“It is probably a migraine.” Mr. Anderson's pointy nose scrunched up forming two deep lines across his forehead as he stared down at Bianca. “Perhaps you must try as much as possible not to exert yourself?” He rose a bushy brow.

Nodding, Bianca sat upright and rubbed her forehead. “Perhaps.”

Race frowned. “Will she be alright?”

Bianca had woken up that morning complaining of yet another headache. Although he was thankful she hadn't fainted like the last time, he was worried.

Mr. Anderson turned to him, the frown on his face disappearing. “She will, if she rests more often. I shall of course show up here to carry out some more exams.”

Releasing a breath, Race leaned down over her, and placed his hand on her damp forehead. Her skin was cold, but it did not make him feel the least bit relieved about her health. It didn't take away his anxiety over her recent bouts of headaches and dizziness.

He shifted his hand to her cheek and down to her neck, checking for signs of a fever; there was none.

He straightened. “Perhaps there is something she can be given to ease her headaches?” He turned back to the physician who turned briefly to stare at her, before turning his attention back to Race.

“Some laudanum, but it shall cause her to sleep most of the time.”

“I do not wish to lie flat on my back all day, confined to a bed.” Bianca called from her position on the bed, but Race did not turn to acknowledge her. He knew she was stubborn, and would most likely disobey the physician's instructions, but as much as it was within his ability, he was going to force her to lie on her back the entire day.

“I must leave now.” Mr. Anderson picked up his bag from the foot of the bed.

Race stretched his hand for a handshake. “Thank you so much.” The older man took his hand, but rather than just a handshake, he pulled Race into an embrace.

Momentarily confused, he stood stiff for a few seconds.

“I shall await your presence in the drawing room, Mr. Belington. We must speak in private. Wait a few more minutes, and then follow me.” He whispered quickly into Race's ear, before releasing his hold on him, and walking away.

Race stared after him for a few seconds, slightly confused. Obviously, the physician wanted to discuss something with him in private without Bianca catching a wind of it. Still, he was confused about what it was he wanted to discuss. Was Bianca terribly sick? Or did he want to discuss something else?

Curious, he turned to Bianca —rather than make his way out of the room immediately, for he remembered the instruction to wait for a little while— and sat on the edge of her bed.

He took her hand. “Feeling any better?”

She nodded. “Perhaps I need to sleep for a little while longer.”

“Of course. I shall also inform Camden of our inability to attend the dinner he's having tonight.”

“But why not?” She frowned.

“Because Mr. Anderson was quite clear about his instruction to have you rested.”

“He didn't say I must never attend social gatherings. Besides, didn't you say part of the reason Camden was having the dinner was to meet with some of the Lords my father owed?” She waited for him to nod to her words. “Good, then I shall like to be present. It will be best if we are both present, Race.” She said, seeing the look of reluctance in his eyes. “Camden is trying to help and has gone through all this trouble to do so, we must not disrespect him by neglecting to attend.”

“And I must not permit you be under that much pressure.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “I'm going.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but quickly closed it once more. She was right about Camden's effort in trying to help him settle the debts. She was also right about not disrespecting him by choosing not to attend the dinner thrown solely to help him. Still, he was reluctant to put Bianca's health at risk like that. He however knew she would not relent.

Sighing, he leaned down and kissed her damp forehead. “Would you like a bath, or shall I open the windows?” He wiped the sweat off her forehead with a handkerchief he had extracted from his trousers pocket. Once done, he shoved it back in.

“I shall have a maid make me one once I'm awake,” She slid down until her head was settling on the pillow. “For now, open the windows, will you.”

“Of course.” He kissed her head once more, before turning to open the windows.

As he began making his way to the door, the sound of her soft snores reached him. Gently, he closed the door behind him, and walked through the hallways and down the stairs with anxiety building up in his heart. He wondered about the physician, mentally preparing himself for some bad news.

He reached the drawing room and found the physician seated on a comfortable settee.

“Mr. Belington.” He rose to his feet.

“Mr. Anderson.” He waved him off, bored with etiquettes and its requirement that a gentleman rises to his feet at the entrance of another gentleman, or lady. “You wanted to speak to me?” He asked, still standing and neglecting to offer Mr. Anderson a seat.

He nodded. “It is about your wife's migraines.”

“Then they are just that; migraines? Nothing more?”

“I hope so. It however seems to be as a result of a blow to the head. Perhaps from the...” He ran his tongue over his lower lip, his head bowing slightly.

Race immediately knew what he meant, and a deep frown claimed his face.

“...incident.” He finished after a while.

“Alright.” He spoke out of tight lips, an odd mixture of anger and shame washing over him at the memory.

“Does she know yet?”

He clenched his fists. “She doesn't need to know.”

“It is odd, Mr. Belington.”

Unsure of his ability to remain standing, he forced his feet forward and settled on a seat. “What is?”

Mr. Anderson remained standing. Race wasn't exactly sure if it was as a result of his neglect to offer the man a seat, or simply because he was more comfortable standing. “Her inability to remember. She might be suppressing the memory. Perhaps if you told her? Perhaps then she will remember?”

“I do not wish to tell my wife that she was raped, Mr. Anderson. And if you were in my shoes? Perhaps your wife shall receive the news with open arms?”

Silence.

Mr. Anderson shuffled his feet for several seconds as Race sat watching him.

