Silly FFn won't let me reply to anything at the moment, but I am still receiving and loving your wonderful reviews. Please keep sending them!

The majority of you are expecting a rocky road ahead, and you are not wrong. I'm hoping our dear, Viscountward won't disappoint you too badly...well, once he pulls his head out of his you know where! My apologies in advance if this chapter offends or stirs up difficult memories for anyone. I can't say too much without spoiling the plot, but feel free to PM me before reading if you are concerned. I will say a little more at the end.

xx Elsie

~P&P~

Chapter 35

Faith

"I am sorry to interrupt, my lord, but Lady Masen has fainted."

Edward leaped from behind his desk and ran past the footmen forgetting that, technically, he could no longer run. When his leg inevitably gave way, Whitlock was there to keep him from falling.

"I need you to ride into the village and find Miss Brandon," Edward said as the two men half-hobbled, half-ran down the never-ending hallway. "Bring her kicking and screaming if necessary," he added when Whitlock's expression turned doubtful. "Whatever it takes."

"Will do," his estate manager muttered grimly. "Are you sure you don't want me to fetch a doctor? Not Gerandy," he said before Edward could protest. "Someone reputable from Thornlie, or I could send to London for a physician."

"And what? Have them purge her? She is vomiting half a dozen times a day already. Bleed her? She is already weak as a kitten." He shuddered. "I trust Miss Brandon. If anyone can help, she can."

"Very well." Whitlock nodded, and Edward waved him on his way after reaching the door to the drawing room where he had left Isabella resting not ten minutes earlier. Limping heavily, he crossed the room, shooing the crowd of worried servants out of the way.

"What happened?" he demanded, kneeling beside his wife's prone form.

"She was heading for the door and just crumpled," Rosalie said, her normally imperturbable expression replaced by a worried frown. "I don't think she hit her head, but she hasn't roused. Here's Mrs Laws with some smelling salts."

"Give them to me," Edward said and then waved the bottle beneath Isabella's nose.

"Isabella? Bella, sweetheart?" he called, his shoulders sagging in relief when she coughed and pushed his hand away.

"What's that awful smell?" She rubbed her nose, her eyelids fluttering open.

"Smelling salts," he said without apology. "You fainted."

"Fainted?" Isabella's eyes widened. "Heavens! That's not like me."

Edward offered her the glass of water Tanya had at the ready, while Rosalie held the ubiquitous bowl her sister required with distressing frequency. Isabella sipped cautiously, and all three released a sigh when the beverage did not make a return appearance.

"Help me up?" she asked, scowling at the sight of her audience. "I feel foolish lying down here."

"Of course." Edward attempted to mask his escalating concern, but this had gone on long enough, and he was determined to find answers. Miss Brandon's skill had been instrumental in saving his life. Surely, she would know of some way to treat his beloved wife.

After ordering the room cleared of everyone but his sisters-in-law, Edward waited for the young healer's arrival. Sitting on the settee with Isabella's head pillowed on his lap, he gently stroked her brow. When he asked where she had been heading before her fall, she sighed with exasperation and explained her intention to visit the necessary.

"I will have a chamber pot and privacy screen brought in here if need be," he said.

Isabella cringed. "Oh, what a lot of fuss I'm creating. I can't believe this stomach upset is lasting so long. It is such a bother."

Edward could think of far stronger words to describe her condition, but none were suitable for polite company.

Miss Brandon arrived a short time later, not quite spitting fire but clearly annoyed at having her attendance commanded. The looks she and Whitlock exchanged as they entered the room were far from civil.

"I apologise for the summons," Edward said, his tone polite but lacking sincerity considering the degree of his desperation. "Isabella has been ill for weeks, but insisted she could manage."

"You should have called me sooner," Miss Brandon said before ordering everyone to leave the room. Edward hesitated, and she turned to face him. "You insisted on having your henchman drag me here." She shot Whitlock a withering look. "Now let me do my job."

To Edward's disgust, he soon found himself pacing in the hallway with only his estate manager for company, as he had encouraged the young ladies to wait in a nearby drawing room. Their father had arrived and offered to sit with his anxious daughters as long as he was apprised of events as soon as there was news. After twenty minutes had passed, Edward concluded it was a good thing Isabella and he were not planning to have children, as he seriously doubted he would survive the births.

The irreverent thought sobered him instantly. He had been operating on the premise that if he protected his wife from childbirth, she would be safe. But Isabella was right. Life did not come with guarantees.

Edward rubbed his brow, and Whitlock gave his shoulder a pat. "I am sure she'll be fine."

Edward could barely muster a nod, his attention focused on the most important person in his world and whatever the hell was happening to her on the other side of the doorway.

