I've been prompted to write a follow-on from this story, hence posting it all as the same story, where Grace has made a very particular miscalculation.
Part 2
"Roland," she told him quietly, her eyes fixed away from him, watching the corner of the room, to which the light from the oil lamp at their bedside had not quite spread, "We were wrong about something."
"What?" he asked.
He was behind her, she sat between his legs in her nightdress as he plaited her hair for her. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement; even as a child, she had never had a great deal of patience for self-adornment of any kind and he liked the sight and the feeling of her long hair under his fingers.
He was so totally oblivious- what else could he have been- that it almost pained her to shatter his innocence.
"When we thought that there couldn't be a child," she told him.
She felt his fingers still gently against her back. She half-turned, craning her neck to look at him, almost relieved when it was only shock she found in his face.
"There can," she supplied, needlessly, "There will."
Still he said nothing.
"Roland," she told him, turning fully, taking his motionless hand in hers, "I'm so sorry. I thought I couldn't I-..."
"It isn't your fault," he told her swiftly, "It's no more your fault than it is mine."
"How far are you?" he asked, at last, "Do you have anyway of knowing when-..."
"I'm a little way, I think," she told him, "And it hasn't been long since we first-..." she looked at him straight in the eye, "It must have happened on almost the first time."
His eyes flashed in pain and regret, and she latched onto the thought he must have had; a child conceived upon the death of its sibling. But then she saw a look closer to remorse in his eyes.
"Oh, Grace," he murmured, "Grace-..."
"Don't apologise to me," she told him almost sternly.
He bowed his head nonetheless.
"I should have made sure this didn't happen to you, that you didn't have to-... again," his voice choked a little, and he fell silent.
"Roland," she asked him softly, after a moment, her hand softly covering his, "What are you thinking?"
"I wish you could have had this with the man you'd chosen," he told her softly.
"What good would that have done?" she asked him harshly, "He's dead. And then I chose you, Roland. There are plenty of broken men around here I could have given myself to," he hand tightened over his, she was almost used to it now, the need to reaffirm, once in a while, without using the words directly, that she loved him, "I chose you."
He looked up at her.
"I'm sorry, Grace," he told her, "You must find me so selfish." There was a pause, "What do you want me to do?"
She gave a small breath of relief. She would much rather concern herself with the practicalities, rather than things that could not be altered.
"I don't know," she replied truthfully, "I'm not expecting you to provide for me or the child. I'm not expecting anything to be any different to what we've discussed before."
"What if I want to provide for you?" he asked, "I know you don't expect me to, and it pains me to say that I'm sure you wouldn't be the only unfortunate woman in similar positions to go uncared for, but it's you and-... how am I supposed to do anything else?"
She frowned a touch.
"It seems so hard to your wife," she replied honestly, "To lose a son and a husband."
"She lost me long ago," he replied, "We both know it's true."
He took hold of her hand properly, slipping their fingers together and squeezing it firmly. She squeezed back, half-smiling.
"Can I?" he asked, reaching his hand out to touch her stomach.
"Of course," she replied.
He touched her gently, his hand warm through her nightdress. She smiled at his ill-disguised confusion.
"You can't feel anything yet," she reassured him, "I'd be more worried if you could."
"What will you do when you begin to show?" he asked her.
"I have no idea," she replied truthfully.
There was a silence.
"They will send me home," she pointed out, and then, smiling a little bitterly, "It will fall to your lot to send me home. It would happen to any other woman, why should I be made exceptions for?"
"Grace," he told her, "Don't say that. How am I supposed to live without you, let alone order you away?"
She blinked sadly and said nothing for a moment.
"There is a chance I won't carry to term," she told him, "It has proved a challenge for me in the past."
He breathed harshly, looking away from her. She watched his face carefully, trying to discern what he was thinking. But before she could ask him his hands were on her and he pulled her firmly towards him, embracing her tightly.
"Do you have any idea how painful that thought is to me?" he asked her, "That I would put you through that again? Do you know what it means to me to know that you are carrying a piece of me, a piece of us, inside you?"
"Yes," she breathed quietly against his skin, "I think I do."
He pressed his hand carefully between their bodies, covering her stomach again.
"Do you have any idea how much I want to have a child with you, Grace?" he asked her, kissing her softly, trailing kisses down her jaw, burying his face in the crook of her neck, "How I've loved you."
Her hand held the back of his head gently, her other arm brushing gently up and down his back. She kissed his face tenderly.
"Roland," she whispered, "I'm scared."
He looked up, taking in her face, caressing her cheeks with both of his hands.
"Why do love and fear always come hand in hand?" she asked him quietly.
He sighed heavily; he had no answer. He simply met her sad look, her kiss.
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