Chapter 93
And thus, I found myself seated in the drawing room. Millicent sat beside me on the sofa with her usual elegance, while Dr. Falconbridge counted my pulse with quiet concentration.
Then came the smile. That soft, maddeningly gentle smile doctors give just before saying something life-altering.
"Congratulations, Your Ladyship," he said, beaming like a man delivering poetry. "You are with child."
My eyes widened to the size of saucers. I stared at Dr. Falconbridge, utterly convinced I had been accidentally mistaken for some other Florence entirely. My mouth parted, yet no words emerged. I was struck dumb. Millicent, on the other hand, wasted no time. She cupped my face with both hands and kissed me. Repeatedly. Enthusiastically. With a flurry of affection that left no part of my face unkissed. She was smiling, radiant, entirely undone by joy.
For years I had carried the quiet weight of presumed failure, believing my own body to be broken, incapable of doing what nature so graciously allowed to the simplest of women. And now, as it turns out, the flaw lay not within me but with Kyle.
"We're gonna have a baby!"
The air shattered.
Millicent halted mid-kiss. Dr. Falconbridge's expression locked in the stunned half-smile of a man who had just heard someone curse during a church service. As for me, I went perfectly still.
And then, in unison, we turned toward the voice.
There he was. Kyle.
Standing in the doorway as if he had just wandered into a grand salon performance and, despite having no script, fully believed he was the star.
When, precisely, had that door opened? How long had he been standing there? Why, in all the name of reason and decency, was he even here?
And then Annette appeared behind him, her expression carefully crafted into a mask of regret.
"I tried to stop him," her face seemed to say.
Liar. Treacherous, silk-draped liar. I very nearly launched myself across the room to smack her.
Meanwhile, Millicent's entire expression shifted, her joy evaporating, replaced with that familiar, unreadable mask she wore. She rose with regal grace, folding her hands before her like a judge preparing to deliver sentence.
"Millicent," Annette said sweetly. "Mr. Woodstone insisted he had to see Florence. I simply could not stop him."
Kyle, in all his misguided glory, bounded across the drawing room. His grin was far too wide, and I, sensing imminent disaster, swiftly moved to stand beside Millicent. At the same time, Dr. Falconbridge, with commendable instincts, stepped into the path of oncoming idiocy.
"Mr. Woodstone," the doctor said with unshaken calm, extending a hand. "I have heard quite a bit about you. I am Dr. George Falconbridge, personal physician to House Vaneeri. A pleasure to at last make your acquaintance."
Kyle, beaming as though a parade might break out in his honor, shook the man's hand with fervor. "Its true, yeah?" he asked eagerly. "My wife's carryin' my child at last?"
"Kyle," I said gently, "the child is not yours."
"Course it's mine. You're my wife. So it's mine."
With that, he simply nudged poor Falconbridge aside and made a straight line for me, arms outstretched. But before he could so much as touch the hem of my gown, there came a sharp whistle through the air.
And then-thud.
A spear struck Kyle's jacket and sent him reeling to the floor. I yelped, naturally.
Millicent calmy seized my hand as two Vaneeri guards, both built like siege towers, stormed in and promptly wrestled Kyle to the floor.
"Let go o' me!" Kyle roared indignantly, struggling beneath their hold. "Let go! I need to talk to my wife!"
Then his eyes locked with mine. I, still recovering from the sudden appearance of flying weaponry, stood frozen in disbelief.
"Ann, my love," he pleaded, "Tell 'em to let me go. Come home with me. Please."
At that, though Millicent's face remained unreadable, her hand in mine trembled ever so slightly.
One of the guards pinning Kyle firmly to the polished floor looked up and addressed her with military precision. "Your Grace, what are your orders?"
It was only now, in the aftermath of chaos and misplaced delusion, that I noticed the row of guards lined along the door. At least two dozen of them, if not more, all standing in perfectly tense silence. And yet, somehow, Kyle had made it past them all. Curious.
