Free Palace Circle by Rebecca Dean

for within days of war being declared he was off to his home county in order to volunteer with the North Somerset Mounted Infantry.
    Morning sickness, coupled with Ivor's long absences, brought her social life almost to a halt. She lunched occasionally with Margot Asquith, who was a great admirer of Sir John French, the leader of the British Expeditionary Force. “With Sir John in command it will be over in six weeks,” Margot said to her cheerfully the day after the Expeditionary Force sailed. “Pray God it is, Delia, for I have four stepsons of military age and two of them are married with children.”
    Two weeks later came the shocking news that after engaging the enemy at Mons, Sir John's army had suffered a massive defeat and was in retreat.
    “So much for the war being over by Christmas,” Gwen said with rare waspishness. “Thank goodness Ivor is too important to be called up.”
    By the end of August there was another huge defeat to come to grips with when Russian troops were routed on the eastern front in a battle at Tannenberg.
    Heavily pregnant and unable to bear either the sight of the ever-growing casualty lists or the company of her anxious older friends who had sons of recruitment age, Delia left Cadogan Square for Shibden Hall.
    She wrote to Jerome, who was still in Somerset.
    At least it is quiet here, so quiet it is almost impossible to believe that a few miles away such terrible carnage is taking place. If only America would come and help England then perhaps the war really would be over in a few short months. How I wish you were here with me, enjoying the incredibly beautiful weather and the amazing sunsets instead of preparing to leave for heaven knows what horrors in France. I just pray that a miracle will happen and that you won't have to go.
    Even as she wrote the last words she knew Jerome would not agree. Every letter showed only too plainly how much he was itching to see action.
    By the end of September the prime minister had called for another 500,000 men to enlist.
    “How long does Winston think it will continue?” Delia asked when Clementine telephoned, only to be told that the first lord of the admiralty's opinion was that it would go on for a very long time.
    In the first week of October Ivor drove to Shibden, insisting that as Delia was now only a month or so from giving birth itwas high time she returned to Cadogan Square. “You can't run the risk of going into labor here and having the local doctor attend you,” he said bluntly. “You need to be within reach of your gynecologist. Apart from which,” he said, looking more tired and tense than she had ever seen him, “I have news which I hope you are going to take in your stride.”
    Her heart almost ceased to beat as she thought of all the young men they knew who were in France. “Who has been killed?” she asked fearfully. “One of the prime minister's sons? The Denbys’ elder boy?”
    “No. It's not that sort of news. I'm sorry for alarming you, Delia.” He poured himself a whiskey and soda. “I have to go to America. Needless to say, it's the very last thing I want to do so close to the baby's birth, but I'm going as a member of the Privy Council and I can't possibly cry off. I'm sorry.”
    She waited for a feeling of intense disappointment, but it didn't come. Since she had become pregnant, all lovemaking between them had ceased and he had spent far more time away from her than with her.
    “It don't matter,” she said, and for once he didn't criticize her slang. “I will have Gwen with me when the pains start.”
    “Well, I wouldn't be with you then anyway,” he said. “Men only get in the way at a time like that. I would have liked to see our son within minutes of his arrival, though.”
    His disappointment that he wouldn't be able to do so—unless the baby was very late—was so intense she squeezed his hand comfortingly.
    “Don't worry, Ivor. He'll keep.”
    He gave her his attractive down-slanting smile and,