side, curling her knees up to her chest. She was conscious of the lifeblood ebbing through her veins as the protective cocoon she had spun round her emotions slipped further and further beyond her reach. She felt warm, cosseted, and soporific as a result of the attention Lady Crawley’s servants lavished upon her. They refused to allow her to lift so much as a finger to help herself, shocked that she would even consider doing so.
It was a situation wholly alien to her, even before her marriage. When she had lived in her father’s grand establishment, she and Marianne had been expected to wait upon one another to save their father the expense of employing a maid to attend them. Married to Mr. Travis, her situation had been even worse. The opinion of society, led by Mr. Travis’s vindictive son, was that she entertained ideas above her station and had no place in a family whose social standing was so far above her own. Since her husband made no effort to dispel that view, Estelle was shunned by the majority of her neighbours as well as her new family and their loyal retainers.
But now, for the first time in her life, she was experiencing the pleasure of being indulged by a kindly matron who could not do enough for her comfort. And it was making her feel guiltier by the minute. She had been at Crawley Hall for two full days, and Lady Crawley’s determination to nurse her back to health personally made her more ashamed every time she considered the nature of her deception.
Time and again she considered owning up, only to think better of it, her recently widowed status holding her back. Lady Crawley was of the old school and would find such behaviour bewildering and wholly inexcusable. Estelle would not repay her kindness by distressing her in order to relieve her own conscience.
Oh, if only Susanna was here to advise her, or at the very least to persuade her that she had done the right thing. But Susanna was not here, nor would she be lending her any assistance in the search for Marianne. It had been necessary to stop the carriage twice on the way to Kent because her friend was feeling unwell. She had apologized to Estelle for the unpleasantness, wondering aloud what could be wrong with her. But Estelle suspected she knew and did not scruple to ask Susanna if her monthly courses had stopped.
“Yes, but I did not think.” Susanna’s hand flew to her face. “Do you suppose? Could I really be…”
“Yes.” Estelle embraced her friend. “Indeed you could and very likely are.”
By the time they had finished comparing symptoms, Estelle was in no doubt that her friend was carrying her first child. As soon as they reached Fairlands, Estelle, for once exerting herself, ordered Susanna to bed. It took little persuasion for Mr. Cleethorpe to send for the doctor, who confirmed the diagnosis.
“I shall not be able to help you with the search for Marianne now.” Susanna pouted. She was already complaining about being confined to bed because of a very slight, almost negligible, swelling in her ankles. “Michael would never agree. He is more efficient than the keenest of gaolers. He would never countenance such action.”
“I should think not! Only count your blessings, Susanna. You have a husband who is concerned for your welfare. Mr. Travis took not the slightest interest in my condition and continued to— Well,” she said hastily, feeling herself blushing, “never mind what he continued to do.”
“That does not in the least surprise me. The man was a monster. Fetch me my travelling writing case, Estelle, if you please. Just because I am forced to idle my time away in bed does not mean that I cannot make myself useful by writing to Lady Crawley to inform her of your misfortunes.” Susanna grinned, her grievances temporarily forgotten. “Come along, Estelle, we must invent a convincing history for you in order to invoke Lady Crawley’s compassion. Not that that will be too difficult to achieve. Now, darling,
It was a situation wholly alien to her, even before her marriage. When she had lived in her father’s grand establishment, she and Marianne had been expected to wait upon one another to save their father the expense of employing a maid to attend them. Married to Mr. Travis, her situation had been even worse. The opinion of society, led by Mr. Travis’s vindictive son, was that she entertained ideas above her station and had no place in a family whose social standing was so far above her own. Since her husband made no effort to dispel that view, Estelle was shunned by the majority of her neighbours as well as her new family and their loyal retainers.
But now, for the first time in her life, she was experiencing the pleasure of being indulged by a kindly matron who could not do enough for her comfort. And it was making her feel guiltier by the minute. She had been at Crawley Hall for two full days, and Lady Crawley’s determination to nurse her back to health personally made her more ashamed every time she considered the nature of her deception.
Time and again she considered owning up, only to think better of it, her recently widowed status holding her back. Lady Crawley was of the old school and would find such behaviour bewildering and wholly inexcusable. Estelle would not repay her kindness by distressing her in order to relieve her own conscience.
Oh, if only Susanna was here to advise her, or at the very least to persuade her that she had done the right thing. But Susanna was not here, nor would she be lending her any assistance in the search for Marianne. It had been necessary to stop the carriage twice on the way to Kent because her friend was feeling unwell. She had apologized to Estelle for the unpleasantness, wondering aloud what could be wrong with her. But Estelle suspected she knew and did not scruple to ask Susanna if her monthly courses had stopped.
“Yes, but I did not think.” Susanna’s hand flew to her face. “Do you suppose? Could I really be…”
“Yes.” Estelle embraced her friend. “Indeed you could and very likely are.”
By the time they had finished comparing symptoms, Estelle was in no doubt that her friend was carrying her first child. As soon as they reached Fairlands, Estelle, for once exerting herself, ordered Susanna to bed. It took little persuasion for Mr. Cleethorpe to send for the doctor, who confirmed the diagnosis.
“I shall not be able to help you with the search for Marianne now.” Susanna pouted. She was already complaining about being confined to bed because of a very slight, almost negligible, swelling in her ankles. “Michael would never agree. He is more efficient than the keenest of gaolers. He would never countenance such action.”
“I should think not! Only count your blessings, Susanna. You have a husband who is concerned for your welfare. Mr. Travis took not the slightest interest in my condition and continued to— Well,” she said hastily, feeling herself blushing, “never mind what he continued to do.”
“That does not in the least surprise me. The man was a monster. Fetch me my travelling writing case, Estelle, if you please. Just because I am forced to idle my time away in bed does not mean that I cannot make myself useful by writing to Lady Crawley to inform her of your misfortunes.” Susanna grinned, her grievances temporarily forgotten. “Come along, Estelle, we must invent a convincing history for you in order to invoke Lady Crawley’s compassion. Not that that will be too difficult to achieve. Now, darling,
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