Free The Emperor by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles Page A

immobile, the household had shifted its focus to her bedchamber. The cats had been the first, with their instinct for comfort, to colonize her bed, but gradually everyone gravitated towards it. The servants brought her news or a splinter to be removed, or asked wistfully if there was anything they could do for her; gardeners came to bring her flowers and fruit, stablemen to ask her advice, villagers to have their disputes settled and their problems solved.
    The servant with the tray managed to find room to place it across her knees, and the compression of the bedclothes revealed the huge bulge in front of her. Chetwyn grinned.
    ‘ You look exactly like a little girl dressed up with a pillow, not in the least like a pregnant woman,' he said.
    ‘ I feel exactly like a pregnant woman, thank you,' Lucy said sternly. 'And let me tell you, Chetwyn, I wouldn't do this for anyone else.'
    ‘ I sincerely hope not!' he laughed. 'Let me pour your chocolate for you. Did you sleep well?'
    ‘ No,' she said simply. 'Do you know what I most look forward to, after this baby is born?'
    ‘Going riding,' he said certainly.
    ‘ More even than that – to being able to lie on my front again. As soon as I'm out of bed, I'm going to go and find myself a good patch of grass, and lie down flat on my face for hours and hours and hours.'
    ‘It won't be so very long now,' Chetwyn comforted her.
    ‘ I think it must be an elephant child I'm carrying,' she grumbled, but not unhappily. 'None of those little shirts and dresses Docwra has been labouring over is going to fit. We'll have to wrap it in tablecloths and push it around on a cart.'
    ‘ Fool!' said Chetwyn, examining her breakfast tray critically, and choosing a dried fig to nibble. 'What on earth is that extraordinary-looking mess in that bowl?'
    ‘ Mrs Gordon makes it for me. She calls it brose. It's oatmeal and honey and cream and some other things, I can't remember. It's supposed to ensure the baby will be sweet- tempered. Will you eat some of it for me? I don't like to hurt her feelings by sending it back untouched, but I can't relish anything so sweet first thing in the morning.'
    ‘Not me!' Chetwyn said hastily. 'Give it to the cats.'
    ‘They'd be sick. Try the puppy.’
    Chetwyn obediently put the bowl on the floor, detached the puppy from the shoe and placed it beside it, and   watched as a successful union was achieved between the two. His wife recalled his attention, saying, ‘Chetwyn, why have we no house in Town?'
    ‘ Well, we have, of course. Aylesbury House, in Picca dilly. You must have passed it a hundred times. Why did you think we hadn't?'
    ‘ Because ever since I've known you, you've always stayed with Flora and Charles when you've been in Town. Why did we never stay in Aylesbury House?'
    ‘ It's let out on lease, to the Staplers' Club. It's a horrid great barn of a place, quite suitable for a gentlemen's club, but there was no living in it. Grandfather let it after Grand mother died, and Papa used to rent a house for the Season, if Mama wanted to go up to Town. When he went up on business, he always stayed in an hotel. Why do you ask, anyway?'
    ‘ I've been thinking that after the baby is born, I should like to spend some time in Town. I shall have had enough of rustication for a while, but with poor Flora gone, it would be rather awkward to be staying at Chelmsford House.'
    ‘ Especially if Charles don't invite us,' Chetwyn agreed cheerfully.
    ‘ And we haven't heard a word from him since Christmas. Do you think he's all right?'
    ‘ I imagine so. I expect he's just getting things sorted out. Well, Luce, there's no problem here. We can perfectly well rent a house for the Season, if that's what you want; and if you should happen to see a place that strikes your fancy, we might take it on a long lease.'
    ‘Really? Oh Chetwyn, you are a trump card!’
    Chetwyn grinned. 'We'll have to find a house near to the Park, so that you can drive out every day in your