She had forgotten when Philip said he would return, so that day she was only half-dressed, eating cold beef with her fingers in the kitchen while she read from Sir William Blackstone's 'Of The Rights of Persons', when he walked into the room.

She stared at him in horror for a second before jumping to her feet, quickly sweeping the book out of sight and hiding her greasy fingers behind her skirt. Then she realized she was only wearing her shift, as she had taken to doing when she was alone, and she crossed her arms in front of her body. "You're here!"

"I'm so sorry!" he stuttered, shocked by the sight of her. "I didn't know you were – well, I will go put my things away." He turned his back and rushed upstairs, leaving her standing in shock in the kitchen.

She looked down at herself – at her belly button poking through the light fabric of her shift, and the grease stains right next to it – and she laughed. "What a disgrace!" she muttered to herself, and went upstairs to her own room to put on a clean dress.

She paused in front of her mirror as she was changing and looked at herself. These days her gaze went directly to her belly when she looked at herself, but today she looked herself over completely, considering her new body. She put her hands on her breasts, which were growing swollen and pushing against the inadequate fabric of her dresses. She turned one way and then the other, imagining how the men in London would have stared at her now…

She knocked on Philip's door once she had dressed. "Have you eaten?" she called through the door. "Would you like to join me?"

There was silence for a long moment, then she heard a muffled assent. She grinned and headed downstairs to put out a second plate. She was in the middle of putting out a couple other dishes to fill out the meal when he came in.

"Was your trip enjoyable?" she asked, determined to be pleasant and conversational, and to pretend that embarrassing scene had not just occurred.

"Yes, thank you," he answered, sitting at the table. "I believe our arguments are coming together." He avoided her gaze as he put food on his plate. "Though it will remain to be seen how the judge views it."

She watched him as he spoke, how he kept his movements small and made little eye contact; how he barely looked at her at all. She thought again of Harriet, telling her she was lucky to be married to Philip, and she was inclined to agree with her. She remembered the looks of the men in London. Lord Rutledge would have been a nightmare to live with, but she was also glad that she hadn't married Colin Bridgerton, even before he turned on her. She would have had to pretend to be in love, to be interested in Colin Bridgerton. She would have had to dress nicely and act politely, and pretend every day that she didn't long for another man, one who would never come for her.

Philip looked up and met her eye, and looked uncomfortable. "Ah, apologies. Am I bothering you?"

Marina snorted. "Quite the opposite!" He looked confused and she went on, "Did you ever hear of my Season? Of my suitors?"

"I have heard that you were very popular in London…" he said.

"Mm. For a time," she allowed. How loud life had been then, those first few weeks. How busy she had been, being shuffled across the dance floor, forced to make small talk with every besotted fool who found her pretty. She missed the faster pace of London sometimes, but she did not miss the simpering foolishness of so many young men. "Once Lady Featherington learned of my condition though, she tried to find me what she considered to be a suitable husband, given the circumstances. Not one of them under fifty." Philip made a disgusted face – she agreed. "For some reason, they all seemed to want to see my teeth! Like I was some brood mare to add to their stable." She laughed, because she had escaped.

"How awful."

Marina nodded. "Yes. So no, you do not bother me. In fact, I had just been thinking how you do not bother me at all, as you simply avoid me completely."

He blushed. He actually blushed at her backhanded compliment! She wanted to laugh, but she also didn't want to hurt him.

"Oh. I see. Well, I'm glad you aren't bothered by me," he said, and ducked his head back to his meal. She allowed herself a silent giggle at the top of his head, surprised that even he could be cute sometimes, and she went back to her own meal. They ate silently for a little while, and then, she knew she probably should not, but she couldn't help herself; she just had to ask, "Do I bother you?"

He looked up sharply, a hint of panic in his eyes. "Not at all! You have been no trouble at all. Rather, you have made things here very pleasant and easy since your arrival…"

Marina smiled. It wasn't quite an expression of affection, and it also wasn't true, but it wasn't nothing.

"Though now that you mention it, I should have asked to see your teeth."

Marina was so caught off guard by his rare joke that she inhaled her bite of meat and had to cough violently to keep from choking. Philip got up, surprised by her reaction and came over to hit her on the back. The half-chewed food flew from her mouth onto the table, glistening up at her in disgusting glory. She winced and threw a napkin over it; she certainly wasn't impressing anyone with her table manners here.

"Sorry!" Philip apologized.

Marina shook her head, laughing and coughing still, laughing even harder when he said, "Oh, there are the teeth. Yes, they're quite nice. You may stay." When she regained her composure he sat down again opposite her. "Would you like to see mine?" he asked, and he bared his teeth at her.

Marina put on a face of mock studiousness and nodded. "Ah, good, good. You can tell a lot about a person by their teeth," she said in a deep voice and tapped her own teeth, imitating the odious Lord Rutledge.

