The Golden Cross (54 page)

Today she would tell him about Dekker, about Orabel’s death, about her parents, about Lili’s desperate bid to survive in Batavia. And she would tell the truth—she had never been a harlot, but she had picked more pockets than she could count, and she had served a term or two in the public workhouse. She had lived and consorted with harlots, beggars, and other ne’er-do-wells, yet she had never considered herself one of them—well, she had never wanted to
remain
one of them.

And if he hated her, she would let him go. With a broken heart, she would take her inheritance from Van Dyck and return to England. Dekker would no longer have power over her. She could slip away, shedding the past in order to find a place where her heart could heal—

No!

Sickness and desolation swept over her at the very thought of living apart from Sterling. Wherever she went, every man would
remind her of him in some way, though no other man could begin to fill his place in her heart.

She pressed her hand to her forehead, feeling a wretchedness of mind she’d never known before. If Sterling could not love her, she would throw herself overboard, leaving him alone with his cherished ideals and false conceptions. Her misery, like a steel weight inside her heart, would pull her to the bottom of the sea. If she were dead, she’d no longer have to worry about Witt Dekker or feel her heart breaking every time she looked at the man she adored.

No, beloved. Think not of death but of life
.

The Voice shook her to the core. Heer Van Dyck had occasionally spoken of hearing God’s voice, but Aidan had never expected to hear and feel it herself. Hot tears rolled down her face, tears of loss and fear, and it was then that Sterling opened the door.

“Aidan!” His face contorted into an expression of alarm when he saw her tears. “What is wrong? Has anyone—”

“No,” she whispered. She clutched her cramping stomach. “But I need to talk to you—oh!”

Without warning, she gagged. Sterling guided her to the chamber pot by the bed, holding her head steady while she vomited. When her empty stomach had heaved its paltry contents into the basin, she stood motionless, gasping for breath, as fresh tears stung her eyes. Now he
knew
something was wrong. She could no longer hide her fears behind a false smile, and she could not postpone this confrontation. Her own body had betrayed her, leaving her soiled and smelly, an object of disgust and revulsion. But no matter. He would undoubtedly feel the same way when he discovered what she had been before Heer Van Dyck pulled her off the street.

“Aidan, darling!” He took her into his arms and pressed her head to his shoulder as she broke down and sobbed. This would be the last time he held her, for even now he was deluded.

“Sterling—”

“There now.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the dampness from her fingers and lips. “Did you eat something distasteful? Was the fish at breakfast undercooked?”

“I didn’t eat breakfast.” She closed her eyes as his hand pushed her sweat-soaked hair from her forehead. “Sterling, I need to talk to you. About something important.”

“All right, but you can talk sitting down.” He lowered himself to his bunk, then pulled her into his lap. She allowed herself to remain there, wiping the last tears from her eyes. She needed to have all her wits about her, she wanted to be clear-eyed and strong when she told him the truth.

“Aidan—” His voice was softer now, and thoughtful. “You fainted the other day.” His clear blue eyes shone up at her. “How many times in the last week have you vomited?”

She flushed miserably. She had tried to hide her distress from him, but ever since Dekker’s visit she hadn’t been able to think straight, let alone hold down a decent meal.

“I—I can’t remember.”

His eyes grew large and liquid, and his hand tightened on her shoulder. “Aidan, my love, I know it’s hard to keep track of time aboard a ship, but think—when was the last time you bled?”

Her face burned with sudden humiliation as her mind exploded in sharp awareness. Heaven above, she hadn’t even considered the possibility! Lili’s girls had explained certain things she could do to avoid an inconvenient or ill-advised pregnancy, but she’d never thought to implement any of those procedures with Sterling.

“Faith, Aidan, I am a physician!” Sterling’s eyes were bright with speculation and a muscle quivered at his jaw. “Do not be coy or modest now, but tell me! When was the last time?”

“Four months ago, I think,” she whispered. “Before we landed at the Friendly Islands.”

For a brief instant his face seemed to open, and Aidan watched
her words take hold. She saw his surprise, a quick flicker of fear, and then joy unlike anything she had ever seen on another human face. Then his arms closed around her.

“Aidan, my love,” he whispered reverently, “you are carrying our child.”

She sat frozen as Sterling buried his face in her neck. She felt his tears upon her flesh and the subterranean quiver that passed through him. Over his shoulder, she lifted her gaze and stared at a knothole in the wall. Her plan to tell him the truth had just been completely scuttled.

The late-morning sun was warm, burnishing the objects in the cabin with May’s golden glow as it streamed through the porthole. Sterling lay stretched out on the bunk with Aidan crowded in next to him.

After he explained the significance of her physical symptoms, she had worn herself out with weeping and now lay in his arms. She had not spoken or moved in the last hour, and Sterling hoped she slept.

He had been scared silly by the frightened look on her face and terrified by her tears. But this was not sad news—it was wonderful! He had barred the door and lay down to comfort her, and he wouldn’t have minded staying in that position throughout the rest of the day and night. Anything to be of service to his wife and child. He didn’t mind being Aidan’s pillow, and he would talk all night if the sound of his voice comforted her. He would quietly fill her dreams with joyful plans for their child in order to take her mind off the discomforts of early pregnancy.