“Very well. I must leave now.”

He didn't speak, for he couldn't. There was nothing he could say past the lump that was now constricting his lungs, and the anger that was boiling in his veins. If only he could see the sick bastard that did that to Bianca! If only he could lay his hands on him!

But he couldn't. He could do nothing but seethe in anger and misery.

*

“I should not have defied Race.” Bianca apologized as Lady Beatrice placed a blanket over her.

She giggled, straightening. “Any excuse to get away from that atrocious gathering would have been good enough for me. Those vile men still look down their crooked nose on me. Besides, you are my sister-in-law, are you not? Then you're welcome to stay for as long as you please, I could use the company.”

She sighed, Lady Beatrice's words barely doing anything to abate her embarrassment for having to rush out of the dinner Camden was throwing. They had been in the drawing room, and she had only had one glass of champagne, when she all of a sudden felt light headed and needed to lie down. Race had offered to take her home, but she had shoved his hand aside, insisting she only needed a few minutes of rest in a guest room. She knew she needed more than a few minutes, but she could not admit that to Race for she feared he would take her home just when Camden was in the middle of getting a lord to cancel a huge debt her father owed.

It turned out that Lord Stubbs was a sucker for cards, and while he was a good player, Camden was an even better one. They had played a few games —with nothing but their prides on the line— and Camden had won. By the third round —with Lord Stubbs angry about his many losses to Camden, and certainly drunk on win— Camden tried to bring the game to an end, but Lord Stubbs would have none of it. Bianca knew by the brightness in Camden's eyes —even if he tried to hide it— that Lord Stubbs had successfully been pushed into a corner, and ultimately, into Camden's trap.

“Very well, but I shall only play for money this time.” Camden said matter-of-fact.

“How much?” Lord Stubbs chubby cheeks seemed even chubbier by the angry frown on his face. He obviously could not stand to be disgraced before his peers.

“Sixty thousand pounds.”

“That is ridiculous!” He pounded his fist on the table.

Camden rose to his feet. “Then we shall not play. I must say, Lord Stubbs, I admire your courage to admit defeat.”

“Defeat?!” The older man called after Camden's retreating back.

He paused halfway through the room and turned around. “Wasn't that what that was, defeat? Your unwillingness to play another round for fear of losing such a meager sum, certainly must be interpreted as an admission of defeat.”

That was all it had taken for Camden to get the older gentleman to agree to another round of cards. Bianca wondered if that was how her father had lost their family's fortune; gambling.

They were in the middle of the game when she suddenly felt like lying down.

“If you fall asleep, then I shall insist Mr. Belington allows your continued stay here for at least tonight. Do feel comfortable.” Lady Beatrice smiled, before turning around and making her way out of the room.

Bianca watched her large form disappear through the door, before heaving a breath, feeling a slight stab of jealousy in her heart; if her child had lived, then she would be holding it in her arms right now, or perhaps even spotting a larger form like Lady Beatrice. For a second, she wondered if pregnancy would look as good on her as it did on Lady Beatrice. Would her skin glow, and her eyes radiate joy? Would her form expand with the growing seed within her, or would she remain rather thin but with a bulging stomach?

Lady Beatrice carried her pregnancy well. Rather than just a bulging stomach, her entire form had enlarged with her stomach, making it almost impossible to tell she was pregnant. She smiled more often that Bianca remembered, and her skin glowed with life.

Pressing her eyelids shut in a bid to fight her headache, and perhaps even rid her mind of the envious thoughts directed at Lady Beatrice, she drifted to sleep.

“Lady Bianca."

She moaned, turning over to her side.

Something brushed her cheek —a man's hand. She could tell by the largeness of it that it belonged to a man. Race perhaps?

She leaned against his palm. “Just a little more time to rest, Race,” She murmured. “Lady Beatrice said you mustn't disturb.”

He cupped her cheek, and she moaned. Soon, warmth was claiming her lips, even as the faint scent of an unfamiliar cologne drifted into her nostrils.

Frowning slightly, she wondered about the cologne. It was unusual, and certainly different. Race usually smelled of the soil and hay, even if he hadn't worked on the farm for several months. Perhaps the smell had somehow embedded itself in her memory, and while in truth he might no longer smell like that, to her, he still did?

She found the cologne odd, but responded to his kiss nonetheless. He buried his tongue in her mouth, as his lips devoured hers in hunger, and his hands claimed her waist.

She tired to speak, but couldn't, for his kisses —which she now found odd and uncomfortable— silenced her.

“Rac—” She was saying, when his hold around her lips slackened a little.

They shouldn't be doing this, not here anyway, in the home of his brother and while there were guests down the stairs. Surely Race knew to exercise a little discretion?!

She was about to remind him of where they were, when a loud crashing sound caught her attention, and he released his hold on her.

Her eyelids snapped open, her eyes immediately coming to rest on the wide eyes of a woman she recognized from her black uniform to be a maid.

She opened her mouth to address her, slightly embarrassed, when Lady Beatrice appeared at the door. She stood frozen for several seconds, her eyes darting back and forth Bianca and Race —who she assumed stood beside her bed.

A deep frown settled on her face as she turned her attention to Race. “Who are you?!”

She frowned, confused by Lady Beatrice's question. What did she mean...

Her lips fell open the second she turned to the side and caught sight of the person standing by the bedside; a man she knew very well was not her husband.