Page 49 of The Queen of Roses

The door opened, and Guy strode in just in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat, a sure sign that the doctor was no longer there.

“Did you speak with Dr. Morris?” she asked.

Guy sat down in a chair that looked far too small for his frame. “I did.” He rested his elbows on the arms of the chair, his hands steepled before his face. “He was blunt, as you might expect a man of science to be. He said that it is not unusual for it to take some time for a first child to come. However, he is concerned that you seem unable to carry a pregnancy.”

The words felt like a gut punch. “I assure you, if I could, I would.”

Guy pushed a hand through his hair. “I don’t see why it’s taking this long.”

“I understand how much you wish for an heir, but there is nothing more I can do.”

“No one is blaming you, Adele,” he said.

“Were you examined?” she asked sharply.

Guy frowned. “No. Why would I be?”

Why would he indeed?

“What else did Dr. Morris say?” she asked.

“There appears to be nothing physically wrong with you, but he also said that he has seen before some women who are so intent on becoming with child that the stress of it causes them to miscarry.”

She crossed her arms. “What does he suggest I do?”

“He wonders whether you might find something to occupy your mind. He suggested something relaxing.”

She began to laugh in disbelief. “If relaxation was all that it took to conceive a child, surely no one would need the advice of the likes of Dr. Morris.”

“Some ladies enjoy needlepoint,” Guy suggested, ignoring her objections.

“No.”

Mama enjoyed needlepoint and embroidery and had endeavored to teach Adele as a child. Both had tested Adele’s patience, and she found herself more frustrated than not after twenty minutes.

“I could begin riding again,” she suggested.

“Dr. Morris said you should continue to abstain from riding. The motion is not good for women of childbearing years.”

“I suppose he wants me to stop going out altogether because that would be safer,” she said, her frustration growing.

“The carriage is fine,” said Guy quickly. “And so is the buggy.”

“Well, at least there’s that.”

“What about flowers? You enjoy arranging flowers, and you send your cousin Margot pressed flowers,” suggested Guy.

Adele shot him a look. “Arranging and pressing flowers is hardly going to occupy my mind for long, is it? I have never been a great reader, the redecoration of the Gables is complete, and I cannot ride. What else do you suggest I do?”

“What about Rosewood House?” he asked.

Adele arched a brow.

“I finished the redecoration of Rosewood House two months ago,” she said.

“You will think of something, Adele. For our family’s sake.”

She swallowed down the guilt and indignity of the situation. “I will give it some consideration.”