“Of course, if it’s a girl, I won’t be disappointed,” he said, keeping his voice low. He didn’t want to wake her if she dozed, and he wasn’t ready to share this news with the entire ship. He knew the first months of a woman’s pregnancy were crucial; Aidan had to be protected and sheltered even when the baby had not yet shown itself. And so he would protect his wife, even if it meant holding her on his lap until they reached Batavia.

“I wish you could see what the baby looks like now,” he went on, a blush of pleasure rising on his face as he remembered what he had learned in medical school. “’It’s a tiny thing, small enough to fit into the palm of your hand, but you’d be able to see all his tiny parts. Fingers, toes, a wee chin, a tiny pert nose—like yours.” He gently, tenderly lowered his hand to the gentle swell of her abdomen. “Soon you’ll be able to feel the baby moving inside you. They say it feels like a gentle butterfly fluttering, at first.”

A breeze gusted in through the porthole, stirring Aidan’s hair. “What if it’s a lovely red-haired girl?” Sterling propped himself on one elbow and ran his hand over Aidan’s gleaming tresses, thick and glossy and full of fire. “I’d like a girl, you know. Or a boy. Or both, if you’re thinking of twins. And I’ll try to be a good father. Of course, you’re so genteel and fine I know you’ll be a wonderful mother, but I’m from sturdier stock—I might have to mend my manners a bit. But you won’t catch me saying anything that would be bad for the baby to pick up. I promise you that, Aidan. I’d promise you the world, if you wanted it.”

Loose curls softened her oval face, coppery in the waning light—except for that one strand of white at her temple. He lightly ran his palm over her hair, but she didn’t move. Good. She slept soundly. She needed to rest now, and anyone who tried to disturb her would regret it. With wonder he gazed down at her features, where delicacy combined with strength—the fragility of a lady blended with the fervor of a girl bold enough to follow her dreams.

“We’ll stay in Batavia until after the baby is born,” he whispered. “No woman should have to endure a sea crossing when she’s with child. And then we’ll announce the birth in church, and let all the fine citizens of Batavia come to pay their respects.”

He grinned, imagining Dr. Lang Carstens bowing before the cradle. That cranky doctor would change his tune when he realized that Sterling Thorne had married into the snobby society he served.

“I suppose there will be a bit of scrapping over who will be the
first to visit our child, him being so highly regarded and all. Governor Van Diemen will visit, of course, because we have him to thank for bringing us together.” He chuckled at the thought of the portly governor’s part in the baby’s conception. “Perhaps we should name the baby—if it’s a boy, of course—Anthony, after the governor?” He smiled down at his sleeping bride’s face. “What do you think, love? Anthony Thorne? It has a certain noble ring to it, I think. In any case, we’ll invite the governor to the christening—”

Aidan stirred. Her long lashes fluttered for a moment, then her eyes opened.

“Did I wake you?” he asked, feeling slightly giddy and very foolish.

Her vivid green eyes had a distant stillness to them. “No.” She lifted her hand to touch his face, and he caught her hand and pressed her fingertips to his lips.

“We will be home in Batavia soon, my love,” he whispered. “And it’s a good thing, for soon we will not both fit on this narrow bunk.”

She gave him a wavering smile, then broke into sobs. He drew her close and held her. It would pass, he was sure. Unaccountable mood swings were nothing unusual when women were in the family way.

The next morning, Aidan lay as still as a log until Sterling had risen, dressed, and gone out on deck. She had insisted that he go to breakfast without her, and he had seemed to understand. What she really wanted was privacy, time to confront her own feelings, to make her own decisions. It was good that she had only one blank canvas left. If she had the luxury of an endless supply, she’d probably surrender to the temptation to paint what she was feeling, creating a succession of storm scenes and blood-red sunsets.

Thoughts of the sun drew her eye to the porthole, and Aidan did a double take when the bright redness of sky and sea caught her eye. “Red sky at morning, sailors take warning,” she murmured,
and she drew nearer to the window, expecting to see rough water or angry clouds outside. But nothing seemed amiss, unless trouble stirred beneath the waves.

She smoothed the deep wrinkles from her shirt, then pulled on her stockings and tied on her garters. She wriggled into her bodice, then slipped her skirt over her head. As she struggled to tie the laces at the waistband, she abruptly realized that certain alterations would be necessary if they didn’t reach Batavia within a few weeks. The skirt was easily adjustable, but the two bodices were snug and would be gaping within a few weeks. If the winds did not blow them steadily home, she’d be using her needle and thread on more than canvas before long.

She knotted the laces at her waist, then quickly pinned the green silk sleeves to the bodice. Last night she would have enjoyed using those pins upon Sterling’s lips—she’d have done anything to stop him from prattling on about his dreams for their child! But what could she say? She couldn’t tell him the truth now. His child would be great and noble and esteemed because it sprang from his lineage. How could she tell him that her contributions to the family tree included a procuress and a poor Irish cooper? And while it was well and good that the child’s father would be an esteemed doctor, the baby’s mother was a one-time pickpocket.

Aidan sank back to the bed, suddenly enervated. She had no choice but to go forward. She couldn’t throw herself into the sea; the baby deserved to live. And though she truly believed God wanted her to tell Sterling the truth, the Almighty had unexpectedly brought another powerful force into the situation. If she told Sterling everything and used the baby as her security, after his initial horror and his subsequent disgust, Sterling would insist upon remaining with her for the child’s sake. Always dutiful, he would love the baby and despise its mother—and Aidan didn’t think she could endure even the shadow of his hatred.