Also conspicuously missing: Annette.
A guard, presumably the captain, stepped forward and offered an apologetic deep bow. "Your Grace, I extend my sincerest apologies. I do not know how he bypassed our watch. None of the entrances reported movement. We did not see him arrive."
Hold on.
Millicent had posted guards with specific instructions to monitor for Kyle? Or was it for general intruders? Either way, the answer was obvious. The culprit was Annette. That silken serpent had slithered Kyle in through some covert corridor, no doubt feigning innocence along the way. Vile, treacherous woman.
"Captain," Millicent said with icy detachment, "In light of today's rather significant breach, I believe it would be prudent for you to take an extended leave from your duties. A return to your home may provide the distance required to reflect thoroughly upon your methods, and perhaps discern whether your aptitudes might be better suited to a different sphere of service."
Ah, there it was. The noble way of saying, You are hereby dismissed, pack your pride and go. Nobility is a language of elegant executions.
The poor captain began to tremble and dropped to his knees with such speed I feared he might dislocate something.
"Your Grace," he pleaded, head bowed so low he was practically apologizing to the floor, "grant me another chance. I beg you. I shall not fail you again."
I glanced between them. I could not, in good conscience, allow this man to be cast into the outer darkness over something so clearly orchestrated by the wicked Annette.
Just as I opened my mouth to intervene, Kyle spoke.
"Ann, love," he called to me, voice trembling, "tell 'em to let me go. I came to get you. We got a baby now, love. Come home with me."
He was sweating, floundering beneath the firm hands of the guards who remained as motionless as statues. I briefly considered checking if they were breathing.
"Kyle," I sighed, "this child is not yours."
It was like speaking to a particularly dim fence post.
"Yes, it is," he insisted stubbornly. "You're my wife."
The man could not comprehend even the most basic premise. I could have told him the sky was blue and he would have responded that I was his wife.
Realizing that speaking to Kyle was as productive as conversing with a cabbage, I turned instead to Millicent.
"Do give the captain another chance," I said softly, giving Millicent's hand a gentle tug, a motion half-plea, half-affection.
That smooth, unreadable mask she wore so well melted into something warmer. She looked at me then, and there was nothing cold in her eyes. Only fondness.
"As you wish," she said simply.
The captain and I exchanged glances, both of us equally bewildered.
That was it?
I had prepared myself for some stirring appeal, perhaps an impassioned speech on loyalty and redemption. Instead, she acquiesced with the grace of one granting a second cup of tea.
"Thank you, Your Grace!" the captain exclaimed, straightening with all the vigor of a man granted clemency at the gallows. He bowed, again and again, and then turned to me. "Thank you, Your Ladyship!"
He wasted no time and composed himself. "How would you have us proceed with Mr. Woodstone, Your Grace?"
Millicent turned slightly. "Ask Florence."
The captain pivoted back to me. "Your Ladyship?"
I sighed. "Take him back to my residence. Do not harm him."
Then I tugged Millicent's hand again, this time with a smile. "Let us go," I whispered. "I am dreadfully tired. Nap with me?"
"I would be delighted," she replied softly.
We took a left down the corridor, hand in hand, while behind us I heard the heavy shuffle of boots and Kyle's voice rising like a wailing opera.
"Ann! My love! Don't do this to me! Come home!"
His pleas echoed through the grand halls.
"I cannot believe you have placed another child inside me," I muttered with a sigh. The memory of my previous condition returned in vivid detail. Truly, I embrace the notion of new life with all due reverence, but I do not embrace the ghastly side effects that accompany it.
Millicent smirked in that insufferably superior way of hers. "If you are intent on preventing future conception, then perhaps, once the child is born, you might consider offering me the alternative entrance instead."
And then, scandal of scandals, her hand came down and gave my left buttock a bold, unrepentant squeeze.
"You are a pervert," I hissed under my breath.
"I am a scholar of anatomy," she replied serenely.
It is truly unfair how someone so intelligent can be so indecent.