It was torture, Lola soon realised, to wait for news of one you loved. It was even worse when the news you craved like air to burning lungs could also bring the worst tidings imaginable. Weeks went by without any concrete lead on where her husband had been taken, or whether he was even alive. Lola had to constantly remind herself to focus on the business of living, to try and relax, remain positive among so much hopelessness. Mary had tried to convince her to return to court to await news of Stéphane's fate. But she had refused. She wanted to remain in their home, to make it ready for his return. Her friends wrote to her often but even their support was of little comfort. It was as if he had simply disappeared.

Mary also made frequent trips to the Narcisse estate in those first few weeks of his absence. As a surprise, Francis had allowed Jean-Philippe to accompany the Queen on one of her visits. Whether it was out of pity or an olive branch, Lola was not sure. But she made no protest. Having her son near aided her more than anything else. When she held him, she was reminded of life, of its vitality and the unending promise it presented. More than ever, it was impossible not to think of the life she now nourished inside of her, and whether this child would look like her, look like Stéphane, or be that endearing combination of both.

She had told no one of her pregnancy, hoping that Stéphane would be found and she would have the opportunity to tell him first. But after 12 weeks, it became impossible to hide. Kenna had guessed it first, and then news had spread like wildfire. Now, more than four months into her confinement, she was visibly pregnant. In fact, her stomach was larger than most expected when they heard how far along she was. Some of the tiredness had now passed and she began to feel restless, so Lola began to walk the grounds during the day. Despite the cold of winter and the promise of snow, she found the solitary pursuit cleared her mind and helped restore her faith and purpose.

After the news of her pregnancy, Greer had moved to the estate to play the role of her companion. While she didn't need it, silently, she was grateful for the support. The night before had brought fresh snow. At her instruction, Jacqueline had packed some supplies which Lola planned to take to the Descoteux family. Unable to ride herself, Pierre had prepared the coach and she set out just before mid-morning.

Staring across the vast, stark beauty of the grounds, she marvelled at how the landscape had been transformed. Gone were the lush green fields. In its place icy white vistas greeted the eyes in every direction, solitary and cold. She shivered, wondering whether Stéphane was warm enough, whether he had shelter from the terrible elements. She recalled the cloak she had once given him to stave off the cold. She would give anything to be able to do the same now.

Before long, they had reached their destination. Helping her alight from the carriage, Claudia rushed to meet her.

"Lady Narcisse, I was so pleased to hear that you would visit with us. I was not sure you would make the journey, with the weather so cold."

"I had made a promise Claudia, and I wanted to keep it. Besides, I needed the fresh air."

"Come please, its cold outside."

Lola rushed after Claudia, surprised to discover that she was not as nimble as she had been a week ago. How quickly her body was changing. She didn't remember how her belly became this large. It felt as if one moment it had been slightly rounded and the next, she was clearly pregnant. It had been the same with Jean-Philippe. The miracle of life, she mused.

The inside was exactly as she remembered it – warm and inviting. This time, there were no cheerful blossoms on the table, but a roaring fire burned brightly in the hearth. Agnes sat beside it, her legs covered in a thick, grey blanket. Claudia steered her towards the fire, gesturing to the chair close by.

"Please, warm yourself."

"This is for you," Lola said, passing a basket with bread, cheese and some confectionary to Claudia. The young woman beamed, taking the gift with thanks.

Lola passed Claudia her cloak and both mother and daughter smiled at her in welcome.

"Oh Lady Lola, you look radiant," Claudia said.

Lola sat, grateful to be off her feet, soaking up the heat from the fire. "It's as if I do not remember being in any other state but encumbered thus." Her hands lovingly cradled her bump, a sharp inclination to cry seizing her. Lola blinked rapidly and met Agnes's eyes. The older woman seemed to understand.

"Lord Stéphane is a fighter Lady Lola."

"Thank you," Lola said with a teary smile.

"Is there any news my Lady?"

Lola shook her head. "Nothing yet. The King is doing everything he can. He has sent scouts but there has been no ransom demand, no attempt to communicate or barter at all." She paused a moment. "It's been so long..." Fear settled into the pit of her stomach. She couldn't say the words... what if...

