Of Fate And Prejudice

Chapter Eight

She should not have eaten the fish, Frances thought regretfully, as yet another bout of nausea saw her burying her head in the chamber pot. She'd been foolish in her decision to engage in the foul delicacy at dinner, when the mere smell of it had nearly sent her running out of the dining room. But she'd been unwilling to offend the cook. Ignoring the rumblings of her stomach, she'd taken a bite that instantly proved hazardous to her fragile constitution.

"There, there, Miss Frances." Sara kneeled beside her, stroking her back with one hand, while holding her hair back with the other.

Once she'd emptied her bowel into the pot, she released her grip on it and settled on her heels as a wave of dizziness washed over her. Anchoring her with one arm around her waist, Sara wiped her face with a damp towel.

"Only a moment now, and the feeling shall pass," Sara assured.

"Hm." She closed her eyes against the dizziness and rested her head on Sara's chest as she worked the damp towel down her face to her neck, before wiping her hands with it. In her attempt to spare the expensive tablecloth, Frances had tried to cage the vomit in her mouth with her hands, and had failed woefully. She thought it a good thing Mr. Brown was absent at dinner, for she feared she'd have ruined his clothes as well. And how would she have endured his scrutiny? Her inability to hold down her dinner would have raised his suspicion, as she was certain it did the suspicion of his staff.

Even now, she felt Mrs Wright's gaze on her. The older housekeeper stood by the door, clinging to a bowl.

"Perhaps I must bring some more towels?" Mrs Wright asked.

"Yes, please." Sara nodded, holding out the dirty towel to her. Mrs Wright hurried across the room, and taking the towel from Sara, she shifted her attention to Frances' stomach.

She knew. Frances felt her heart race as she watched Mrs Wright, seeing clearly the awareness that brightened the woman's soft gaze.

"And some tea," Mrs Wright added, and as if to confirm Frances' suspicion, she motioned to her stomach. "It shall help."

Fighting to still her racing heart, Frances shook her head. "I'm well." She swallowed, unwilling to consider the thought of Mr. Brown discovering through his housekeeper she was pregnant. Surely, his rage would be unappeasable.

"I do not doubt that. It is normal, is it not?"

Uncomfortable with the woman's scrutiny, Frances fought the urge to conceal her stomach with her hands. She shook her head, feigning ignorance. "What is?"

"The nausea. I, myself, have suffered four times."

"Oh?" She turned to the fireplace, afraid Mrs Wright might see the falsehood in her eyes. "It is not commonplace to find someone as averse to fish as I am."

"Fish?" Confusion laced Mrs Wright's words.

Nodding, she rose to her shaky feet with Sara's help. "It is not so much the smell, as it is the taste. Do you not agree, Mrs Wright?"

"You have a dislike for fish?"

"A distaste, indeed." She settled on the edge of the bed, her gaze roaming the room—anywhere but Mrs Wright's inquisitive gray eyes. "I should have mentioned, but I did not wish to offend the cook, hence my decision to indulge."

"Oh... It is no offense, Miss Frances. I shall inform Cook of your preferences."

"Yes. Thank you."

"Indeed." Mrs Wright turned to the door.

"One more thing, Mrs Wright!"

"Yes?"

"I must beg for your discretion on the events of tonight." She knew Mrs Wright would wish to report the happenings at dinner to Mr. Brown. What was more, Mrs Wright might suggest she was pregnant. Mr. Brown would likely confirm Mrs Wright's suspicion by calling upon a physician. Frances did not doubt she would be homeless or worse by the end of the evening.