"You may come in now, my lord," Miss Brandon said after what seemed an interminable length of time. "Just you." The petite miss who would have made an excellent sergeant-at-arms closed the door firmly in Whitlock's face. One glance at his wife informed Edward she had been crying. If Isabella had contracted a wasting disease, he had no idea how he would go on without her. Taking a seat by her side, he gently entwined their fingers.

"Just tell me what's wrong and how we fix it," he said to Miss Brandon.

"It is not a situation that requires fixing so much as enduring, I am afraid," she replied, her subdued tone offering little comfort. "It appears that despite your best efforts, congratulations are in order."

Edward's frown deepened until her meaning dawned, then his blood ran cold.

Isabella was with child.

"That can't be. Isabella has had her courses several times since she has been ill." Panicked, he turned to his wife. "You told me it wasn't that."

"I didn't know it was possible to have light bleeding during the first few months of one's confinement. But it's true, Edward. We are going to have a baby."

There was no way he could mirror her tentative smile, as despair threatened to overwhelm him. Sickness they could have fought against, but not this.

"How? When? We haven't been intimate in weeks. You have been too ill."

"Your wife is three months' along in her confinement," Miss Brandon said. "She has all the symptoms: tender breasts, urinary frequency, morning sickness—"

"Morning sickness!" Edward shouted. "Try all bloody day and night sickness!"

"It happens that way sometimes." The healer-cum-midwife shrugged. "Now we know the cause of her distress, we can help to ease it."

"Surely there could be other causes for her symptoms." Edward's expression turned pleading. "There is no reason to automatically think the worst."

Isabella flinched, and he rubbed her arm. Upsetting her was the last thing he wanted, but now was not the time for beating around the bush.

"My examination was conclusive." Miss Brandon's voice was surprisingly calm for someone delivering a coup de grace. "I would have suspected she was further advanced in her confinement, but Isabella insists she is only three months along."

"Eleven and a half weeks to be exact," his wife said in a small voice. "The baby was conceived on September the seventh."

Edward stared at her in disbelief. "How could you possibly know the date?"

"It was the night of the Westcotts' autumn dance."

Edward sat back. That was the night he had foolishly overindulged, the night he only remembered in part.

"Oh, God." He shook his head. "In the carriage on the way home?"

"On that note, I shall leave you two to come to terms with your news," Miss Brandon said, heading for the door.

"Don't go." Edward stood. "I have questions for you, many questions."

"Which I shall happily answer if they relate to your wife's confinement. If you don't mind, I would rather not be party to discussions regarding the conception."

"Very well." Appreciating the awkwardness of the situation, Edward rubbed the back of his neck. "Could you give us a moment? You can wait over by the window."

Miss Brandon did as requested, though not before issuing a quiet instruction. "Tread carefully, my lord. Isabella is quite fragile at present, both physically andemotionally. She does not need to be bullied."

"I am not in the habit of bullying anyone," Edward said, grinding the words between his teeth. "And I am quite capable of taking care of my wife."

Miss Brandon raised a brow. "So it would seem."

Huffing in exasperation, Edward returned to sit beside Isabella and took her hand once more. Waiting until she raised her head to meet his worried gaze, he repeated his question in a less accusatory tone. "In the carriage on the way home?"

She nodded and rubbed her brow. Her tired eyes looked bigger than usual in her pale face, reminding Edward, as if he could forget, just how unwell she was. Speaking softly, he continued, "You obviously remember what happened, but I don't. Would you mind enlightening me? Whatever occurred, it is not your fault," he added when his wife's shoulders slumped in resignation.

"You told me you loved me for the first time," she whispered.

Edward closed his eyes. To have forgotten such an important event was unforgivable.

"Go on."

"I told you that I felt the same, and then we were intimate. I guess we got caught up in the moment, because when you started to . . . to . . ." He nodded his understanding, and she continued, "I should have said something, or tried to move away. But you normally take care of that side of things, and you were holding me so tightly."

Tears welled in her eyes, and Edward sought to reassure her. "Isabella, I don't blame you, but I don't understand why you didn't you tell me what had happened the next day." Keeping his tone reasonable was a challenge considering his racing thoughts.

"I didn't want to worry you unless it was absolutely necessary," she said.

Groaning, he hung his head.

"What difference would it have made?" she asked.

Edward eyed her wearily, overwhelmed with regret for what might have been. "If I had known, we could have done something about it before it was too late."

She frowned. "Done what? What are you saying?"

Edward beckoned Miss Brandon over and then asked, "Mr Whitlock told me there are herbs that can prevent conception from continuing, though they are not without risk. Do you know of what I speak?"

Miss Brandon's eyes widened, and she took a moment to respond. "I do, though one wonders why Mr Whitlock would have such knowledge. Why do you ask?"

