A/N: thanks for the reviews, people. :)
Chapter 6
A Gentleman's Duty
"Pregnant?" Allen's mouth dropped open.
"Yes," Emily shrugged. "Why are you so surprised?"
"I'm not… bloody hell, Roland! Of course I am surprised, who wouldn't be? Does the captain know at all?"
Emily flinched. Surely Allen had not guessed the father's identity? "Why… why would he need to know?"
"Why? Because you're his second lieutenant, that's why! And surely he wouldn't want to risk your health or that of the baby by expecting you to come along with us and work as though nothing happened!"
Emily began to panic. "Heavens, Allen, do not even talk like that! For one, I am not a hundred percent sure yet that I'm pregnant, and I do not wish to disclose the news to the captain or anyone else before I am completely sure; and even when everyone knows it, I intend to continue working for a while. I'm not a piece of china, I do not break."
"You might not… but the baby might. You surely don't want to lose it… or… do you?"
Emily was taken aback by the mere suggestion. "I'm not like Bri… I'm not a murderous slut, and I most definitely want this child!" she lashed out at him, jumping to her feet. For a second she swayed, still dizzy, but she managed to clutch at the bedpost and pull herself upright, her eyes sending lightning bolts at her crewmate. "It is for Excidium's sake, if you want to know. And I will not listen to insinuations like that, Mr. Allen!"
"Okay, okay, sorry!" the young man held up a placating hand. "Of course you're not like… who did you mention?"
"No one," Emily swallowed hard, furious at herself for almost having divulged Laurence's painful little secret. She was quite sure that no one besides Temeraire, herself and perhaps Tharkay knew the true story of Brianna Johnson, and since Tharkay had departed a few years earlier, now only she and Temeraire were in on the secret. She could not allow some stupid slip of the tongue to give occasion for rumours and possibly open long-healed wounds. If those wounds had healed at all, of which Emily was not entirely convinced.
Allen knitted his eyebrows, but decided not to pry. "Anyway, I suggest if you want to keep the baby a secret for the time being, get dressed quick and join us on the dragon grounds in five minutes, or the captain will surely ask questions."
Emily nodded. "Will you keep it a secret?"
"Yes. I will," the young man sighed. "But only if you promise me not to overwork."
Emily gave his crewmate a grateful smile. "Thanks, Allen. I promise. I need this baby. Excidium needs this baby. Please pass on my deepest apologies to the captain and tell him I shall be down in five minutes. Ten at most."
Still feeling a bit dizzy and nauseous, Emily changed into her suit, pulled on her boots and washed her face. Upon trying to comb her hair before the tiny mirror, she was forced to examine her reflection – her complexion was paler than ever, there were dark shadows under her eyes, but an almost unearthly smile graced her lips. Stupid, stupid Allen, thinking she would in any way endanger the child she had worked and endured so much to have…! For no matter what she had told Allen in order to gain some time before having to tell the whole crew, she was already absolutely sure of her condition. The past few weeks she had only been suspecting it, the calendar a shining beacon of hope, but now, having had her first bout of morning sickness, she no longer had any doubt. Her captain had given her a baby, bless him… if only she could tell him. If only…
Her mirror image wept with joy and despair, pride and shame, and it took Emily several seconds to realise that she too, was crying. Stifling a small laugh, she wiped her tears and ran a hand across her belly. Thank you, Will. Thank you.
oOo
Laurence did not know what to make of Emily's delay – so far she had always been on time for duty, the only occasion he had seen her late from anywhere or anything had been that fateful Sunday service almost seven weeks earlier. Then again, she had had drunk a lot the evening before that, so no wonder she had overslept. Even the weeks following his accident, when Laurence had already been strong enough to attend the Sunday services, Emily always appeared for them on time, surprising her captain – not with being on time, but with appearing at all. On these occasions she had respected his earlier request and sat as far from him as possible, but he could not help but wish that at least once or twice there would be no other vacant place in the church but in 'his' pew, leaving her no other choice but to sit next to him… However, Sunday services were never popular enough not to leave enough vacant places for Emily to choose from.
