A/N: After rereading this section, I have come to the conclusion that the only reason this idea even entered my head is because I read too many books about the Tudors when I was young. For all those who have seen The Other Boleyn Girl, you'll understand why. ;)
"Ms. Elizabeth," Allen began, the very word "uncertainty' practically written across his face. He was poised on the threshold of her office and the hallway, practically teetering the edge of his imminent damnation, one could argue.
"Yes?" she asked, looking up from the file in front of her.
"Uhm..." Allen said, looking for a way to begin his thoughts without seeming too...insensitive. But when the topic of conversation is ill-mannered, coarse, and downright impertinent, insensitivity seems to come with the territory.
"Allen? Is something the matter?"
This probably isn't the best place to have this conversation.
"Have you taken your lunch yet?" The words tumbled out of his mouth, and his thoughts struggled to catch up with what his heart knew would drag the answer out of her.
"No, I haven't. Is it that late already?" she turned her head to look at the clock on the wall, and was taken aback when she saw that it was only 10:30.
"Allen...isn't it a bit too early for lunch?"
"...I know." No, he hadn't known, because he didn't think to check before he asked.
She considered him for a long moment, dark eyes wondering what he could possibly have to say that was so urgent. Not urgent, Ms. Elizabeth. It's just that if I walk away now I'll never have the courage to say it again. Her fingers drummed against the table, ever other part of her was motionless, but finally she did stand up and slip on her coat. Breezing past him, she informed her secretary that she would be taking an early lunch today, and that her sister-in-law, Jacqueline, would be calling soon about the list of boarding schools Elizabeth thought would be appropriate for Jacqueline's third eldest child. The information on that could be found on her desk, and should be faxed to her sister-in-law immediately after the call.
With that, she left her office, and Allen trailed after her, feet tripping over themselves and the occasional stair. And, far before he was ready, they were sitting down at a local restaurant, and she was ordering for him.
"Well, then," she said, after the waitress had left, "What do you want with me?"
He sighed, took a drought of coffee, and began a different conversation: "What will be done about Nathaniel?"
Her immediate response was to roll her eyes, that childish gesture again, but she masked her annoyance as soon as the quick gesture was over. She checked over her shoulder briefly, then murmured in a low tone that he could barely hear:
"He's currently in my parents-in-laws' house in Italy. Antony is flying out there tonight, trying to make him see reason. Just because a girl commits suicide – or tries to anyway, it's all one now – the public's feelings towards the Palones are sinking into suspicion. I've heard rumors about everything from abuse to Nathaniel lynching her himself. All ridiculous, of course, but we can't prove that. And Nathaniel himself is certainly not helping our case. He believes that the entire situation is entirely his fault – a sentiment I thoroughly believe, by the way, - but the problem is that his guilt is seen as proof positive by the tabloids. Trying to convince them all that his guilt is misplaced is the single most difficult thing that I have ever done. But, in addition to Cromley, Catherine has decided that I am to be the one to handle the whole affair."
"Your mother-in-law would be easier on you if you were pregnant," he said softly, hoping the fact that his voice was hushed would muffle the reaction he knew was coming. He didn't look up.
Her eyes flashed with anger, at both this presumption and the truth of the statement. If she were pregnant. If.
"I assume you've been trying," Allen said, still quietly, with the tiniest attempt at empathy in his voice.
She bristled.
"Of course I've been trying," she said, her voice barely reaching his ears across the table, her anger scratching at his ears, but her pride keeping her voice low, "I've been doing everything in my power to conceive. But no matter how many times I have sex with him, my body remains so stubbornly...barren."
"Could...he be impotent?" Allen ventured.
"Could I be impotent?" she replied.
Steam rose from the coffee. Patrons talked amongst themselves. One man attempted to flirt with his waitress, and she stumbled over her words. The cooks in the kitchen argued with their coworkers. Soon, their meal arrived at the table. They ate in silence, until Elizabeth finally spoke again.
"It's odd, isn't it? Hundreds of years ago, a woman wasn't secure in her position until she was married and a mother. And now, for all our innovations and revolutions, for all the change in thought, I still need a child in order to endear myself to my husband's family."
"Is it truly that necessary? Plenty of women never have children in these times."
"No," she shook her head, "I can sit in on their private conferences. I can manage their businesses. I can do their dirty work. I can know every ugly secret. I can hush up this affair with Nicole and Nathaniel, and I will. But Catherine will never accept me as a member of the family until I can prove to her that I am dedicated to it. And what else will be acceptable but a child?"
He laughed, and she snapped up, eyeing him with suspicion and anger. He pushed his plate away, finished his coffee, and said, "In all the time I've known you, I've never imagined you to be the type of woman who would want children."
"I don't," she said, quiet and scathing, "At least, not for its own sake."