Satin Princess(65)

I rush over to Margaret and give her a tight hug. “Sorry I didn’t get to say a proper goodbye at the farmer’s market.”

“Oh, honey, don’t be silly. We’re just glad you’re okay.”

“So glad,” Thomas adds. “You’re still feeling fine?”

“I appreciate that. And I’m doing well, thank you.”

“The baby?” Margaret asks delicately.

“Healthy as could be.”

“Oh, what a relief!” Margaret sighs. “You’ve been in my prayers the last few days.” She gives me a warm smile, and I usher them towards the sitting area. It feels a little strange to play hostess in a place that doesn’t feel like home. But I’m quickly becoming used to strange situations and circumstances.

“Your man really has done well for himself, hasn’t he?” Thomas says, looking around appreciatively.

I like the way that Thomas refers to Anton. Your man. It has a certain ring to it. And despite the fact that I can’t truly claim him or his success, I am proud of him.

“He has.”

“Did he say he was in business?” Thomas asks.

“Um, yes,” I say uncertainly, unclear as to what Anton has told them. “Real estate.”

“Ah, no wonder. Folks in that line of work are making a killing these days.”

Margaret doesn’t care at all about the business talk. She rifles through a massive blue bag she brought with her. “I brought you a present, Jessa.” She pulls out a hand-knit baby blanket in a soft green.

Thomas looks fondly at his wife. “She’s been working like a dog on that for the last few days.”

“Oh, Margaret,” I say, genuinely touched. “You made this yourself? Thank you so much.”

“I wasn’t sure I would be able to give it to you,” Margaret says. “So I was glad to hear that you and Anton were planning on staying a few more days in England. I’ve always loved knitting, so it was a pleasure to do. Hope you like green.”

I stroke my fingertips over the material. The blanket is soft as butter and just the right size for a newborn baby.

“Thank you so much, Margaret. I couldn’t have asked for a better gift.”

“Like I said, it was my pleasure.” But she has the same smile on her face that I have when someone compliments my cooking. She likes making people happy, too.

“You don’t know the sex of the baby yet, do you?” Thomas asks.

“Thomas, hush.” Margaret elbows him.

“What?” he protests.

“That’s private!”

I laugh at their affectionate spat. “If I knew, I would tell you guys. But I don’t think I’m far enough along to tell.”

“No matter,” Marjorie says. “All that matters is that they’re healthy.”

“But just for the sake of conversation, what do you think it’ll be?” Thomas asks.

Margaret rolls her eyes. “He loves guessing baby genders,” she says. “He even places bets on it sometimes. Boys, I swear.”

I giggle. “Care to make a wager on mine?”

“Don’t encourage him,” Margaret scoffs, but I can tell she’s amused.

Thomas ignores her as he closes his eyes, extends his hands towards me, and wiggles his fingertips like he’s about to do a magic trick. “I’m gonna say… you’re having a baby girl.”

“A girl,” I repeat softly. It has the ring of truth to it. “That would be nice.”

I wonder what she’d look like. If she’d have my nose or Anton’s eyes. Whether she’d enjoy cooking or reading. If she’d be funny or creative, introverted or the life of the party.

“I remember the day our baby girl was born,” Thomas sighs. “She was such a happy baby.”

“Except when she spent most of the night crying,” Margaret says with a chuckle. Then she looks at me and shakes her head. “Fathers and daughters. It’s a special kind of relationship.”

“Especially awful, in my experience,” I mutter. Margaret and Thomas exchange a glance and I immediately regret killing the mood. “Sorry, that kinda slipped out.”

“You can talk about it if you like, honey,” Margaret says. “We’re happy to lend a shoulder and an ear.”

Thomas leans towards me and puts his hand on my shoulder. “We’ve raised two children, you know. We’re good at the meaningful chats. Like therapists without the degrees… or the hourly rate.”

“Point is, if you don’t want to talk about it, dear, you don’t have to,” Margaret finishes gently. “But if you want to, you can.”

I sigh. The two of them are looking at me, open and expectant and patient. Their kindness radiates from them like warmth I can feel and smell. God, I need that.

“Well… I told my parents yesterday that I’m pregnant,” I admit. “They didn’t take it well.”

“Oh, honey.” Margaret looks devastated for me.

Thomas frowns. “Why did they take it badly?”

Suddenly, I remember that Anton and I pretended to be a married couple for the entirety of our stay at their manor, and I turn pale as a ghost.

I could spin the story. Make it seem like they didn’t approve of me marrying Anton and have been distant ever since. But I don’t really want to lie to Margaret and Thomas. Not when they’ve been so sweet to me.