Philip laughed and shook his head. "Oh no! -did someone really say that to you? And expect you to marry them?" Marina nodded. It was nice to laugh at it all, now that it was behind her. "Is that what passes for romance these days?"

"I'm afraid so," Marina said, mock sadly. "It is far better to just marry a stranger and hope for the best." She regretted the words as they left her mouth, for being too cruel, too true, and for the small slip of his smile as the words hit home. Still, he gamely kept his smile, though he was not a good actor.

"Better odds that way I suppose."

Marina woke up two days later to find a rocking chair at the bottom of the stairs. She climbed down and looked closely at it – it was a beautiful piece of work, finely carved out of richly coloured wood. She sat down to give it a try, and liked it immediately. She hoped it was for her.

"Do you like it?" Philip asked. She opened her eyes guiltily and looked up at him. He was coming down the stairs, pulling on his coat to leave for work. He was not avoiding her so completely as he had before leaving for London, but they rarely saw each other in the mornings. He was usually at work before she came down. She had slept badly the night before, kept awake by cramps and pains in her back and pelvis, and had gotten up earlier than usual today.

"I wasn't sure if you would prefer to have it in your room or downstairs."

"You got this for me?"

Philip nodded. "Yes. Mother said a rocking chair was the best thing, when we were babies…"

Marina smiled. "I do like it, thank you!" She got up and looked down at it again. "I think I will bring it up to my room." She felt a sharp twinge of pain as her son pushed against her side. "Oh! The baby likes it too!" She looked up at Philip and asked impulsively. "Would you like to feel?"

He turned a lovely shade of pink. "Feel?"

"Yes, here," she took his hand and placed it on her belly, keeping her own hand over top of his to keep his hand flat there. After a moment she felt the baby kick again, and she winced, but it quickly became a smile when she saw how Philip's eye grew wide at the movement. "See? He likes it!"

Philip let out a little laugh. "Good!" She let go of his hand and he pulled away. "I'll bring it upstairs for you."

"Oh, you don't have to do that."

"Well, I don't think you should be carrying it upstairs yourself," he pointed out.

She shrugged. "Fine."

He started to lift it up the stairs and she put out a hand. "You're going to do it right now? Don't you have to go to work?"

"I have time to do this now," he said. "And now I'm certain I can not leave you alone with the chair. You'll try to carry it up yourself, and fall down the stairs with it, and mother will never let me hear the end of it."

"Oh well, we wouldn't want your mother to scold you," Marina muttered.

"I don't want you to fall down the stairs either!"

Marina looked up at him. She considered saying, 'Well, that would solve your problem wouldn't it?', but he was actually looking quite worried, and she was trying to be kind to him, so she gave up her teasing and nodded.

He turned the chair so it would fit up the narrow stairway and grabbed it by the arms and started pulling it up. Marina took hold of the legs to help him lift it up, but he told her, "Don't do that! What if I drop it – it will land right on you."

"Then switch spots with me."

"No, no, this is the heaviest lifting. You shouldn't do it with the baby so near."

Marina rolled her eyes. "Then what am I supposed to do?"

"Just… go get yourself breakfast. I can do this."

She shook her head and pushed up on the bottom, forcing him up a couple steps. She suddenly felt a sharp pain in her gut and gasped, but she breathed out and the pain subsided. He told her to stop, but she kept pushing so that he had to keep pulling or put all the work on her, and within moments the chair was on the top landing.

"There, see how easy that was?" Marina said, though she was actually out of breath herself – mostly from having to argue with him. "Now open my door and let's get it in there." They pulled the chair into her room and Marina noticed Philip trying very hard not to look around at all. She wished she had left some of her undergarments lying about so she could see his reaction. She was coming to realize that she really enjoyed teasing him. It was so rare to get a rise out of him – she felt a perverted sense of accomplishment when she did.

"Wonderful. Now you can get to work, and I can go about my business," Marina said. Now that this task was over she really needed to pee. Philip nodded to her and headed down first, and she followed more slowly, walking carefully because of her discomfort. She probably should have just let Philip carry the chair up the stairs himself – she was feeling very uncomfortable now. She was nearly down the stairs when she felt warm liquid seeping down her leg and she cursed herself.

"You stubborn idiot!" she muttered. "You could have just let him do it…" She stepped over the little puddle to go get a rag to clean it up and felt a squeezing pain in her lower back. Feeling a rising sense of doom, once the pain passed she reached between her legs and felt her upper leg. When she took her hand out there was a smear of liquid on her fingers that was not definitely not urine. She stared at it for a long moment, comprehension dawning on her, then she stuffed down her scream of panic and went to the front door and looked in on Philip's office. Mr. Locke was talking with an older gentleman and Philip was seated at his desk writing. She put one foot into the office only, not wanting to leave a mess in there.

"Mr. Crane," she called, and again, louder, when he didn't look up at first. She had planned to call him over and quietly explain what was happening, but just then another spasm hit her and she moaned loudly instead. All three men in the office looked at her, offended by her existence, and she wanted to growl at them for their privilege of never having to deal with this. "Philip call your mother now!" she said and slammed the door on them, after enjoying the look of sheer panic on his face as he jumped to his feet.

