She didn't believe him. He didn't believe himself, either. Probably he wouldn't have been able to reassure her regardless of what it was she wanted to say, with things the way they were between them at the moment, but then the word baby hit the air and he went very still. This was certainly not something he could smooth over with placating reassurances. He had known this was a possibility, obviously. Even if he hadn't been thinking about it from the day they married, Cash's situation over the summer and then into the autumn would have made it an unavoidable consideration. But just as he'd known it was a possibility, he'd known all along that he wasn't ready — that he would have to be ready someday, probably, but he wasn't there yet. He needed Clementine settled, he needed another year to pay down debts. He needed — well, he probably needed a wife who would have more than superficial conversations in passing, which he had been in possession of up until a month ago when that had been ruined.

That was another quite dire point of consideration. He had known this was a possibility, and he had been thinking of it as an inevitability too, because there were things they could have done to prevent it that he had never discussed with Jemima. He had assumed she wanted a baby, sooner or later — that she wanted a family. Having already deprived her of her agency in choosing a husband and much of her good standing in society, he had thought it wrong to interfere here. He owed her as much of a life as she could still reasonably have. But that had been before, and now he had to consider not just whether it was likely Jemima wanted children, but whether it was likely she wanted them with him. It seemed unlikely the answer to the latter question was yes — so now here they were. Another terrible thing he had inflicted on her.

"Oh," he said eventually. "And are you... alright?"

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