Laurence had also wondered why his second lieutenant had decided to become a church goer in the first place – surely not because he had once told her he would applaud for her if she did…? He, for one, had been driven to the church by his guilty conscience. Could Emily be in a similar situation? If yes, why? Surely not because she had once, only once, dressed up as a scarlet woman to seduce him?
In spite of himself, Laurence felt an increasing worry for her.
In the weeks of his bed confinement he had had time to think of his less than fatherly feelings towards Emily, and had come to the conclusion that he had done the right thing in keeping his distance. Every time she had come to report to him had been the highlight of his day; he had secretly been waiting for her visits from early morning till finally she arrived in the evening, but when she was there, he could not bring himself to do anything but converse with her politely, and strictly about duty.
In his feverish hours her lovely image wearing the frilly, crème coloured dress had often appeared before his eyes, making him wish he had not turned her down, but as soon as his temperature dropped a bit, he always came to realise that he had taken the only sensible and proper course of action.
Now, even without knowing what had happened to her, he reluctantly admitted to himself that his worries for her were much deeper than his worries had been for any of his earlier lieutenants, Allen's head injury and even Granby's chest wound aboard the Allegiance included.
Laurence shook his head, banishing the disconcerting thoughts from his mind, directing his attention back to the present and Emily's curious absence. She had not drunk a single sip of wine the previous evening, he had been watching her and seen that she had not, therefore she could not be having a hangover. What else could have delayed her then?
"Well, Mr. Allen? Where is Mr. Roland?" he questioned the young man upon his arrival.
"She just… overslept, sir. She asked me to tell you she shall be here in about five minutes. She begs your pardon, but I expect she will do that in person as well, once she gets here."
Heaving a sigh or relief, Laurence nodded and climbed into Temeraire's offered claws to be deposited on the dragon's back.
In less than ten minutes, Emily arrived, her face pale but her eyes shining brighter than ever – perhaps the only time he had seen her so pleased had been when she had received her first silk dress and worn it to the charity party held for the promotion of dragon welfare. Laurence did not know why this particular memory had flashed into his mind, but just a second later the image of the child Emily wearing her elegant little dress was replaced by the adult Emily in her deep-cleavaged, frilly attire that she had worn to the church, and Laurence was forced to look away, willing himself not to blush. Staring at a spot over her head, he spoke up, "I hope you have a good enough excuse for your absence, Mr. Roland. I should not like to withdraw the praise of yesterday evening."
"I felt a bit sick, sir," she replied. Laurence finally chanced a glance at her again, only to see a peculiar smile on her face to match the brightness of her eyes – a smile such as he had never seen her wearing. There was a beatific quality to that smile, something secretive, and something… directed at him. Or was he just imagining things?
"I expect I must have eaten a bit too much of the Yorkshire pudding they gave us for dinner," Emily carried on. "I am truly sorry for having caused any inconvenience."
Laurence inclined his head. "If you have an upset stomach, I hope you do not mind missing today's breakfast, Mr. Roland. We have no time to waste for satisfying the appetites of latecomers."
"Of course I do not mind, sir," Emily said, her chin put out. "I would only throw it back up again, I fear. Better for me to miss it completely."
"Good," Laurence replied, his mouth twitching upon hearing a painful rumble issuing from Emily's stomach. "Aboard, Mr. Roland, if you please."
oOo
The next morning Temeraire spotted Emily wandering around the covert grounds well before breakfast hours, her face paler than the previous morning, her cheeks hollow.
Temeraire sidled closer to the edge of the dragon grounds, as far from the rest of the dragons as possible, and called out to her. Emily, with a slightly confused expression, approached him.
"You look a fright."
"Thanks," she replied with a half-smile.
"I am not joking, you seem to be ill. And how come you are up so early? It is barely past sunrise. Or were you just too afraid to be late for the crew assembly again, and decided to wake up in time, but accidentally woke up too early?"