Edward's eyes burned, and he blinked back tears. "It is too late now, but I was explaining to Isabella we might have been able to fix this if she had told me sooner."

"Fix it?" Isabella blinked. "Do you mean by deliberately triggering a miscarriage?"

"I don't imagine it would have been as risky in the beginning, but this far along . . ." He shook his head before turning to Miss Brandon. "Can it still be done?"

"Well, er, it is possible, I suppose." She nodded slowly. "I do not have personal experience with the practice, and I imagine it would be terribly risky. Not to mention the legal and ethical concerns."

"But there is a chance Isabella would survive?"

As far as Edward was concerned, the Masen Curse gave no chances whatsoever.

"She is weak," Miss Brandon said with a frown. "I fear it is too late to act."

"Neither of you will act at all!" Isabella wrenched her hand from Edward's grasp and rose to her feet. When Edward rose and would have steadied her, she pushed him away. "How could you even think of such a thing?"

"To save you, I would do anything."

"Because you don't have the faith to believe the Masen Curse is broken." Isabella's eyes were filled with hurt and anger. "Well, I do, and even if it isn't, I will not let either of you harm my baby. Do you hear me?"

"I am sorry, Isabella. We were only discussing options because we want to keep you safe, to keep you with us," Miss Brandon said. "I would never do anything you didn't agree with." She reached towards her friend but was equally rebuffed.

"If you think I would ever agree to such a thing, then you don't know me at all." Isabella's voice broke, her hands clutched protectively over her slightly swollen belly. "Have you forgotten how much I have longed for a child of my own?"

"A child, we fear, you might not be around to raise," Miss Brandon said.

"So says the two of you, but you can't know that for sure." Isabella backed slowly away, her eyes darting between her husband and her dearest friend as if they were her enemies. "I did not intend for this to happen, but now that it has, I will do everything in my power to keep my baby safe. I am going to my room . . . alone." Her final comment was aimed at Edward.

He flinched. "Isabella, wait. Don't leave." Edward would have gone after her, but he hesitated when Miss Brandon stayed his arm. He could have easily shaken the young woman off, but instead he watched helplessly as his wife walked stiff-backed out the door.

"Let her go," Miss Brandon said. "I fear we have gravely miscalculated discussing this in her presence, well, discussing it at all. It will take some time to regain Isabella's trust."

Time that was suddenly limited, Edward believed, as he surrendered all hope of convincing Isabella not to go through with her confinement. Her maternal instincts were too strong. She would never put her life before the life of her child, their child. He should not have suggested it, but he was motivated by desperation.

"I will leave instructions with Mrs Cope for Isabella's care," Miss Brandon said as she collected her things. "If I know Isabella, she will need time to recover from this insult. If you are open to advice, I would suggest you let her come to you when she is ready."

"You think she will?"

"Her feelings for you run deeply. She won't be able to stay away for long."

Even a short time apart from his wife would feel like an eternity, but Edward had little choice. Composing himself as best he could after Miss Brandon's departure, he informed Isabella's family and the senior staff the reason for his wife's ill health. Their congratulations were cut short by the bleakness of his demeanour. Rosalie and Tanya were eager to join their sister, while their father asked for a word in private.

"I take it you are not overjoyed by this news. Is it the timing? I know you have only been married a short while—"

"It's not that," Edward said. "I have to admit my confidence in the Masen Curse's destruction may have been overstated. I am afraid of losing her."

The vicar patted Edward on the back. "That is a common fear for first-time fathers. Don't worry, all will be well. This is cause for celebration, not mourning. Cheer up, man. You are going to be a father, and I'm going to be a grandfather!"

Edward mustered a smile in respect for the older man's enthusiasm, but as the days progressed, he was unable to hide his dismay. The lead-up to Christmas was abysmal. The staff, and surrounding district, were soon aware something was seriously amiss between their leading lord and his lady.

Isabella sent word via her maid that, due to her continuing gastric distress, she would prefer her husband utilise the master suite for the time being. There was no point to both of them losing sleep, she justified, though Edward knew full well that wasn't her true motivation. She didn't come down for meals, nor did she request his presence. Not that he blamed her. Her predicament was entirely his fault.

Rumours abounded, the most popular ones reported back to Edward by his secretary and valet.

The viscount is worried for his wife's health as her confinement is turning out to be particularly arduous.

True, but not the whole story.

The viscount is angry with his wife for becoming with child so early in the marriage, though how she was supposed to time it better, no one knew.

False, and ridiculous.

The viscountess is upset with her husband for endangering her life, though surely she knew what she was getting herself into when she married him. Doesn't she believe her father's assertion that the curse is broken?

Again false and defamatory, but there wasn't a great deal Edward could do to protect Isabella's reputation.

And finally . . .