"Do not give up hope," Agnes reiterated, gesturing towards her belly. "You carry the future of this estate with you. It is a good omen."

Lola looked down. "I am certain it must be a boy. Although I was not as large, so early, with the Baron."

Agnes eyed her and Lola frowned. "You look to have a thought Agnes?"

"How far along are you if I might enquire?"

"The Doctor predicts around 16 weeks, give or take."

"Has he considered that you might have two heirs inside of you?"

Lola's mind hit a blank, her lips flapping without sound. "What- I don't think... You don't mean..."

Agnes laughed, the sound reverberating around the room. "I have lived long enough and played midwife to enough women to know that it is entirely a possibility that you carry two."

Lola's mind reeled, completely and utterly thrown. A giggle escaped her and her hand clapped over her mouth to stifle it. It was the first time she had laughed in months. Her eyes filled with tears at the same time and Lola leaned over – awkward in her current state - but managed none-the-less to touch Agnes's outstretched hand.

"Thank you."

"I have not confirmed anything," Agnes said, but her eyes sparkled.

"And yet you have offered me the hope of wonderful news."

Lola returned home in a daze. Could it be possible? Could she be carrying twins? Overwhelmed at the thought, but conversely devastated that her children might never know their father, she entered his study. The room was utterly masculine with stone floors, dark rugs and the smell of leather from the books on the shelf. She spent a lot of time in here, especially because it reminded her of him – primal, dark but noble. She shrugged out of her coat and moved to his desk, sitting gingerly in the ornately carved chair. The last conversation they had had in this room had not ended well. The reality weighed heavily on her. She looked around the room, at all his things, this, his private sanctuary.

"I knew I would find you here." Greer entering the room snapped Lola from her reverie. "How was your visit with Pierre's family?"

"Hopeful," Lola murmured as Greer came to sit opposite her.

"Have you heard something from Francis?"

Not ready to share the possibility, Lola kept Agnes's suspicions to herself. "I think the King knows better than to give me false hope."

"Mary mentioned that you argued most vehemently with Francis when you were at court."

"In hindsight, I am a little ashamed. But I was pregnant and my husband had just disappeared. I think I am forgiven."

"Francis has been working tirelessly to try and find him."

"I know."

"It surprises you?"

"A little. But I realised that there's a grudging respect there, I believe. Stéphane has done nothing but prove he would make up for the mistakes of the past. Finally Francis believes it's genuine." Lola gave Greer a watery smile, pressing her lips together. "I miss him."

"Oh Lola."

"When he left, I said some things..."

"You argued?"

"We disagreed and..." her voice cracked. "I am terrified I will never have the opportunity to make it right."

Greer leaned forward, her expression earnest and sad. "Lola," she began, uncomfortable. "There is the chance that... what I mean is, it's been a long while now with very little word."

Lola shook her head. "No, no, do not say it!" She felt anger rise within her and because of it, tears blurred her vision.

"I am sorry. But perhaps you should start to prepare yourself."

"No."

"Lola..."

"He told me he loved me! I was the first. And I didn't say it back!" Tears raced unchecked. Greer came around the desk and knelt at her feet. Lola felt her tenuous grip on her control slip. She had tried so hard to maintain a calm, controlled facade on the outside, to be positive, to believe that he would be alright. The alternative was to accept that he might be dead. The force of that possibility hit her in the solar plexus and she felt sobs overwhelm her.

"He-said-he-loved-me," she gulped between breaths, unable to control the avalanche of emotion. "I-did-not-say-it-back."

"He knew Lola, he must have known." Lola shook her head, denying that possibility. "I saw you together, remember? The night we arrived here and we all had dinner together. I watched you. Both of you. I have made no secret of the fact that I've been most worried about your union. But my mind was at peace after watching that interaction. No matter the type of man Lola, he loved you. Your affection was written all over your face, even if you did not realise it."

Lola faced her biggest fear and looked Greer in the eye, clutching at her hand. "What if he is dead?" Her voice shook, tears now silent soldiers to her words. "What if I am a widow once more? Our life together has just begun and what little time we had I spent entertaining doubts and recriminations."

Greer stood and leaned over into a hug. Lola's shoulders shook under her grief, letting her emotions completely overtake her.

