Sophie groaned and pressed a hand to her belly. “I can’t. I just can’t.”
Mirabelle felt a sliver of alarm at her friend’s pained expression. “Are you unwell? Is something wrong?”
“I’m in perfect health,” Sophie assured her. “It’s only that I’ve eaten more in the last six months than I have in the whole of my lifetime. It’s Alex. The man won’t stop feeding me. It’s some sort of horrible illness with him. ‘Have some stew, Sophie. A few more carrots, Sophie. Just one more bite of fish, Sophie, one more piece of toast, one more slice of…’” She straightened in her chair. “Are those lemon tarts?”
“Er…yes.”
“Thank God.” Sophie snagged one, bit in, and spoke around the food. “If he’d foist this sort of food on me, I’d be less inclined to complain, but it isn’t desserts with him. It’s pounds and pounds—tons, really—of breads and meat and vegetables. Mother of God, the vegetables. The man’s so bloody careful. Do you have any idea how long it took us to reach here?”
Three heads shook in unison.
“Four days,” Sophie informed them, taking another bite. “Four endless days, and we not forty miles from Haldon. He made our driver stop every two hours so I could rest. Have you ever heard anything so ridiculous? And he was a dreadful traveling companion, let me tell you. I couldn’t so much as shift in the seat without him fussing over me, or calling out to our man to have a care with the ruts in the road. Not that there were any ruts, mind you, or that we’d enough speed to have felt them if there were, the man’s simply come unhinged.”
“I’m surprised he agreed to let you come at all,” Evie ventured.
“Oh, he didn’t initially. There was a…discussion.” Sophie’s expression went from exasperated to grim as she set down the remainder of the tart. “Good Lord, listen to me. He’s driven me to ranting. It won’t do. I have to get away from him, for a few hours at the very least. I beg of you, help me.”
“Why don’t we go into Benton for a bit of shopping,” Evie suggested. “Mirabelle needs a bonnet and gloves to go with her new dress—matching reticule as well if one can be found.”
“I certainly do not,” Mirabelle objected on a laugh. She held up a hand before Evie could argue. “But I’m not averse to purchasing something small. Something small, pretty, and pointless.” She reached for a tart and bit in. “I rather feel like pampering myself.”
“For once,” Evie commented.
“Alex will want to join us.” Sophie pointed out.
“Well, we’ll simply have to find an excuse to become separated,” Evie said. “Take him aside at some point and tell him you need to purchase some clothing items of an embarrassingly feminine nature.”
“Oh, he’ll insist on joining me for that.”
“Well then, tell him I need to purchase some clothing items of an embarrassingly feminine nature.”
“That, I think, should do it,” Sophie agreed with a grin as Kate and Mirabelle laughed. “Do you need them?”
Evie merely shrugged. “One can never have too many undergarments, so it needn’t be a lie.”
They were still laughing when Whit poked his head in the door. “Ladies…imp…Alex and I are for—”
“Benton,” Kate piped in and shot a covert glance at Sophie. “Sophie has expressed an interest in Mrs. Gage’s pastries. You don’t mind do you, Whit?”
Whit frowned at the food the servants had brought into the room. He opened his mouth, but Sophie—devious and clever girl that she was—cut off any argument by lifting her hand to run gentle circles across her extended belly.
“I don’t wish to be a bother,” she said with a soft voice and angelic smile. “But I’m simply ravenous for something…” Her eyes scanned the plates in the room. “Chocolate. There doesn’t seem to be any here.”
“You’re not a bother,” Whit replied. In the manner of men who have limited experience with expectant mothers, he was exceedingly careful to keep his gaze on her face, or over her shoulder, or anywhere other than the obvious mound under her dress. “If you want Mrs. Gage’s pastries, you’ll have them. Alex and I will ride into town—”
“Oh, but I don’t know which kind I might prefer, exactly, and I’d very much like to spend some time shopping with my friends before all the…” She waved a weak hand in the air. “Fuss and noise of the party. But if it’s too much trouble for you, we can walk.”
“Walk?”
“Yes, of course.” She began to lever herself out of the chair with all the strength and grace of a woman on her deathbed. “It’s not more than three miles, and I’m not an invalid, you know.”