The viscount didn't truly believe the Masen Curse was broken when he married the vicar's daughter. Neither did he expect the pairing to become a love match. It makes his unexpected distress at her confinement understandable but his behaviour otherwise despicable.

True, though he had known he was in love with Isabella when he married her. As for his actions, there was no denying it—he was a monster for endangering his wife.

~P&P~

A week after receiving the news he was going to be a father, Edward spent another sleepless night alone. He had taken to spending the night hours in the chair Isabella had slept in when she was caring for him. Having spent almost every night since they had wed in Isabella's bed, his was too big, and too lonely.

A movement caught his attention, but he did not look up from where he was staring sightlessly into a glass of water. Alcohol would never pass his lips again, no matter how much he might be tempted.

"Can't sleep?"

He imagined the voice was Isabella's but didn't even flinch. Too many times he had spun towards the door to the mistress' suite only to be disappointed.

"Edward?" Her voice was closer this time, and he leaped from the chair.

"Isabella!" He winced at the volume of his cry. The entire household was on tenterhooks, and it wouldn't take much to rouse them.

She stood in the middle of the room dressed only in a long, flowing gown. He had allowed the fire to die down, the cold biting at his barely covered skin a just reward for his wrongdoings. After grabbing a blanket that lay across the end of the bed, he wrapped it around her shoulders.

"What is it? Are you unwell? Who is meant to be watching over you?" He put his arms around her to protect her from the cold and because, after a week apart, he could not resist.

"I am fine." She lifted her gaze to his, and he tensed in anticipation of her rejection. Rather than pushing him away, she placed a hand against his chest. "I have missed you," she whispered. "I needed some time, but I have missed you so much."

Her voice broke, and he held her as she cried. The tears he had been doing his damnedest to hold at bay for the previous week welled in his eyes, and his shoulders began to shake. Edward had not wept since he was a boy, and the pent-up tears burst free with the force of a flooded river breaking its banks. All the hurt and loneliness Isabella's presence in his life had assuaged, and his fear of losing her had caused to resurface, poured out of him. Embarrassed, he tried to stifle the wrenching sobs but, once unleashed, the onslaught of emotion was determined to run its course.

When Edward finally regained control, he wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his nightshirt and met Isabella's worried gaze. He was grateful he had left only the one candle burning, as he could only imagine the state he was in.

"I am so sorry."

"What for?" she asked, soothing his hair back from his forehead in that way she had, the one that made him feel loved and cared for and wanted all at once.

"For being an utter fool," he said with feeling. "For lacking the courage to tell you I love you without first becoming inebriated." He shook his head at the shameful admission. "For not remembering I had lost control." Cupping her cheek, he imbued his next words with all the sincerity that was in his heart. "For being scared witless and thinking you would ever do anything to endanger our baby."

"Oh, Edward." She leaned into his hand. "I understand your fear, but you made me so angry. Whatever happens, it is not the baby's fault. You do see that, don't you?" He nodded, and she continued, "I need to know, if the worse comes to the worst, you will be there for our son or daughter. That you will love our child regardless."

A shudder ran through Edward at the dreadful image her words inspired. It was of him standing alone with a tiny babe in his arms beside her grave. Another sob rose up in his chest, but he forced it down. "I promise I won't blame the baby. But Isabella, I am so afraid of losing you."

"I am afraid of being lost," she said, and her voice caught. "Not that I would be truly lost. God might even allow me to watch over you. But I want to be with you. I want to be a mother to our babe. I want us to live here until we are both old and grey and our children's grandchildren are running up and down the corridors terrorising the staff."

"I want that, too." Edward laughed though the sound was ragged. "I want that so very much."

She grabbed hold of the front of his shirt. "Then you must find the faith to make it possible. I can't do this without you, Edward, and I don't want to waste another day being angry and afraid . . . being apart."

"Neither do I, my love. Neither do I." Holding his wife close, Edward wished with all his heart he was a man of faith rather than one of action.

~P&P~

Gah! I should have mentioned a 'tissue warning' at the start of this chapter. The image of him weeping does me in every time. :(

On a personal note, I just want to stress that the comments in this chapter are in no way meant to be a judgement against anyone who has had to make the incredibly difficult decision not to go ahead with a pregnancy. I think Isabella's opinions are very much in keeping with the era, her upbringing, and her personal views. Having spent many years as a counsellor, I have come to realise that life is often far from fair and does not come neatly packaged in black and white. My heart goes out to anyone who has ever had to face such difficult decisions. I sincerely hope by writing this chapter that I did not hurt or offend anyone.

xx Elise

PS: I have some exciting news! I have created a facebook group for my stories. It is called Elise de Sallier's Stories, and I have already started posting banners and images for Passion and Propriety. Come and join us!