"If tragedy is the case, then you will survive with the love and support of all your friends, and the baby inside of you." Greer pulled back and wiped the tears on Lola's cheeks.

"I asked him not to." The words burst forth from her like a dam wall compromised. "I asked him not to sully his hands with the life of another. And because he listened, he endangered his own life. Don't you see? If he is dead, it's my fault!"

"Lola, no-"

"He let the noble go! He wanted him to return to court to stand trial, a thing I asked of him!"

"Lola! Listen to me. Your husband was a man with his own mind. He knew what he wanted and he pursued it with purpose. He would never have taken a course of action that he did not believe in."

"You don't know that. No one can. You never took the time to get to know him Greer. You speak of his mind, of his character, as if you understood him even a little! You did not! You never tried."

"And I am sorry for it." The soft admission took the wind from her sails and again, tears of frustration pooled in her eyes.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry."

"It's alright. Lola, it's alright. You are right. I did not know him well, but I do believe he loved you. How could he not?"

"Have we all been cursed Greer? Cursed since the moment we came to France?"

"What? No..."

"Look at us. Mary and Francis, their marriage in ruins. Kenna, having endured such hardship finally found love, except, she finds herself idle and alone. You, you have been blessed with love twice over, each one of those men now further from you than ever. And I... I was so angry at Mary for proposing my marriage to Stéphane. I imagined I would never be happy with him. And yet, I was, for a time so fleeting, I was happy, content and hopeful."

"We trust in God Lola," was all Greer said. But it was not hard to see the truth of her sentiment reflected back at her. They were all alone.

"I'm tired," Lola said. "And I feel a headache coming on. I'm going up to bed."

"Of course. Do you need anything? I could send your dinner up?"

"A little later, please? I just need sleep."

"I'm here, if you need anything."

"You don't have to stay. Who knows how long I shall wait for news that might never come. I cannot expect you to put your own life on hold indefinitely."

"I am here, because I wish to be. I will not leave your side a moment before your child is born."

Not child, Lola thought, possibly, children.

"Lola! Lola!" She heard her name called from a distance and tried to shrug off the dream, burrowing deeper under the covers. She was so tired, so very, very tired. But again the incessant call came, accompanied by a hand which now roused her to wakefulness. Opening her eyes, Lola peered up at Greer. It was still dark, but looking around her, she saw Jacqueline moving around the room, lighting candles.

"What's the matter?"

"Bash and Prince Condé have arrived."

Lola frowned but sat up, her heart in her throat, trying to push past at the vestiges of sleep. "Here? Now? Is there any news?"

Greer nodded and Lola attempted to move from the large bed as fast as her encumbered body would allow. Greer helped her off the edge and Jacqueline brought her a shawl to wrap around her shoulders.

Greer put a hand to her shoulder to stave her frantic movement. "They've found him."

Her knees wobbled in a combination of relief and terror. She couldn't bring herself to ask the question, but she must have, because Greer answered her, her own gaze filled with tears.

"He is alive."

Her feet were ensconced in slippers and with Jacqueline leading the way, they hurried along, the lamp she was carrying casting long shadows. Lola felt her whole life culminating to this moment, as if she were experiencing everything from outside of herself.

"How?" she asked Greer.

"They wanted to ransom him." A slight hesitation. "Francis has been in negotiations for a while."

For a moment, Lola stopped as the flickering flame moved off into the distance. It took Jacqueline a moment to realise she was not being followed. She stopped, but gave the friends a moment.

"For a while?"

Greer grimaced, her face an apologetic mess. "Mary asked that we not say anything. There was no guarantee that he would be rescued alive. She did not want to give you false hope."

"False hope? He is my husband!" Lola shook her head, continuing down the passage. Now was not the time.

She followed Jacqueline, assuming the girl knew where he was. When she entered the lounge, her entire body contracted with emotion. She halted, unable to move for a moment. He was there, slumped over in a wingback chair in front of the fire. His shoulders were covered in a rough woollen blanket but her sharp intake of breath must have alerted him to her presence. He lifted his face and Lola looked into those blue eyes she had missed so much. Ignoring everyone around them, she flew across the room, clumsily kneeling by his side.

"You're alive." Her hands went to his hair, matted and dirty, but she didn't care. His beard had grown and his face was slightly emaciated. He had lost weight. She could tell immediately, her hands roving everywhere, just to be certain he was real and whole.

