Lady Eleanor Mary Cantwell, daughter of the Marquess of Salford, is a proper young lady. With her golden complexion, raven-black hair, and manners befitting a princess, Lady Eleanor has always been deemed a belle. There is just one problem.
Lady Ele...
Deze afbeelding leeft onze inhoudsrichtlijnen niet na. Verwijder de afbeelding of upload een andere om verder te gaan met publiceren.
Confinement was tiresome. Especially when one was confined to a bed for four weeks.
'But I am perfectly fine now,' Eleanor pleaded with her husband for the hundredth time. Ever since the healer had deemed it necessary that Eleanor get complete rest for as long as she could to avoid hurting the babe, Nathan had not let her take one step outside the bed, let alone her chambers. He was more adamant and determined than her father had been when she had caught smallpox when she was eight. While she had enjoyed the first week of the muss and fuss, she had grown weary the second and outright restless during the third. The fourth week had been a nightmare and she'd rather put the endless days of Nathan reading dreary old books to her, behind her. Of course, she was glad Nathan had kept her company but one could only listen to philosophy for so long. And now that she had to cater to the needs of a second person who lived within her, she was ready to run away as soon as she could if it meant stretching her legs.
Eleanor placed a hand on her stomach and sighed contently. When she had first gotten the news that she was in the family way, she had remained transfixed for so long, her eyes unblinking, that Nathan had tensed she was out of sorts. It had taken a good while for her to come back to present and absorb the news that she was with child. Her child with her husband.
Initially, she had been alarmed. Freedom, her plans for the future, they were all fantasy were she to have a child to look after. But the more time she spent with her hand over her stomach where her baby was, the more she couldn't wait for her baby to arrive.
Nathan's reaction had been more or less the same as hers from what she had gathered. He had a strained look on his face when it was first announced that she was with child but he had immediately jumped into the role of expecting father and doting husband, making sure Eleanor had all she needed and that she and the child were safe. He rarely left her – not even for matters of the revolution or their current issue with Gresham. And at night, he held her close, sleeping with one arm over her stomach, and woke at the slightest stirring be it her or to the sounds of the crickets outside.
She returned back to the present, watching Nathan fluff the pillows behind her and fill her flask with hot water once again.
''Tis too dangerous for you to walk about,' he replied. 'You cannot risk it,' he said adamantly.
'But Nathan, I have been on bed rest for four weeks now,' she argued back. 'The healer said I could resume my daily activities by now.'
'Poppycock!' Nathan declared, a strenuous expression on his face. 'The healer said you were to not stress yourself any further and to take as much rest as you can. Your daily activities were what put you into bed the first place. I've already put you in great risk by revealing my double life to you. Our child almost died. I would be a blasted idiot if I let you return to initially put you in danger.'
Eleanor tensed. Nathan looked visibly troubled and she realized that he thought himself to be the cause of Eleanor's predicament. He was putting away towels by her bedside, his eyes averted, gaze downwards.
