Free Midnight Pleasures by Eloisa James Page B

Braddon’s tangled speech. “My own mother is not very tolerant.” Although, she thought silently, Mama is not a patch on that old dragon!
    It was when she was curtsying to the second of Braddon’s sisters that Sophie sensed Patrick’s arrival. There was a little flurry of giggles from a group of three young women standing close to the door. Sophie stiffened her back. She would not look around. She smiled pleasantly at the freckled woman before her. Margaret had obviously tried to smooth her hair into a semblance of a chignon, but it looked disheveled, wisps falling around her ears.
    “Lady Sophie,” Margaret almost hissed at her, “how many children do you intend to bear to the head of our family?”
    Sophie drew back, slightly alarmed.
    “Ah, I’m not sure,” she said. Then she added, thinking fast, “We must leave it to God’s will.”
    Margaret’s eyes kindled with approval. “Children are God’s greatest gift, Lady Sophie. And as the head of the family, the Earl of Slaslow must have at least five and possibly six children. One cannot be too certain.” She stood back a little. “Of course, I have seen you dancing and such, but I never considered you in this light before.” Her eyes scanned Sophie’s middle section. Sophie turned her head, looking up at her betrothed questioningly. Braddon avoided her eyes.
    “Your hips look ample,” Margaret pronounced briskly. “Of course, you’ll need to begin producing children as soon as possible. Do you have any idea whether your own mother had some impediment? She seems to have produced only one child, unless you have deceased siblings?” Margaret paused expectantly.
    “Not that I am aware of.”
    Margaret pursed her lips. “We must hope for the best.” A fleeting frown crossed her face. “Your father’s title will become extinct when he dies, Lady Sophie. So I am sure you are aware of the importance of this question.”
    “In fact, the title will pass to my cousin,” Sophie felt bound to answer.
    Margaret curled her lip. “A cousin is not the same as a son , Lady Sophie. I am sure that your father considers his title dead.”
    To Sophie’s mind, her father thought very little about his title. If he’d really wanted a son he would have visited her mother’s bed after the first two months of their marriage, at least according to her mother’s version of events.
    “The important thing,” Margaret continued, “is that you start as soon as possible. You are no longer a young girl, and childbearing is not easy for older women.”
    Sophie started to feel a slow burn in her spine. “I am not yet twenty years old,” she said a bit stiffly. “I feel sure that I can provide his lordship with eight or nine bundles of joy.” She gave Braddon a cloying if slightly wild smile.
    “That is an excellent attitude.” Margaret unbent a trifle, seeing that her brother’s future wife had a bit more substance to her than she had previously thought. “I myself granted my husband his first child a mere nine months after we married, and I pride myself on the fact that seven infants have followed, in almost as many years.”
    “Goodness,” Sophie said faintly.
    A voice broke in, a darkly amused voice. “Lady Sophie could hardly do better than to model herself on you, Mrs. Windcastle. I feel sure that Lady Sophie will be a most, ah, fertile partner for old Braddon here.”
    Braddon cast his old friend an accusing look.
    “Forgive me, forgive me,” Patrick murmured, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Perhaps ‘fertile’ harks too much of the stable.”
    “Not at all.” Margaret Windcastle was unwilling to drop the subject dearest to her heart. “I see no reason why the subject of children does not belong in every lady’s drawing room. Far too many gentlewomen quail at the thought of children—and what happens? Their husbands’ lines die. Their titles expire.” Her voice dropped dramatically: “Imagine if there were no more Earls of Slaslow!”
    Patrick