"Lola," he whispered, his voice gruff. She thought she heard it crack with emotion.

She threw her arms around him and immediately, he howled.

Bash's hand was at her shoulder, pulling her away slightly. "His back." At her puzzled gaze, he continued. "He's been whipped. Badly."

As she tried to process the information, an apology fell from her lips automatically. "What can I do?"

"He needs a bath, the doctor and then rest. In that order." Lola looked over to Louis Condé, the speaker. It was the first time she noticed that he too was in the room.

"We've sent for the doctor my Lady, and a bath for Lord Stéphane has been prepared in your chambers."

"Thank you, Jacqueline." She nodded to Bash and Louis, signalling also to Arnaud, Stéphane's manservant. "You may take him up."

Her words were clipped, her eyes assessing as she watched them. They must have known. They had lied to her.

Greer tried to stall her as she went after the men. "Lola, wait-"

"Don't," was all she said. "Perhaps tomorrow I might have a different perspective on the matter. It is for that reason that I wish to entertain no conversation as to why I, his wife, was not apprised of his whereabouts. Why I, his wife, his pregnant wife, was not dignified with a truthful response to the innumerable requests I've sent for information. If we were to have this conversation now, I would likely say something I will deeply regret. Good night Greer."

As Bash and Prince Condé turned to leave, Lola did not address them directly, but spoke to Jacqueline and Arnaud who had helped with Stéphane.

"Prepare rooms for our guests."

"Already done, my Lady."

"Please, follow Jacqueline Prince Condé, Bash. If there is anything you need..."

"Thank you, Lola."

"I will return to assist with Lord Stéphane, my Lady," Arnaud said.

"There is no need. Please fetch fresh towels, some poultices and bandages."

Jacqueline hesitated but curtseyed and left, closing the door behind her. Stéphane sat in the bath before the fire, slumped forward. Lola approached him cautiously, suddenly unsure of what to say.

Had she not wished for this very moment? Did joy not course through her veins at the sight of him? Why then did she feel this awkwardness between them?

Approaching the tub, she cautiously peeked at his back. She could not stop the loud gasp that escaped. His beautiful, once smooth back was scarred beyond words. The flesh was flayed, raw and ragged. Tears rushed into her eyes and her hand flew to her mouth.

"Oh God," she gasped out. She felt it then, such rage and vengeance towards those who had hurt him.

He turned to look at her and reached out a hand. Lola rushed forward, kneeling beside the tub, she pressed his hand to her lips.

"Do not cry, please." His hands tangled in her hair, kissing the top of her head. The sweetness of the gesture touched her.

"Y-your back... The pain... Oh God." She sobbed again.

"Lola..." he drawled in that way, the only person who ever said her name with such lazy ease. If anything, it made her want to cry harder. "Come, would you help me?"

Like he had once done for her, she lovingly bathed him. His eyes remained closed most of the time, his fatigue written all over his features. It was too late to trim his beard, so all she did was wash his hair. He hissed when the water ran down his back, but there was no way of escaping it. The wounds needed to be cleaned and now was the opportune time.

Arnaud returned and fortuitously helped him step from the bath before leaving them again. Lola gingerly applied a poultice to his back as he hissed again, bracing his arms against the large tub.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," she whispered soothingly. "Almost there."

Finally, aware that he was barely able to stand for much longer, she wrapped his back with strips of cloth and helped him to the bed.

Leaving him for a moment, she turned down the covers on his side of the bed. He stopped her, pulling her into his arms. But he went rigid, a frown on his face as he pulled back. Lola, careful not to touch his back, braced her arms against his shoulders. She knew what had given him pause. Between them, her belly now protruded. With her voluminous nightgown and shawl, it had been relatively hidden, especially when you didn't know to look for it. But pressed against him, the swell was unmistakable.

"I realise this might be a dream. I've dreamt of this moment so many times."

"It's no dream," she whispered, guiding his hands to the firm swell. "I am-"

Before she could finish the sentiment, he swayed on his feet and she grunted under her breath as she righted him. He needed rest. Lola helped ease him onto his stomach, and his eyes immediately fluttered shut. Her hands caressed his damp hair, pressing kisses to his rough jaw. Lightly, she pulled the covers over him and rang for the servants to remove the bathwater and his filthy clothing.

