“After I stopped being frightened by it, I think that look on your face is exactly how I felt. I… Sometimes I cannot believe there is a baby inside me. A life that is growing, that is dependent on my wisdom and love to grow and survive,” she said softly, her eyes filled with a curious deep longing.
He caught a flash of awareness of her responsibility, that similar sense of awe, and a good deal of fright. Suddenly he ached for her. Since her pregnancy she had been alone, ignorant of what to expect, and without the support most ladies received from family and friends when they went into confinement. Yet she hadn’t withered under the stress of it but had held steady. Admiration swelled inside Hugh.
He hadn’t really been there, despite telling her this child was also his. He didn’t ask after it, for well, it was not here yet, and he hadn’t really dwelled on what would be required of him when the child was born.
They would have nursemaids, nannies, and tutors. What role would he really be playing? He recalled then how often her maidservant would rush to the lady to assist her from a chair or to reach a book for her. And he also knew Sarah had been sleeping in her chamber on a pallet, and sometimes he would hear her maidservant’s low and soothing whispers that all would be well with the child, just wait and see.
Hugh looked down at his palm on her belly. He was needed even at this stage—to comfort her whenever she seemed uncertain, to feel the child when it moved, to speak about her fear of the upcoming birthing if there was any. The idea shook him, and he frowned at the strangeness of the emotions that filled him. If he did not know better, Hugh would say he was anxious.
And what do you feel, my lady?
She dipped her head closer to his. “You are staring, my lord.” Without waiting for his reply, she whispered, “Do you wish to know why I suspect her to be dancing?”
He didn’t question how she knew the sex of the baby, simply nodded.
She started to sing, a bawdy tune that would have mortified the sensibilities of any young lady. Hugh grinned, and to his surprise, the movements under his palm became even more erratic. She was corrupting the child, and he loved it. Phoebe changed from the lively song to a soft sweet melody, and the baby quieted, the ripples dying until they were nonexistent.
“Isn’t that simply fascinating?” she whispered. “She responds to my voice. I could hardly credit it the first time I realized.”
He nodded, and she fairly glowed her pleasure.
“Do you believe the baby to be a girl?”
“I fervently hope so. You…you deserve to have an heir of your own bloodline.”
“Boy or girl, I would love them as my own.” His heart pounded, and he wondered about this love he spoke of. What would it feel like? The same protective, warm feeling he felt all his life for his siblings?
She leaned forward. “Before…before coming here, I had little opportunity to think about the fact I was with child. It seems odd considering it was that truth that upended my life. I was so scared of what might happen to me…to my baby that I never really dwelled on the fact I am having a baby. That I am to be a mother.”
“And now?”
The radiance of her smile hit him squarely in the gut.
“I…I find that I am looking forward so very much to meeting my child. I never imagined I would feel such a love for someone I’ve never met before.” She gave him a tender, searching look. “It must be quite odd for you as well. Two months ago, you were not a father.” She lifted a shoulder in a shrug and looked away as if made uncomfortable by her assessment.
He placed a finger under her chin and directed her gaze back to him. “I was never a man afraid of changes. The more unexpected they were, the more challenging.”
“So you have no fear?” she whispered, her gaze searching every nuance of his expression.
He held up his thumb and forefinger into a pinch. Then signed. “Maybe just a smidgen. I have no wish to disappoint you or the baby. If you find that I am disappointin
g your expectations, my lady, I ask you tell me right away.”
She laughed, the sound light…and perhaps even happy. “That I shall do,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to the corner of his chin. With all the kisses they exchanged today, this one…unfathomably this one made his throat ache with its sweetness.
His fingers jerked to life, and he asked, “Will you move into my chamber?”
Chapter Ten
Phoebe nearly choked, she drew in her breath so sharply. And it had nothing to do with how delightfully scandalous she was pressed up against her husband, nor did it have to do with the wonderful kisses she swore she could still feel against her mouth or the molten need which had settled hot and troubling low in her belly.
For a moment, Phoebe did not comprehend his meaning, then she wondered if she misread the signs. She had been diligent in studying his language, even reading the sign manual and dictionary written by Charles Michel de l’Epée, a man Hugh said had the honor of being called the father of sign language. It had been quite fascinating to learn this new language and to discover that their British manuals had variations on certain signs. It was all so very illuminating, and it had helped her immensely along with the daily conversational lessons she had with her husband. “Please repeat,” she whispered, watching his face intently. “Did you…did you ask me to move into your chamber?”
He reached for the paper and quill, pressing them against her lap to write. Whenever he had a lot to say, he would do this, fearing perhaps she would not be able to keep pace as he expressed himself.
We will convert your room to be a nursery for the baby.
Emotions tightened her throat as he continued writing.