"No," she shook her head with a chuckle, and Temeraire wondered how the eyes of a girl looking so sick could sparkle like that… he had seen his fellow dragons sick, many of them, and their eyes had completely lost their gleam. "It's just that I am having problems with my stomach again, and it woke me earlier than it should have."
"Did it grumble so nastily that you could not sleep?"
"No, it sent back my dinner so nastily that I could not sleep," she replied, looking too cheerful for someone who had just thrown up.
"Oh. But if you did not get to have breakfast yesterday and even your dinner came back now, then there is nothing left in you, you must be starving!" Temeraire said with dismay. "I surely would be starving in your place if the cow I had for dinner had come back…"
"Pray do not worry about me, I managed to keep my lunch down. At least… I think I have not been reacquainted with that.
A moment of silence followed, then Temeraire asked all of a sudden, "Emily… are you still angry with me?"
"Why would I be?" the girl frowned up at him.
"Because… I think I was too straightforward when we were reading the Odyssey. But you must know that I just wanted the best for you and Laurence. Because I honestly believe you two would be nice together."
Emily let out a sigh. "Do not worry, I am not angry with you."
"Then can we be accomplices again?" Temeraire asked hopefully. "I truly wish to help you win Laurence's heart."
"I fear I have never had a chance to win that," Emily waved dismissively, the spark in her eyes waning. "I never even hoped for that."
"Not even when you asked him to give you an egg?"
"Well," she presented the dragon with a crooked grin, "his heart was not exactly the body part I desired at that time… And even if I should desire it, I am not likely to receive it, ever. He does not love me."
"Excuse me, but I think you are gravely mistaken," Temeraire replied.
"Oh, please," Emily rolled her eyes, "the fact that he has sinful thoughts about me from time to time does not mean that he loves me, even though, believe me, nothing would make me happier." Her shoulders sagged and she shook her head dejectedly. "I have been brought up to be a realist. I have not managed to inherit much from my mother, but this at least I have. And as a realist, I know what it is sensible to hope for, and what isn't. I have been chasing dreams too long, Temeraire," she reached out to stroke his muzzle. "I am fed up with it. My past has been that of a little girl dreaming of her captain… But I have grown up."
"Does that mean," Temeraire said, his ruff drooping, "that you do not wish to pursue Laurence any longer?"
Emily gave him a sad little smile, the spark in her eyes that had almost completely been extinguished, now seemed somewhat brighter again. "I do not need to."
"Why not?" The dragon blinked at her. Humans could be so confusing…
Looking away from him, as though she felt coy all of a sudden, Emily said, "Because I have already received what I wanted."
"Oh," Temeraire gasped, "the egg?"
"Yes. The egg."
For a long moment Temeraire hesitated, trying to digest the information. "Did… did Laurence give you the egg?" he asked finally.
Emily nodded mutely.
"Am I right in thinking that he does not know? Neither that you are having an egg, nor that it was him who gave it to you?"
Two nods from Emily.
"Oh, so I was right about that night after all!" Temeraire exclaimed, only to earn a "Shhh!" from the girl.
"All right, all right, I am sorry, I was just too excited," he said, lowering his voice.
Emily once again gave him a lopsided grin. "You know what the problem is with you? You are way too clever."
"I know."
"And modest too."
With an air of innocence, Temeraire began polishing his breastplate. "So, when will you tell him?"
"Never."
The dragon stared at her with shock. "Why?"
"Because… because he isn't supposed to know."
"But why?" Temeraire pressed. "You must remember how broken he was after that tramp Brianna killed that poor egg of theirs… I am sure he would be delighted to know that someone is going to have an egg from him after all… especially if that someone is you."
"Oh, Temeraire, please!" Emily threw up her hands. "He might be delighted to have given an egg to someone… anyone else, but surely not me, because… because…"
"Because?"
"Because I'm just as much of a tramp as Brianna is!" Emily snapped.
"But you are not, what are you talking about?" Temeraire asked, once again confused by human behaviour.
