My Bratty Wife
Chapter 237 - Two Hundred And Thirty Seven

Chapter 237: Chapter Two Hundred And Thirty Seven

Dr Abernathy’s words, "Her Grace is with child," echoed in the quiet bedchamber, weaving through the lingering haze of Suzy’s returning consciousness. She blinked twice, her mind reeling, trying to align this astonishing pronouncement with the terrifying ordeal she had just endured, with the encounter she’d experienced.

With child?

A fragile smile, almost disbelieving, touched her lips. "Did I hear him right?" she thought, her internal voice a whisper of wonder. "I’m going to be a mother." And then, like pieces of a puzzle clicking into place, it made a strange kind of sense. The persistent fatigue she’d been experiencing for weeks, the occasional dizzy spells, the slight nausea she had dismissed as stress or a delicate constitution... "So that’s why I’ve been feeling that way for a while." A soft groan, a mixture of returning awareness of her aches and the sheer emotional weight of the revelation, escaped her.

The sound, however faint, instantly drew the attention of the two men by her bedside. Ryan, who had been gazing at her with an expression of intense, prayerful hope, let out a small sigh— small sigh of gratitude. Dr. Abernathy turned towards her with a gentle smile.

Suzy’s eyes met Ryan’s, and she saw it – an uncontainable, radiant joy that seemed to illuminate his weary, blood-streaked face, chasing away the shadows of the past terrifying hours. It was a look of pure, unadulterated happiness, so profound it brought tears to her own eyes.

"Welcome back, Your Grace," Dr. Abernathy said softly. He proceeded with a gentle examination, checking her pulse, her eyes, asking her a few simple questions about how she felt, his touch reassuring. "You’ve had a most dreadful ordeal, but you are remarkably resilient."

He then nodded towards the small vials and a jar of ointment on the bedside table. "I’ve left some strengthening tonic for you – and for the little one, of course – and a soothing ointment for these bruises. They will need gentle application."

Ryan, his gaze never leaving Suzy’s face, his hand still clutching hers as if she might vanish, called out, "Irene! Could you come in, please?"

The handmaiden appeared almost instantly, her eyes red from weeping but now wide with relief seeing her mistress awake. Ryan instructed her to take careful note of the doctor’s instructions for the medicines.

"And Your Grace," Dr. Abernathy said, turning to Ryan, his expression becoming a little more serious. "Rest is paramount for the Duchess now. Utter and complete rest. Call me immediately if anything out of the ordinary occurs, anything at all."

"I will, Doctor. Thank you. Thank you for everything," Ryan said, his voice thick with gratitude.

Davis appeared at the door to escort the physician out, and as the heavy oak door shut, a comforting silence enveloped the room, broken only by the soft crackle of the fire that had been lit to ward off the night’s chill.

Suzy, with a determined effort, pushed herself up against the pillows into a sitting position. Ryan was immediately there, his bandaged arm supporting her back, his touch infinitely gentle.

"We are having a child, Cassandra," he said, his voice filled with a joyous wonder that mirrored her own. He brought her hand to his lips, kissing her bruised knuckles, then her palm, then each fingertip. "Our child. Our very own little one."

A radiant smile spread across Suzy’s face, chasing away the lingering shadows of pain and fear. "I’m going to become a mother," she whispered, the words feeling new and incredible on her tongue. The reality of it, the miracle of it, began to sink in.

"Yes, my love," Ryan responded, his eyes shining with unshed tears of happiness. "We are going to become parents." He leaned forward and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, then to her cheek, avoiding the bruise.

A thought, a memory from the Aldridge port, flickered across her mind. "Ryan," she asked, her voice still weak, "where... where’s Eleanor? And those men... the smugglers?"

Ryan kissed her palm again, his expression momentarily hardening before softening as he looked at her. "They are facing the law, my love," he assured her gently. "Eleanor is in custody, as are the surviving smugglers. They will not harm you, or anyone else, ever again. Justice will be served. You don’t need to think about them now. Not ever again."

Suzy nodded, a wave of relief washing over her. She let out a shaky breath. Justice. It was a comforting thought. Then, a most undignified sound broke the tender silence – a loud, rumbling growl from her stomach. She blushed faintly.

Ryan chuckled, a warm, loving sound. He caressed her cheek, his touch feather-light. "Well, it seems our little one is already making demands," he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Mrs. Madelyn is preparing some chicken broth, your favorite when you’re feeling unwell. But you know what?" His eyes lit up with an idea. "I’ll go and tell her to make it a feast! Plenty for two, no, for three! Because now you will be eating for two people, my darling, and I intend to ensure you both have everything you need!" He made to stand, already envisioning a banquet fit for a queen and her heir.

Suzy’s hand shot out, her fingers, surprisingly strong, clutching his shirtfront before he could rise. "No, Ryan, please," she said, a soft urgency in her voice. "The broth sounds wonderful, but... I don’t think I’ll be able to eat that much. Not just yet."

A small, shy smile played on her lips. "Besides... what I truly want... is for you to stay. Stay with me. Right here."

He immediately sat back down, his earlier enthusiastic plans for a grand meal forgotten, his focus entirely on her. "Of course, my duchess. Anything you wish."

She looked at the empty space beside her on the large, comfortable bed, then patted it gently with her free hand, her eyes conveying her silent request.

Ryan understood instantly. His heart swelled with love for this brave, wonderful woman who was to be the mother of his child. He rose, carefully walked around the bed, and then, with extreme caution, mindful of her bruises and his own injured arm, he lay down beside her on top of the covers.

She immediately rolled towards him, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she nestled against his side, her head finding its familiar place in the curve of his shoulder. It was a clear, unspoken desire to be held, to be cuddled, to feel his strength and warmth surrounding her after so much terror and cold.

He smiled, a tender, knowing smile. Carefully, oh so carefully, he pulled her closer, his good arm wrapping around her, holding her securely but gently. His chin rested on her disheveled, curly hair, which still smelled faintly of the sea and her ordeal, but also, unmistakably, of her. He closed his eyes, inhaling her scent, feeling the soft rise and fall of her breathing against his chest. The fear, the rage, the desperation of the past hours began to recede, replaced by an overwhelming sense of peace, of gratitude, of a love so profound it felt as if his heart might burst.

"I love you so much, Cassandra," he whispered, his voice heavy with emotion, pressing a kiss into her hair. "More than life itself. You... you and this little one... you are the best, the very best thing that has ever happened to me. My entire world."