Anyway, this news should serve to divert his thoughts from his present obsession. It would give him something else to worry about, something much easier for her to handle.

She'd have to pick her moment to tell him. And soon. She touched her belly again, and the sweet hope became a certainty. There was no need to wait for further signs. She knew that Nathaniel's seed had been well planted.

Ellie reappeared with tea. "A little dry toast often 'elps in the morning, m'lady," the maid observed. "So I took the liberty of bringin' a piece. It worked a treat for me mam when she was 'avin' our Martha."

"I can see I'm going to be relying on your experience, Ellie," Gabrielle said, nibbling the toast. She took a sip of tea. "So far so good."

"Other best thing is rose hip tea, Mam always says." Ellie poked the fire and threw kindling on the sparking embers. '"What gown will you be wearing this morning, m'lady?"

"Oh, a riding habit, please. I'm engaged to ride in the park." Gabrielle threw aside the covers and stood up. No nausea. Tea and dry toast in the morning from now on.

Nathaniel was in the breakfast parlor when she went downstairs. He looked up without smiling from the Gazette as she entered.

"Good morning. I trust you slept well."

"Not particularly," Gabrielle said, finding no desire to smile herself in the face of this patent unfriendliness. "How about you?"

"All right, I suppose." He resumed his reading.

The shadows under his eyes told another story, Gabrielle reflected, surveying the chafing dishes on the sideboard with an unconscious moue of distaste. Nothing appealed. A dull nausea had settled in her belly. She glanced across at Nathaniel and decided this was not the moment to share her news.

She sat down and took a piece of toast, buttering it lightly before cutting it into thin strips. Idly, she dipped the finger of toast into her tea and ate it with relish.

"What on earth are you doing?" Nathaniel stared in disbelief.

"What?" Startled, she looked up in the act of dunking another finger. "Oh." She looked at the piece of toast with some surprise. "I don't know, it just seemed like a good idea. And it tastes lovely."

"It's disgusting," Nathaniel declared. "Pure slop. Anyone would think you hadn't got any teeth."

"Well, I'm sorry if it offends you. but-"

Her words were cut off by the violent shattering of glass as something flew through the long window and crashed against the far wall.

"What the hell!" Nathaniel sprang to his feet as the cricket ball rolled beneath the sideboard. "That's the second window in three days! I told him he was not to play anywhere near the house!"

Gabrielle rose from her chair. "Easy now, Nathaniel," she cautioned swiftly. "It's only a window."

But if Nathaniel heard her, he made no acknowledgment. He flung open the window. "Jake! Come in here at once."

A stricken Jake appeared at the breakfast room door a couple of minutes later. "I b-beg pardon, sir," he said. "I was practicing bowling overarm, and it sort of slipped."

"What did I tell you the last time?" Nathaniel demanded furiously, towering over the child.

Jake looked in anguished appeal toward Gabrielle, who could tell that he was about to run to her. She realized that this was one occasion when no one would benefit from her intervention; any such action would only exacerbate his father's anger. Deliberately, she turned aside, picking up the discarded newspaper.

"Well?" Nathaniel demanded when Jake stood, tongue-tied.

Two large tears trickled down Jake's cheeks, and he snuffled miserably. "I was waitin' for Primmy to take me to the square garden to play," he offered with a gulp. "It was only one throw."

"I will not tolerate disobedience," his father stated. "You may spend the rest of the day in the schoolroom, and there will be no visits to the garden for the rest of the week."

Jake's eyes widened in horrified dismay. "But, Papa-"

"Did you hear what I said?" Nathaniel thundered.

Jake turned and fled upstairs.

"Oh, Nathaniel," Gabrielle said in soft protest. "He was to go to Astley's this afternoon with the Bedford children. He's talked of nothing else for days."

It was clear from Nathaniel's expression that he'd forgotten this. But he only said curtly, "Then it's to be hoped he'll learn the lesson well." He returned to his unfinished breakfast.

Gabrielle sat in frowning silence for a minute. If it weren't for the trip to Astley's, it didn't qualify as a particularly severe sentence, but Jake was such a sensitive child that a mild rebuke was usually enough to ensure penitence.

After a minute she said, "Couldn't you reconsider, Nathaniel? If he believes he's going to be denied the treat for the next three hours, it'll be sufficient punishment. You know how tractable he usually is."

Nathaniel raised his eyes from his plate, and a chill ran down her spine. He was looking at her as if he didn't know her.

"Jake's my son," he said coldly. "This isn't your business."

Gabrielle felt winded, as if someone had punched her in the stomach. How could he say such a thing? In all essentials Jake was as much her child as Nathaniel's. It was one of their greatest shared joys, one of the inextricable ties that joined them.

It felt as if he was cutting those ties.

Without a word she pushed back her chair and left the room.

Nathaniel dropped his head into his hands under a wash of misery. He couldn't go on like this. Either he confronted her with his suspicions, or he put them from him. But he seemed to be in the grip of some satanic influence that forced him to cut and wound with every breath as if such inflictions could lessen his own pain. Instead, they increased it.

Perhaps if he went away, took some time, put some distance between them, then things would fall into place. He wouldgo to Lisbon. There was a job to be done there, one he could do better than anyone. It would distract him. And when he came back, perhaps he'd have an answer to this horrendous dilemma.

He spent the morning making the necessary arrangements and returned to the house at noon, after a meeting with the prime minister. The house seemed very quiet, unpleasantly quiet.

"Is her ladyship in?"

"I believe so, my lord." Bartram took his hat and cane. "I understand she's having nuncheon with Master Jake in the schoolroom."

"I see. Has the glazier fixed the breakfast room window yet?"

"Yes, my lord." Bartram coughed. "It was a capital throw, my lord. Very good form. I saw it from the landing window. He'll make a first class bowler one of these days, if you don't mind me sayin' so."

Bartram's expression was wooden, except that he had a twinkle in his eye.

"He's going to have to learn to aim better first," Nathaniel observed, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice. The prospect of action had gone some way toward restoring his equilibrium.

He mounted the stairs to the third floor, pausing outside the schoolroom door. Gabrielle's cheerful voice reached him through the oak, but there was no sound from his son.

He opened the door. Gabrielle and Jake were sitting at the table in the firelit room. They turned and regarded him in wary silence. Nathaniel felt like an ogre. It was as bad as the days before Gabrielle.

Jake's eyes were red and swollen, Gabrielle's gaze was unreadable, but he knew that she was both hurt and angry.

"Jake, you may go with the Bedfords," he said.

The child leaped to his feet with a delighted cry, his wan countenance transformed. He ran to Nathaniel and flung his arms around his waist, hugging him.

"Hey." Nathaniel caught the small, round chin, tilting it up. "It had better not happen again, do you hear?"

"Oh, yes." Jake nodded solemnly, but he couldn't help the grin that immediately split his face. "Thank you… you're… you're the best papa in the whole wide world!"