Emily nervously ran her hands through her sandy locks, her whole body trembling. "I was nymph Calypso, do you understand? I forced myself on him. Surely, he would never forgive me for that… He has not loved me so far, and should he find out, he would not only not love me, he would downright despise me. I do not want that, Temeraire! You must understand that I cannot risk that…"
"Honestly, I do not think Laurence would ever despise you, but… you are right, perhaps we should not risk it," Temeraire said contemplatively. "Laurence has a huge heart, but also a very strong sense of propriety… and he does not condone any kind of deceit." HeTemeraire bent his head on his forelegs, feeling disheartened. He so would have liked to help… "But perhaps… perhaps he would forgive you easier than he would anyone else…"
"Why would he?" she sighed, dropping herself on a rock.
"Because you are you. You may insist that you do not believe he loves you, but you have to admit at least that you mean a lot to him. You must have felt that from an early age on."
"Oh, you mean the forced calculus lessons?" Emily snorted. "He gave those to Dyer too. He made no exceptions with me. He never treated me differently from anyone else."
"But at least he thought differently of you. Why, he told me about a dream in which… oh, but I perhaps should not tell you that…"
"What dream?" Emily's eyes widened.
"Well…" Temeraire began drawing symbols into the dirt, "he told me about a most peculiar dream he had the night after he was shot…" Sending a sideways glance at Emily, he contentedly established that he had managed to pique her interest and also made her blush. "In that dream someone… someone was making love to him. He told me he thought it was you, but he was not sure, and…" he added conspiratorially, "he said it was the sweetest lovemaking he had ever had in a dream, because it was so… innocent."
"Innocent?" she breathed.
"Oh, yes," Temeraire nodded. "Though in all honesty, I cannot imagine how siring could be innocent, at least I have never had it that way… but anyway, he certainly thinks it was just a dream, and I never told him I thought it was not, but the main point is that he thinks his dream with you making love to him was more special than his similar dreams with other women. Therefore, you are special to him, you cannot even debate that." With an air he thought to be peremptory, Temeraire sat up on his haunches. "So, what do you say?"
"Uh… I'm speechless," Emily flushed.
"But will you tell him now?"
"No, I will not," she shook her head. "And I beg you not to tell him either."
"You are no longer my commander," he reminded her in a somewhat caustic tone.
"It was not an order," Emily sighed, "just a request. Surely you do not want to ruin Laurence's life, you do not want him be saddled with someone he does not love…"
"You are talking as though you thought yourself to be a burden."
"Because that is what I would be to him! And I do not want to be! I shall not force myself on a man who does not love me and who has vowed to remain celibate…"
"But you have already done so once…" Temeraire pointed out.
"What he does not know, does not hurt him. And I do not want to hurt him," Emily hung her head. "Listen, Temeraire… I might tell him… someday. Just not yet. Please, let me make this decision myself. It is, after all, about my life. My body. My egg."
With a sigh, Temeraire sank fully back onto his belly, curling his tail around himself. "All right, Emily, but pray, hurry with that decision. I want to see Laurence happy at last!"
Emily replied with an uncertain, jerky nod just as her stomach gave an almighty rumble. "I think the egg is hungry. And so am I. Let us wish my breakfast will stay down this time. I've got to go, Temeraire."
"Bon appétit, Emily. Oh, and Emily…"
"Yes?"
"You have to admit you were extremely lucky. I did not manage to give an egg to any females for over a year, and believe me, I tried to sire at least fifty times. Either you were lucky, or Laurence was very good to give you an egg at only one go…"
Emily raised an eyebrow at him playfully. "Who said it was only one go?"
oOo
Dear Mother,
I am happy to announce that the task is at least partly accomplished. I am nearly two months pregnant, by the time you receive this letter, I might already have given birth. Let us wish for a girl.
Happy New Year!
Love,
Emily
December 30, 1815
Emily stared at the short letter, tears welling up in her eyes. How she longed to tell more, how she longed to write she was expecting Laurence's baby! How she would have liked to pour her heart out to her mother, tell her how deliriously happy and how utterly sad she was feeling at the same time…
But she knew she could not. On the one hand, her mother would not approve of her choice of mate and would probably even insinuate that it had been poor Laurence who seduced her; on the other hand, if her mother found out who the father was, there was no way Laurence would not find out sooner or later, probably from an angry letter sent to him by Jane herself.
