Page 44 of The Bachelor Spy
“Well, let’s see.” Blake’s tone turned almost professorial. “You’ve been exhausted. You can’t bear the smell of morphine or the sight of strawberries—which, by the way, you used to adore.” He ticked each item off on a raised finger as if to humiliate her detective skills all the more. “Your dresses are rather snugger than when I last saw you. And you keep pressing your hand to your stomach in that instinctive, protective way that expectant mothers tend to do.”
Grace looked down at her hand, which was, in fact, pressed to her stomach at that very moment. She snatched it away.
“Also,” Blake continued, his grin widening, “and—this is the rub—you’ve been positivelyglowingwith that particular radiance that’s rather difficult to miss once one knows what to look for.”
“Glowing?” Grace repeated, raising a hand to her face. “Truly?”
“Indeed.” Blake’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Freddie’s going to be insufferably smug about it.”
Grace collapsed back into the chair, stunned. To be a budding detective who had, in fact, successfully solved quite a few mysteries—how had she missed clues specifically happening to her own body? And so obvious that even Blake knew?
When they were pointed out in such a list, confirming Dr. Ross’ assessment all the more, how had she not noticed such apparent clues?
She released a frustrated huff. Because she hadn’t known what to look for, that’s how. She knew how to examine a crime scene, had learned specific ways people might speak or act when hiding something, could even point out symptoms of certain types of poisons, but she’d never researched pregnancy at all!
Heat rushed to her cheeks. “If you knew, why didn’t yousaysomething?”
“Because telling your cousin’s wife that she’s with child when she clearly hasn’t realized it herself is …” Blake grimaced theatrically. “Well, it’s rather outside my area of expertise. I was rather hoping you’d sort it out yourself or that some helpful female relation would materialize to handle it.”
“You could have dropped a hint!”
“Ididdrop a hint! I suggested you see a physician!” Blake spread his hands. “What was I supposed to say? ‘Oh, by the way, my dear Lady Astley, you appear to be in a delicate condition, which might result in another little Astley in a few months’ time’? That seemed rather forward.”
Despite her frustration, Grace felt a laugh bubble up at the look of utter discomfort on his face. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m practical,” Blake corrected. “And I do attempt to be prudent when it pleases me. There’s a difference.” He paused, studying her face, his grin spreading to light his eyes. “Now, was there something else you needed to discuss, or did you simply want to inform me of news I already possessed?”
The reminder of why she’d come brought Grace back to the moment. Her throat tightened. “I … I think we should bring Frederick home.”
Blake’s playfulness evaporated. “Ah. There it is.”
“Blake, please.” Grace leaned forward, her voice urgent. “You must know how to arrange it. Can’t you pretend to be a general or something? Or don’t you know someone important who could tell him his wife is in desperate need of her husband?”
“Like hundreds of other wives?” He raised a brow, and Grace felt wretched for the request.
Of course she wasn’t the only one.
There were likely dozens—hundreds—of other women carrying children whose fathers were at war. Most of them probably knew they were pregnant well before the halfway mark, but the truth remained the same for all of them.
They probably wanted their husbands home as much as Grace did.
“Frederick is exactly where he needs to be.” Blake leaned forward, catching her gaze. “He’s doing vital work—bridge inspections, engineering projects that keep supply lines open and save lives. I can’t pull him out of that because you’re afraid.”
“My mother died giving birth to my little brother,” Grace whispered.
Blake’s expression softened completely. “I’m certain that makes the fear worse, but it doesn’t make the outcome more likely. You’re young, healthy, and have an excellent physician. You have every reason to believe you’ll be fine.”
“It doesn’t make sense, Blake. I’ve searched Egyptian tombs, nearly drowned in Italy, and almost burned to death in Scotland,” Grace said, her voice breaking. “Why am I so terrified of having a baby?”
“Because this is something intimately dearer than any of those adventures. It’s one of the most tender and precious of all. You’d be mad not to be a little intimidated at the thought.” Blake reached over and tapped her hand where it rested on the chair arm. “But, Grace”—he used her Christian name, and the intimacy hit her like a comforting embrace—”being terrified doesn’t mean you demand I somehow transport your darling Frederick away from his duties. That’s not how anything works. Not even in those mystery novels you’re always reading.”
Despite everything, Grace felt a watery laugh escape. “You make it sound even more ridiculous when you put it that way, and I had already decided it was rather ridiculous.”
“It’s endearing too, but ridiculous nonetheless.” Blake smiled. “The instinct makes perfect sense, though. If I could snap my fingers and bring Freddie home to you, I would. But even if I had such power, which I’m neither confirming nor denying”—he winked—”it would take weeks. Possibly months. By which time you’d have already worked yourself into such a state that you’d have sprouted gray hairs, and then Freddie would come home and blamemefor not taking better care of you.”
She laughed, and though she still needed time to sort through her emotions, calm began creeping back. Rationality too. The understanding that if God had chosen this moment—with Frederick far away—to bring about their child, then He must believe her capable of managing it without her husband.
Though she prayed fervently that she wouldn’t be without him long.
