Bonnie eased onto the couch. “I am truly not that far along. It is only in the last fortnight that I have ballooned up to the size of an elephant.” She rubbed her swollen stomach affectionately.
“When are you expecting?” Sara asked.
“Late October, by my calculations. Not a moment too soon. Stephen is driving me mad with his hovering.”
Louisa handed her a cup of tea. “He doesn’t strike me as the hovering sort.”
Bonnie rolled her eyes. “I didn’t believe it myself until I realized he was serious. If he had his way, he would keep me in bed surrounded by pillows to prevent any sort of injury.”
“He just cares for you,” Sara said, smiling at the image.
“You would think I am the first woman ever to carry a child,” Bonnie replied. “I have assured him time again that the human race continues to perpetuate itself, so there is little to concern himself with. But the man does not listen.”
“I can empathize completely,” Claire said. All three sets of eyes swung her way and she smiled, resting her hand on her abdomen. “We were keeping it quiet until after the wedding, but I cannot any longer. Jacob and I are expecting as well for the new year.”
The next few minutes were filled with celebratory tea toasts, congratulations and talk of young children until Claire reminded them, “Ladies, we have less than two weeks to finish planning Sara’s wedding to Mr. Pomeroy. We have much to do.”
“Wait.”
All three heads swiveled toward Sara. She hadn’t meant to speak out loud, wasn’t even sure what she was going to say.
“Yes, dear?” Claire said.
Sara opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She knew she ought to tell them that the betrothal was a mistake, that she hadn’t actually accepted Charles’ proposal, but instead of words forming in her throat, the ants were swarming merrily, cutting off anything that might have resembled words. The thought of what would happen if the truth were known was too grave, too risky. Charles would be humiliated and she would be ruined.
The ants happily increased.
Bonnie smiled and patted her hand. “It is fine to be anxious about this, Sara. A perfectly normal reaction to such a large change in one’s life. But not to worry. This is your big day and we will not do anything you do not wish. But time is wasting away. We must get started making the arrangements.”
Sara swallowed the dread.
With unladylike puffing, Sara pushed herself to continue up the narrow and rocky path. Trees canopied over her, blocking out the sunlight and cooling the air, giving the forest maze a more sinister feel, a usually safe place now shrouded with an air of the ominous.
She had only taken this path once before, a long loop up the side of an exposed rock face before returning to the easier path; the only benefits to its existence were its privacy and the view of a small, beautiful pond with a waterfall at one particular point, close to the summit. It was steep and a much more difficult walk than she was used to, but she relished it today. Today that biting pain in her legs and extreme focus on her breathing took her mind off—well, her mind. She had been stuck in a vicious cycle of thoughts lately, shortly after her engagement to Mr. Pomeroy.
He was a good man. He would make her a good husband. He was kind, steady; he would give her life the security and purpose she desired. She had been a good vicar’s daughter; she would be a good vicar’s wife. Charles even said as much. Passion and desire were not the foundation for any sort of reliable relationship, as evidenced by her adventure with the blue-eyed deceiver.
You happen to be my preference, Nymph. Sara closed her eyes against his voice. He had no business in her life, not anymore. He filled his part of their arrangement, made it clear that she was not to expect more.
She stopped for a moment to catch her breath, pressing her hand to her side where it had begun to ache. Sara looked around, noting that she had made it to a vantage point that looked out over the area, the walker being above the trees. Looking to the east, she saw Ridgestone standing proudly in the sea of green.
Sara swallowed, her heart heavy. She hadn’t meant to exit in such a dramatic manner, but all the talk of the wedding had gotten to her. Bonnie had been harping about her hair as if it had really mattered; Sara knew that her hair would not obey whatever strictures her friends tried to put on it. But they hadn’t been listening.