Emily wiped her eyes and folded the letter, banishing any temptation that might spur her to add the postscript 'By the way, it is Laurence's', also banishing the thought that sooner or later she would have to tell her captain herself. Tell him, but of course not the fact that he was the father, merely the fact that she was pregnant. She had already noticed him giving her funny glances whenever a bout of sickness had come over her – she could not keep her condition a secret from him much longer. And she already knew what she would tell him if he questioned her about the father's identity. A blatant lie.
Emily hated having to lie, but knew there was no other way. She would protect Laurence's honour – or what was left of it – at any costs. Besides, she knew him enough to be sure that if he ever found out, she could expect two reactions from him: firstly, anger at having been used and lied to, secondly, an instant marriage proposal.
Emily did not wish for either of them. She did not want him to detest her for what she had done but marry her despite his aversion. She had meant it when she told Temeraire that she did not want to be a burden.
With a sigh, Emily sealed the envelope to be sent aboard the Allegiance leaving port in two days.
oOo
Once again, she jumped up from the ground, dropping her sandwich, and bolted for a nearby bush. For the third time that week, and for at least the fifteenth time in the last three weeks. Her bouts of sickness usually attacked during the course of their morning assignments; this was the first time it had occurred during the lunch break. With every passing day she looked thinner and paler and Laurence found himself wondering why he had not thought of talking to her earlier. Her usually muttered 'just a bit of an upset stomach' had satisfied him at first, but three weeks of seeing his lieutenant run for bushes and hearing her retch had been enough.
As Emily stumbled out of the shrubbery, wiping her mouth in a handkerchief, Laurence put down his own sandwich and rose to his feet. "Mr. Roland, a word, if you please."
Her eyes widening, she nodded and followed him out of the makeshift camp.
When they had put at least two hundred yards between themselves and the rest of the crew, he rounded on her. "I have been watching you, Mr. Roland. For weeks you have been ill and you have tried to feed me explanations of merely having an upset stomach. You managed to fool me at first, but you no longer can. There is no upset stomach that needs more than three weeks to heal, so, be so kind and let me know why you have tried to conceal your illness."
"My… illness?" she frowned up on him.
"Mr. Roland, pray do not take me for a fool, at least, not any longer," he sighed, folding his hands behind his back. "You are ill, there is no doubt of that. I understand that for weeks you have been trying to pass the hard tasks on to the lesser officers, something you had never done before. You tried to be subtle about it, but I have heard their murmurs of complaint. If you are indeed so very sick, which I seriously believe you are, I suggest you visit a physician. You will naturally be exempted from work, but pray do not give the others a cause for complaint."
"Yes, sir," she nodded, her face serious. "I shall try to not give them any more reason for complaint."
"That is not what I meant," Laurence rolled his eyes, "at least, that is not the main point. Emily," he continued, not even noticing he had switched to her Christian name, "I am concerned about your health. I beg you to go and visit a doctor."
She drew herself upright and took a deep breath. "I shall not need a doctor, at least not for another six and a half months, sir."
Laurence knitted his eyebrows, trying to process what she had just said. Six and a half months… constant vomiting… avoiding heavy physical work… "Emily," he breathed, all the blood running out of his face, "you are… you are…"
"With child, sir, yes," she nodded. "I am sorry to not have told you sooner, but I wanted to be sure about it before I disclosed it. You must understand that many women lose their babies in the first two or three months of their pregnancies, therefore it is most unfortunate to talk about it before it is sure the baby will be born at all."
"Oh," was all he managed to comment, his eyes wide, scanning her features. Her pale face held almost no emotions; she must have inherited her mother's talent at keeping her cool head in the most dire situations. He, on the other hand, felt a torrent of feelings wash over him, and all of them unwelcome – worry at possibly losing his lieutenant, anger at having been kept in the dark, and strongest of all: jealousy of the unknown man who had fathered her child.
