The Accidental Marriage by Sally James Page A

indifferent food they often had at the inns, combined with the jolting of the coach. But she had been pregnant too often to mistake the signs now. Her brief reconciliation with Frederick had been fruitful.
    She didn’t know whether to be pleased or otherwise. Several times in the past she had conceived, only to lose the child a month or so later. Would it happen again, and if so, would she be relieved or sorry? She loved her children and would have liked a large family. But if she carried this one to term, bringing up another child when the future was so uncertain, and she didn’t know whether Frederick would ever return to her, was a daunting prospect. On the other hand, it might prove to be the longed-for son and heir. If that happened, would Frederick come back? If he did, how would she treat him?
    Could she ever forgive him for the humiliation he had piled upon her, the unhappiness he had caused? Could she ever trust him not to do it again?
    Elizabeth Pryce noticed her abstraction.
    ‘You look pale, my dear,’ she said as they prepared to enter the coach one morning. ‘Are you suffering from the crowding, or the jolting?’
    ‘Neither,’ Fanny reassured her, and decided she had best confide in the woman who had been so kind to her. ‘It’s just that I am probably breeding.’
    Elizabeth looked startled for a moment, then smiled uncertainly. ‘Your husband was with you at Christmas?’
    ‘Oh yes, long enough to give me another child. I have lost half a dozen in the past, I don’t seem able to carry them to term. So the chances of this one surviving are not good.’
    ‘We must do our best. We’ve made good time, despite the weather and the state of the roads. We must make sure there is not too much jolting, and we’ll stop early so that you don’t get too tired. What a shame your sister is not with you. They can’t be many days behind, so she’ll soon be with you once we reach London.’
    * * * *
    Julia awoke to find a smooth-cheeked, bright-eyed face surrounded by a huge white poke bonnet leaning over her. She blinked. No, it wasn’t a bonnet. It was the sort of headdress nuns wore. She’d seen some - where had she seen some recently?
    ‘Good, you have returned to us, by the grace of God,’ the woman said in guttural French. ‘Do you speak French, child?’
    Julia frowned. She understood what was being said, so she must. She nodded.
    ‘Thank goodness. Neither of your companions appears to understand either French or German, and none of us speak English. I believe you are English?’
    Julia nodded again. ‘What happened?’ she tried.
    ‘You do not recall? The coach in which you were travelling had an accident. You were all thrown into the river.’
    Suddenly the memory of it came back to Julia in a tumultuous rush. She could remember the dreadful freezing cold of the water, and being swept along as though she were no bigger than a leaf. She shivered, although she did not feel cold now. She could have died, and Fanny would never have known what became of her.
    She looked at her surroundings. She was lying in a bed inside what must be a convent cell, for the only other furniture was a small prie-dieu and a crucifix hung on the wall above it. Light seeped through a small window high up on the wall, and Julia vaguely recalled her mother telling her that convent windows were placed high up so that the view did not distract the inmates.
    How sad, she’d thought then, not to be able to see the flowers and the trees and all the other wonderful sights of the world, the views limited to the sky and the clouds. And, presumably, the moon and the stars at night, for there were no curtains or shutters she could see.
    ‘How did we get here? Where is Maggie? Is she all right? And the men?’
    ‘They are your family, perhaps?’
    Julia shook her head. ‘Maggie is my sister’s maid. The men are the coachman and valet who work for some friends. We were travelling home - to England - with the luggage because