Perhaps if he had not met Seraphina, had not read her memoirs, he would not have noticed. But he could not unsee what Pendrake represented. He felt rotten by association.
More rotten, because he was already complicit. He needed the work. He needed the money. He’d made his choice.
And when Seraphina found out about Pendrake—it would be the end of them.
He’d almost told her, when she’d asked about his work. He knew she’d solve the dilemma by showing him the door.
The longer he hid it, after all, the worse it would become. Which would only make it more painful, for the more time he spent with her, the harder it would be to pull himself away.
And yet, he bloody wanted her. Every time he saw some sign that one of her carefully tended walls was collapsing—a glimmer of emotion in her eyes, that pendant on her dressing table—he wanted to rip them down himself.
Enough.
He was in a state. He would work through the night, exhaust himself beyond the point of melancholic stewing. Fretting had never solved a thing.
The door to his studio was unlocked, despite the hour. He found Mayhew inside, rummaging through Adam’s files.
“There you are! Where have you been? You’ve been gone all afternoon.” His brother-in-law was clad in formal attire, like he was on his way to some fine function.
“I had to check with a mason about the potential changes to the armory plans,” Adam lied. Luckily, Mayhew was too uninterested in architectural matters to sense this was not true. And too excited about whatever had him tearing about the studio.
“Easy with those,” Adam said, wincing as Mayhew paged through a book of sketches.
“Where is that folio book with the townhouse designs you drew last year? I have a lead on something very promising.”
“It should be in the bottom drawer of my desk.” Adam walked over to find it and noticed he had left Seraphina’s letter sitting out where anyone could see it. The last thing he needed was Mayhew discovering Adam had been to see her and raising a tantrum.
He slipped it into the drawer and handed Mayhew the book. “Here you are.”
Mayhew took it and saluted. “I’m off to present our services to Viscount Bell.”
Adam stiffened. “Bell?”
“Aye. A fellow at my investment club introduced us, and he told me he is looking to invest in a new square in Mayfair,” Mayhew prattled on, not noticing that Adam had stopped breathing. “Needs an architect. I’m meeting him at his club tonight to discuss it.”
Adam tried to remember if he’d introduced himself to Bell the day the man had stormed inside Seraphina’s house. No, there would not have been an opportunity. But Bell would surely recognize Adam’s face.
“Ah, fortunate,” Adam said, trying not to betray any concern.
With any luck, Mayhew’s meeting would come to nothing, and Adam would not have to explain to his brother-in-law why it would be impossible for him to work for Bell.
“Well, good luck,” Adam said, trying not to betray any concern.
“Yes, could be very good for us to win his favor. I understand he’s close with Pendrake. If he likes us, could be helpful with the armory. You know how those lordly types are.” Mayhew winked.
Christ.
Adam did know how such men were. They exchanged information, favors, influence. The good opinion of one could lead to a host of opportunities. And a bad opinion would cause them to close ranks without a second thought.
Fuck.
“Right,” Adam said faintly, unable to push past his dread to summon enthusiasm.
Mayhew looked up at him and frowned. “You look pallid,” he observed.
“Just tired. Busy day. Nothing a little sleep won’t help.”
Not that he would get much anytime soon. Adam sat down at a drafting table and picked up a pencil.
Mayhew thumped him on the back. “Don’t stay too late. We need you sharp. It’s all happening, Anderson. Bloody finally.”
Adam nodded and watched Mayhew stride out the door.
As soon as he heard the front door close, he put his head down on the table.
Damnation. Was this a punishment? Was divine justice so swift that an afternoon’s infraction could be met with retribution in a single evening?
But no, he wasn’t being punished. He was merely reaping the consequences of a situation he’d made himself. One could not be the lover of a radical on Monday and the commissioned builder to the Royal Navy on a Tuesday and not expect one to cause problems with the other.
He’d never thought that it was possible to avoid this conflict altogether. He’d just hoped he might avoid it until he’d had his fill.
It was selfish.
He had to stop pretending he could divide his life into separate realms.
On Sunday, he would have to say farewell to Seraphina.
He just didn’t know how he’d find the strength.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Marriage was invented by mankind, but childbearing was invented by God. The custom of damning babies born outside of wedlock and the mothers who bear them is the ill of society, not nature.
—An Essay in Defense of Ruined Women by Seraphina Arden, 1793
* * *
Sera stood stark naked before her dressing table in the bright morning sunlight, inspecting her body like a treasure map for clues.
She’d gained a bit of weight since July, but only enough to make up for what she’d lost before that, when she’d had no appetite. The smell of breakfast wafting from downstairs was making her feel ill, but her queasiness could be from worry. Her breasts were tender, but then, they usually were before her menses.
Which she had not had in ten weeks.
Ten weeks.
She lurched across the room to a chamber pot and was sick.
When she was finished, she did not feel better. She felt exactly like she had when she’d been seventeen, when no amount of retching had soothed her illness.
She sat down on her bed.
Ten weeks could not be the product of a restless imagination. She was with child.
She was carrying Adam Anderson’s child.
She lay flat on the bed.
She wanted to weep.
She wanted to smile.
She wanted to scream—though with joy or terror she could not precisely say.
A child. A baby. Her baby?
It felt foreign to imagine her possessing such a creature. Almost perverse.
So why did she not feel more upset? She pressed her hands over her abdomen and recalled making the same discovery as a girl. She’d been so ashamed. She’d walked around for a week feeling like she was already dead.
But this felt nothing like that.
It was like she was an observer of her own perambulation down the path of fortune and had just watched a heretofore unseen route unfold, opening up a new direction that would take her to a place she could not yet glimpse.
She could see the possibility for heartbreak.
But at the thought of a tiny being awakening inside her, she felt the strangest tug of tenderness. Not fierce, but soft and persistent, like the mewling of a kitten. She wanted to protect it. To make her strong and keep her safe.
She took a deep breath. Very well then.
She would. By God, she simply would.
To bear and raise a child out of wedlock was within her capabilities. She would give her baby her name and raise her to know that she was wanted and loved as much as any child. She would show women that this was their right, that they needn’t be ashamed of the rhythms of nature they were part of, whatever their circumstances.