He was overwhelmed – overwhelmed by the intensity with which the green-eyed monster attacked him. He knew he was supposed to be feeling relieved that Emily had apparently managed to find herself a 'nice young man' for the task of breeding, but at that moment Laurence could not imagine any young man nice enough for her.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, he asked, "Does the father know?"
Emily's lips twitched for a second, the shadow of uncertainty flashing across her face, but she quickly regained her composure. "No, sir. And I prefer he does not find out, either."
"Why not?"
"Because I do not want to burden him with it," she shrugged, her features completely straight, giving him the impression that he was talking to a younger and prettier version of Jane Roland, the epitome of pragmatism.
"A child is never supposed to be thought of as a burden…" Laurence heaved a sigh, the painful knowledge that his child had been a burden for Brianna clenching at his heart. "I am sure any man would be happy to know you are expecting his baby…"
"Oh, surely not him," Emily waved. "You know, sir, sailors do not belong to the family sort of men."
"A sailor?" he choked.
For some reason she looked away, not meeting his eyes as she said, "Yes."
"And… does that sailor have a name?"
"Well… some… Porter. Yes, I think James Porter," Emily made a grimace.
"You… think?" Laurence's eyes widened. "Are you not sure?"
"No, not really," she shook her head. "It was a one night stand, I am not even sure he remembers my name."
In spite of himself Laurence felt his cheeks flush. Emily truly was a Roland, speaking so openly about the most intimate matters… "Well," he cleared his throat and crossed his arms, trying to convey as much determination as he did not feel at the moment, "he will, once you tell him."
"But I shan't tell him. Because I can't."
"Why not?"
"Oh, let's see, because the Allegiance sailed off two weeks ago?" Emily asked in a mocking voice.
Laurence was taken aback by her brazenness, as she had been anything but polite to him so far, with the only exception of her shameless proposal. Now it felt as though years had passed since that fateful Sunday, not a mere ten weeks. Her words 'I do not wish to bear a child by anyone else' seemed like coming from a dream – a dream that crumbled like an old painting now, tainted by the knowledge that she had lain with another man, and a sailor at that!
Laurence suddenly caught himself despising his once beloved Navy and everything to do with it. But he could and would not show his disgust of the whole situation, not in front of Emily…
"Well, Mr. Roland," he straightened his back, "from this day on you will be exempted from your duties as lieutenant…"
"But sir!" she interrupted, only to be hushed by a wave of his hand.
"Let me continue." Under normal circumstances Laurence would have given detention to any officer of his for having interrupted him in such an impudent fashion, but there was an exception to every rule, and Emily Roland more often than not proved to be an exception to Laurence's rules. "You may certainly remain on the crew, but you will be placed temporarily in the ground crew. I am sure Marian Digby will be happy to have a helping hand in mending harnesses. You will naturally have your place and rank back once the child is born. Unless, of course, you wish to play full time mother."
"Never, sir!" she blurted out. "I mean, of course I would like my rank and place back, as soon as possible, I shan't shut myself into the nursery!"
"Good," he nodded, trying to look and sound as impassive as possible, although his inners were trembling. He could not help but feel dismayed at the way female aviators thought of motherhood, Catherine Harcourt being the worst example of that. Poor baby Riley had not seen his mother more than a dozen times in the first year of his life, and even less frequently thereafter, if Laurence could believe what Tom wrote him from time to time.
For some reason he could not imagine Emily as careless a mother as Catherine had been, especially with no Napoleon breathing down their necks… and yet, when he glanced at her, he established that her face still revealed no emotions – none for the child, none for the child's father, none for her own shameful predicament. But what could he expect? She was, after all, Jane Roland's daughter, and if anyone was, then Jane was certainly a master of hiding her emotions, always supposing she had any of the deeper sort in the first place.
