After the first swell of commotion died down, Imogen glanced up to find Gabriel approaching her with a glass of wine in either hand. He handed her one and claimed a seat at her table. ‘You’d think it was a miracle,’ she said, listening to the room hum with chatter and excitement.
‘And you think it isn’t?’ he asked, looking incredulous. ‘Think about it. George, pregnant. George.’
Imogen raised her brows and shook her head slightly. She still didn’t understand their response to something as natural and commonplace as a married woman falling pregnant.
‘Well, I mean…it’s George,’ he said again, seemingly unable to come up with any other reason for their surprise. ‘Julian,’ he called, waving his cousin over, ‘back me up on this. George?’ he asked with an exaggerated blinking of his eyes and raising of his brows.
‘I know,’ the other Mr Angelstone replied, with a low whistle. ‘George.’
‘I think you’re all mad,’ Imogen announced, rolling her eyes.
‘No, really, it’s George for Christsake, she’s—she’s…’ the second Mr Angelstone struggled to find the right words.
‘She’s one of us.’ Gabriel gave voice to what they all seemed unable to quite explain. ‘George is one of us, and the idea of one us pregnant is bizarre, to say the least.’
Imogen laughed. She couldn’t help it. The idea that most of these men had never fully accepted or understood that the countess was, in fact, a woman was simply too funny. She laughed until she cried, and then when she realized the whole room was staring at her, she gasped out, ‘George…too funny…think you’re a man.’ And burst right back into a fit of the giggles.
The countess’s smile quirked up on one side, and she too began to laugh. The men simply stood about staring at the mad women in their midst. When the ladies finally got themselves under control, George called for a glass of water to try and alleviate the hiccups she’d suddenly caught, wiping her streaming eyes with the back of her hand. They really did think of her as one of them. Accepted her as such. Imogen found the idea was both comforting and immensely amusing.
Imogen yawned, and poured herself another cup of tea. Everyone had been up late, playing cards, studying the racing forms, and continuing to amuse themselves with the idea of the countess’s pregnancy. Even after she’d excused herself and gone up to bed sleep had been impossible. Gabriel had caught her eye as she was leaving, and her stomach had turned over. She’d lain awake half the night, wondering if he would come knocking, but he hadn’t. Good think too, when the walls were so thin she’d clearly heard Mr Bennett snoring in the room next to hers for half the night.
Stifling a sigh, she ate a piece of toast, and stared out the window. Half the men had already breakfasted and left, and the other half had not yet left their rooms. Only Somercote and Lord Morpeth were in the tap room with her, and they were both silently reading the paper the landlord had thoughtfully provided.
George swept in, smartly attired in a double-breasted caraco with revers and a small shoulder cape. She paused to kiss her husband good morning, then took a seat next to Imogen. She poured herself some tea and spooned a large amount of marmalade onto a triangle of toast.
Morpeth eyed her toast thoughtfully. ‘I take it you’re not suffering the usual bane of women who find themselves in an interesting condition?’
‘Not at all.’ George took a large bite of her toast and chewed it contentedly. ‘Though the smell of ale makes me queasy, and the thought of brandy makes my head swim.’
Morpeth chuckled and assured her that Victoria had been much the same. ‘Torrie couldn’t drink at all when she was pregnant with the boys. She swears that’s how she always knew: when the smell of champagne made her sick.’
George laughed, and between bites, gave Imogen a good idea of what to expect for the rest of the day. After breakfast they’d head down to the stables, then out to where the races would be held, then to The Blue Garter for luncheon, and then back out for the afternoon race.
‘Tonight we’ll host a party here to toast the winners, and then in the morning we’ll head back to the Park,’ she said, finishing up her toast and her plans at the same time. ‘Come.’ George dusted the toast crumbs from her hands. ‘Let’s be off.’
Gabriel and his cousin appeared as they were putting on their hats. Two sides of a coin, one dark and one golden. Somercote tapped his own hat to settle it upon his head and offered his arm to his wife.
The crowd would gather on foot, on horseback, and in their carriages all along the raceway. Alençon had driven up in his own magnificent closed coach, and had offered the use of its roof to the ladies. The gentlemen escorted George and Imogen down to the track, doing their best to keep them clear of the surging crowd.
The crowd of spectators was already quite large, and was growing by the minute. Even with an Angelstone cousin on either arm Imogen was considerably jostled by the time they reached the duke’s coach. Gabriel was actively thrusting men out of their way, much as Lord Somercote was attempting to do for his wife.
Unfortunately for the earl, half the men present knew George, and they were overjoyed to see her. They were all stopped every few feet by some well-wisher, or old acquaintance. And George, as usual, was happy to see them all.
When they finally reached the coach, Gabriel boosted Imogen up to the driver’s box. George scrambled up behind
