“Oh … oh, I am so sorry. I have made a mess.” She clung miserably to the side of the small table.
“Do not concern yourself about that.” He felt her brow. “I should have insisted that you stay in bed yesterday.”
“I think it is the bed that is making me ill. Something about the motion when I am lying down. Truly. When I am outside in the fresh air, I am better.” She paused to establish that she was not yet better. Groaning, Jane hung her head over the foulness. She had not been this ill since she was with child …
Her thoughts slowed and tripped upon themselves.
Was it possible? Her cycle had always been irregular, but she had not had her flower for … four months—no, nearly five now. Usually it was not more than three months that she skipped, and then only when working heavily with glamour. They had worked so little in Vienna because their attention was elsewhere, what with Melody’s confinement. Her clothing had also been getting snug, but Jane had thought it was simply due to the rich food in Vienna. The illness now put everything into a different light.
Good lord in heaven. She might be with child.
Four
Lines of Heritage
Jane did not tell Vincent of her supposition immediately. At first her reason was that Vincent was already taxed with enough cares and she only might be with child. Given that they were in the middle of the Atlantic, there was little that could be done, and since she had once miscarried, he would fret if he knew. If there were no reason, if she were merely seasick and plump, then why concern him?
With a groan, she rolled over and pushed herself out of the narrow bunk. Her stomach was uneasy. After the past days, this was no longer a surprise. She stood with one hand against the top bunk, hoping that if she took deep breaths and stared out the window, that she might get past the worst of the nausea.
Alas, that remedy proved unequal to the task. Jane had enough practise now that she had no trouble making it to the small pail that Ibrahim had provided for her troubles. She rather thought he found her retching amusing. As she hunched over the bucket, the door to their cabin opened.
“Jane?” It took Vincent only a single stride to reach her. “Poor thing … I thought it had passed.”
“Usually, I—” She lost the ability to speak for a moment.
Vincent slid an arm around Jane to offer support as her stomach heaved in time with the ship. He paused, with his hand upon her stomach. For a moment, she heard a small, high whine, as if his breath were imperfectly held around a thought that was slowly leaking out. He must notice the change. Surely, he could remember what her health had been like the last time and note the likeness. He had, perhaps, suspected for some time, but the standards of polite society indicated that one did not discuss such delicate matters in mixed company, even with one’s wife, unless pressed. And Jane had said nothing, because doing so would make the child real. If she miscarried without ever acknowledging that she was increasing, then she would not need to mourn again.
But Vincent had trusted her with his fears about this voyage and more. Jane could trust him with hers.
She straightened and took the glass of water he offered her. She rinsed her mouth and cleaned her face with the damp cloth he handed her. Folding the cloth, Jane said, “I think I might be increasing.”
He exhaled forcibly, almost a laugh, almost a cry, as if the thought he had been holding escaped all at once. For a moment, the mask of deep reserve that was his habitual expression snapped into place, his face appearing calm, but with a suspicious lustre to his eyes. Then he shoved aside the years of training with a shake of his head, and all his wonder became visible. “Truly?”
She nodded, averting her gaze from the joy in his. “I did not want to tell you in case…” In case she miscarried again. “In case I was wrong.”
“But we might have turned the ship.”
Jane drew back a little to stare at him. “To what purpose?”
“Well—well, you should not be travelling in this condition.” Vincent raked his hand through his hair. “I wonder if the ship’s surgeon has any experience with childbirth.”
“We shall not be on board long enough for that to be a concern. And, truly, aside from the illness, I am little troubled. I would be just as unhappy on land.”
“But you should have had access to a proper doctor. The best medical—”
“The best medical opinions did nothing to save Princess Charlotte.”
Vincent drew up short, eyes widening. Jane instantly regretted her words. As a man, he had never been privy to a circle of women discussing the horrors of childbirth. It seemed every married woman had at least one friend who had not survived her lying in, and they all felt compelled to relate those stories. Her mother seemed to collect the tales. It had been all Jane could do to keep Mrs. Ellsworth from telling a new one every day to Melody.