Then again, Laurence reminded himself, he had seen Emily cry, on more than one occasion. She had cried in the covert grounds before the battle of Dover, she had cried when Morgan died, and she had cried upon hearing his rejection. He could certainly claim that in the first two cases she had been a child and children tended to be weepy, but she had been an adult when he had turned her down. How come she seemed so emotionless now? Had she been probably… steeling herself for this conversation? Surely she had not expected him to turn her request down all those months ago, and the unexpected rejection had brought tears to her eyes, but she must have been expecting this conversation, and the Roland in her had obviously prevailed.
With a slight inclination of his head, Laurence began walking back towards the camp. "Tonight, at dinner, I shall tell the crew. Until then, you are allowed to pass any hard task to the ensigns. I do not wish to endanger you or the child."
She quickly caught up with his stride, and, not even looking at him, replied in a flat voice, "Thank you, sir. I knew you would understand."
oOo
But the truth was that Laurence did not understand it at all. After dinner, when he sat down by Temeraire's leg with the Aeneid, the dragon recently having taken a liking to ancient mythology, he seemed distracted and sad. Even more so than he had looked after he and Emily returned to the camp after the lunch break.
Judging by his captain's expression in the camp, Temeraire had drawn the conclusion that Emily had told him the truth – or at least, part of it. Certainly Laurence would not have looked this dejected if he had learned he was going to be a father, even if the conception had happened in a rather uncommon and reprehensible way.
Temeraire, not understanding much of human morals, was not entirely sure that what Emily had done was sinful, but he knew for sure that he naturally would be offended if a female dragon used him for breeding without his consent. Still, he decided not to judge Emily, at least, not too much. The girl had been desperate and Laurence had been thick-headed, therefore both of them deserved to suffer a bit: Emily for playing Calypso, Laurence for ignoring the girl who could easily have made him the happiest man on earth.
Now, however, listening to the hollow voice of his captain reading out to him, Temeraire could not bring himself to wish for Laurence's 'suffering'. "She has told you, has she not?" he suddenly interrupted the Aeneid.
Closing the book, Laurence sighed. "That she has. But…" he looked up at his dragon, "how do you know?"
"Oh, I have known it for a while…"
"Have you?"
"Well, yes, Emily told me," Temeraire replied, trying not to sound guilty. "And I thought it was time she told you too."
"Yes," Laurence dropped the Aeneid on to the grass, "I, as her captain, should have known. But… I can sort of understand why she had not told me earlier. She wanted to be sure of her condition before she did. I just… do not understand why she told you earlier…"
"Perhaps because I asked her earlier," Temeraire pointed out. "You chose to be deaf and blind."
"I did not, I just…"
"You were just trying to avoid even looking at her and thinking of her," Temeraire said with a hint of accusation.
"Well, she has eventually found someone who looked at her," Laurence replied sarcastically.
Temeraire shrugged his mighty shoulders. "What did you expect? You did not want her…"
A long moment of silence ensued.
"I was a fool, was I not?" his captain hid his face in his palms.
Seeing Laurence so desperate, Temeraire felt like consoling him, even telling him the truth, but he had promised Emily to keep it a secret, at least for a while. It was not a nice feeling in the least – a lie of omission. Temeraire had never lied to his captain before… "A fool, Laurence? Hmm, yes, I think that you were. But so was Emily, keeping the truth, the complete truth from the father… I cannot laud either of you for your behaviour. You should have given her a chance, and she should have told the father that he was the father. I think the poor man deserves to know…"
Temeraire was careful not to deepen the lie and had chosen his words in a way that, when possibly questioned later, he could use for defending himself. He had, after all, not with a single word told Laurence that it had been another man giving Emily an egg. But even like this, he felt as though he were lying.
Laurence, however, looked up at him with an enlightened expression. "That is it, Temeraire! The father deserves to know!" With that, he jumped up from the grass, even forgetting to snatch up the Aeneid.
"Laurence, hey, Laurence, where are you going…?"
oOo
Dear Tom,
You must be surprised to receive this letter, and I must admit I am writing it with a heavy heart, but with the best of intentions. I hope the letter reaches you with a courier dragon before you leave the coastline of Australia, as time is of utmost importance.