He did not even stir at the commotion. He was fast asleep, his arms up around his head, cradling his pillow. He had lost so much weight, she thought, biting her bottom lip, running her hands over his hair again, needing to touch him to prove to herself that he was real.

This was not quite the welcome she had envisioned. She wanted her arms around him, but for now, this would be enough. Lola lay down facing him and closed her eyes, her one hand reaching and holding lightly onto his own.

But she slept fitfully, waking sporadically to check that he was actually beside her. Her restlessness was also because of his. He moaned in his sleep, gripped in the throes of dreams or nightmares. She had no idea what he had endured. But if the flayed flesh on his back was any indication, it had been a harrowing ordeal.

With dawns light filtering into the room, Lola lay quietly and watched him. Even in sleep, he did not look fully relaxed. Her hand reached out and she soothed his furrowed brow. He jerked, his blue eyes open, although not fully alert.

"It's alright," she soothed. "You're home."

His eyes took a moment to focus and closed in relief before flickering open again. "Lola."

She nodded, feeling the urge to bawl again. She held onto her self control. "You're home," she reiterated.

He began to speak but his voice did not cooperate. Lola moved from the bed and returned with some water. He managed to sit upright in the interim, leaning gingerly against the pillows at his back. Still too painful, he leaned forward instead.

"Are you alright?"

He sipped from the glass. "I will be."

Those blue eyes were slightly haunted and she held back the urge to ask him what had happened or where he had been. There would be time for questions later. Again she felt the tension between them, that intangible current that spoke to their final words together.

Lola sat beside him, smoothing down her nightgown. His eyes were drawn to the movement of her hands and then widened.

"It wasn't a dream?"

Her gaze followed his and realisation dawned. Feeling inexplicably shy, she smoothed her hands around the firm bump of her belly. "No. I am pregnant."

She saw him swallow hard, his eyes soft when they met hers. For a moment, he was the man she remembered. Seizing the opportunity, Lola took the empty cup from him and placed it on the bed. Taking both his hands, she positioned it on her swollen abdomen. "I am close to entering my fifth month," she admitted. "They are active and by all accounts, healthy."

She watched those large hands move across the stark white of her nightgown, molding the fabric to expose as much of the round globe as possible.

He shook his head. "Wait." His eyebrows rose, almost disappeared in fact, into his hairline. "They?"

Lola smiled then, broadly. "I have it on good authority, that there is more than one baby inside of me. You wanted heirs, Lord Narcisse. You might get two for the price of one."

Incredulous, his hands kept moving until finally, a slow, but small smile curved his lips.

"You are pleased?"

He swallowed again and she saw him blink back moisture. "Yes. Yes I am."

Lola leaned forward, placing her forehead against his.

"I don't know what to say," she admitted. "I'm so sorry. If I had not-"

He shook his head. "Don't, Lola."

He pulled back and she felt his withdrawal both physically and emotionally. There was so much she wanted to say, but it didn't seem like the time. With a heavy heart, she felt his hands drop from her belly too.

"I'll send for the Doctor and have your breakfast brought up."

"No," he said. "I've had enough of lying about. I will see the Doctor, but I want to have breakfast downstairs. There are matters I need to speak to Bash and Condé about."

She wanted to ask what, but stopped herself. After everything they had been through, this, his duty, still lay between them.

"I'll let them know."

She felt his eyes track her as she slipped into her gown.

"You look beautiful," he said, his voice low and gruff when she'd reached the door. Lola turned to look at him and the small, sad smile was back. She could only manage a nod because her throat burned with tears again.

Outside the room, Lola slumped against the door for a moment and let out a deep breath. Tears pressed at the back of her lids and she blinked rapidly. Her hands went to her belly as she felt the now familiar kick of her babies. Her instinct was to turn back and share it with her husband. But she stopped herself. Not because she didn't want to, but because she wasn't sure he wanted to be around her. She had no idea where the thought came from. But there it was. There was a distance, an aloofness that had not been there before, not even in the early days of their marriage.

Maybe they both needed time. She pressed her lips together. Time. The one thing they had already wasted so much of.