She went into the kitchen and built up the fire first. She would need lots of hot water; she knew that much. With much difficulty she put some large pots of water on the stove to heat then went up to her room – pausing for breath on the stairs as another spasm hit – to strip her bed and lay out towels and clean sheets and blankets for when the baby came. She tried to remember what her mother had done when her youngest siblings had been born, but Marina had been a child then, and she couldn't remember it well. She angrily dashed the tears from her cheeks and tried to focus on what she would need.

She could do this right? Woman had been giving birth for centuries – it was a perfectly natural thing to do. She breathed deeply and went back downstairs to check on the water.

Once she was in the kitchen again she realized her mistake. How was she supposed to haul all this hot water up to her room by herself? She rubbed her face in frustration. Should she give birth in the kitchen?

She was agonizing over this when Philip came in. "You're here!" Marina turned and felt immense relief to see him – at least he was someone – until she saw that he had come with another man.

"What are you doing in the kitchen woman?" the man asked. "You should be in bed!"

"You brought the doctor?" Marina asked Philip tersely.

He nodded, oblivious to her anger. "I sent for my mother as well – she should be here soon," Philip said and turned to go.

"No! Stay here!" Marina ordered. She didn't want to be alone with this stranger when the baby came. Philip turned back and she now felt a flash of rage at his panic. "What are you panicking for? I'm the one who is terrified here!" she growled, and lashing out at him did make her feel better. She supposed she was one of those people, like Mrs. Carmody, after all.

"Help your wife up the stairs," the doctor told Philip. Philip nodded meekly and took Marina's hand to lead her up the stairs. She gritted her teeth and happily crushed his hand in hers. She didn't want to be alone in her pain, and hurting him was helping her feel less of it – as though she was passing the pain on to him. He winced but didn't object, and she kept squeezing his hand even as he handed her down onto her bed.

"I will need to check how prepared she is to give birth," the doctor told Philip, and he looked under Marina's skirts. Marina resisted the urge to kick him in the head, and instead turned to glare up at Philip, as intensely as she had ever glared another person.

"Why did you bring the doctor you idiot?" she hissed at him. He stared at her a moment before the problem dawned on him. She saw it in his expression and scoffed. "Ugh – you have no sense."

"She is not prepared," the doctor announced. "She must stand, and walk around to loosen the passage."

Marina breathed deeply through her nose, as much for the pain in her body as from the annoyance of listening to this man tell her what to do. Part of her was actually relieved that Philip had gotten the doctor, so that he was there to help her through her first labor. But she was too worried about what he would say once the baby was born, and the anxiety was making her stiff.

It was a long time before the doctor thought she was ready to lay down again, and Marina was glad that Philip was silent through it all, enduring her painful grip with surprising stoicism. If he had tried to say something to comfort her she might have slapped him, and in fact, every time another painful contraction shuddered through her she felt the impulse to do just that.

The doctor kept talking only to Philip, and once or twice suggested he might be more comfortable waiting outside, but Marina quickly put an end to that kind of talk. If she couldn't have her mother with her, she would put up with Philip, but she would not put up with being alone with this condescending doctor.

The contractions became more and more painful, and the doctor had her lie down again. "Did you tell your mother what is happening?" Marina asked Philip, wondering why Mrs. Crane hadn't arrived yet. Philip nodded, and she asked again. "Are you certain?" He looked down into her eyes and nodded again. A fresh wave of pain rocked through her body and she felt a strong urge to reach over and bite his shoulder. She brought her hand to her mouth and bit down, tasting blood. As the pain lessened again she looked down, and realized she had bit into her own and Philip's hand, and they were both bleeding.

"Good God woman, what are you doing?" the doctor exclaimed, disgusted. "Give her something to bite down on!" He told Philip.

Philip looked around the room for something. "How about your other hand?" Marina asked jokingly.

"No, I need that one for writing," he said flatly, and she started laughing hysterically, which turned into a scream as the pain worsened again.

"Ahh! I hate you!" she screamed at him. It just hurt so much! He smiled grimly at her and held out a tightly rolled towel for her to bite down on as the doctor told her to control herself.

Mrs. Crane arrived then, sweeping into the room with her maid in tow. Philip looked up, utterly relieved, and Marina forced herself to release the death grip she had on his hand.

"Philip, I am here now – you may leave," Mrs. Crane told him. He looked back at Marina, and she bared her teeth at him, then he was gone and Mrs. Crane took his place, smoothing back her hair and murmuring words of encouragement. Marina took a deep breath and felt her body relaxing a little under Mrs. Crane's soothing touch. She soon tensed again as pain hit her, but Mrs. Crane murmured softly in her ear, telling her to breath deeply, that she would be fine, that she would make it through this day…

"Alright, you may push now."

Marina pushed.