It so happens that my second lieutenant, Emily Roland – you surely remember her from our earlier voyages on the Allegiance – has got into trouble, and I understand the guilty party was one of your men, a certain James Porter.
Emily has expressed her intentions of not letting the father know, but I consider it my duty as a gentleman to inform Mr. Porter, thus giving him a chance to make amends.
I know it is not a pleasant task I am asking of you to let your officer know such delicate a matter, but I beg you to remember how you felt upon learning of Catherine's condition. Surely we cannot deny a young man a chance to correct his mistakes.
Thank you for your help and understanding.
Please, give my regards to Catherine when you meet her, and through her to Granby, Berkley and the others.
Yours,
Will Laurence
January 21, 1816
oOo
February brought with itself long-awaited rains, the herald of autumn to come, and for Emily, a welcome relief from morning sickness. She finally managed to keep all three meals of the day down and quickly put the lost weight back on, but still remained relatively thin at every other body part save her belly. Slowly she was beginning to show, the baby a shallow lump under her tight-fitting aviator's cloak.
Physically she could not have been in a better condition, but emotionally she was more fragile than ever. Every time she laid eyes upon Laurence – and she did not meet him often, having been transferred to the ground crew and left at the covert by day – her heart clenched at seeing the impassivity on his features. Whenever he caught her eyes, he was quick to look away, as though her mere glance had burned him.
She could not put down his behaviour to anything else but discomfort with her condition, and his discomfort she only could put down to his possible feelings for her. Temeraire had, after all, claimed that his captain thought her to be special, in more than one respect. Still, he avoided her, did not address her unless it was absolutely necessary, and after a while Emily began to convince herself that Temeraire had been wrong and Laurence did not like her in the least, and it was his stupid sense of propriety that kept him at an arm's length from a 'disreputable woman' like her.
On the 15th March, however, she caught a glimpse of him heading for her, his expression dark, a crumpled sheet of paper in his hand.
"Mr. Roland, may I have a word with you?" he said in a low voice.
Emily, who was taking a refreshing walk in the covert grounds before dinner, stopped in her stride. "Naturally, sir. What can I help you with?"
"You cannot help me. I tried to help you, even despite your own foolish insistence on not letting the father know," he replied, his face flushed, but this time not with embarrassment, but with anger. She did not remember ever seeing him so stern. He nearly terrified her.
"What… what are you talking about?" she muttered, her voice wavering.
He took a deep breath. "Mr. Roland, I tried to save you from making a huge mistake, so I took the liberty of writing to Captain Riley, asking him to inform the young man who got you into trouble."
"But… but… sir!" Emily felt herself blanching, and was suddenly as dizzy as she had been the first time she had had her morning sickness.
"I think you can guess what he replied, but I am letting you read it yourself." With that, he none at all gently pushed the crumpled sheet of paper into her hands.
Trembling from head to toe, she unfolded the letter.
Dear William,
I hope this letter finds you well.
I am sorry to hear of your second lieutenant's predicament, but I am afraid I cannot offer you any help. It so happens that the only Porter on my ship is the cook, a man of nearly sixty years, and he is an Elijah, not a James. There are two Jameses, one of them James Harris, a boy of twelve years, the other my first lieutenant, James Avery, who claims never even have met an Emily Roland.
Your second lieutenant might have remembered the name wrong or the ship wrong – there were a few smaller ships in the port of Sydney at the time she must have conceived, were there not?
I am truly sorry of not having been able to assist.
I shall naturally give Catherine your regards.
Yours,
Tom Riley
February 20, 1816
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Emily looked up. She had never even thought it would occur to Laurence to write to Riley! Then again, she probably should have thought of it, knowing her captain's tendency to play the gentleman even when his gentlemanly services were uncalled for.
"Well, Mr. Roland," Laurence said, his voice peremptory, "I believe I have a right to demand an explanation."
oOo
A/N: so, what does Emily reply? Find out from the next chapter – and until then, review, please! :)