?” Sophie steadied her voice just before it trembled.