Shannon Waverly - Three For The Road

Dear Reader,

I have to admit, I had an ideal research arrangement during the writing of this “Nine Months Later” story. My daughter was expecting her first baby, which allowed me to become intimately reacquainted with pregnancy and its many joys and woes.

One of those joys was a baby shower that I hosted, an affair my daughter really, really wanted. Not for the presents, she said. She merely wanted a get-together with friends and family to celebrate her pregnancy. She was especially looking forward to the stories women typically swap at showers, about morning sickness and bloated ankles, stretch marks and fifty-hour labors.

I didn’t fully understand until the day of the shower, when thirty women were gathered in my living room. And there in the middle of them was my daughter, enthusiastically swapping stories with the best of them. Entering the sisterhood of motherhood.

It’s difficult to explain my feelings at the time. I just know I was suddenly very glad I’d had the shower and given my daughter her moment.

For as joyous as pregnancy is, it can also be a frightening time. Ready or not, one’s life is about to change, drastically and forever. I can’t imagine going through it without a wide net of support—a loving husband, friends, family. Not only do they minimize the terror of impending motherhood, through their joy they expand one’s own joy, as well.

Writing Three for the Road gave me a new appreciation for the importance of support systems. My pregnant heroine has no one. Not only is Mary Elizabeth unmarried, she’s also leaving home, job and everyone she’s ever known. I found this a most distressing situation! The mother in me wanted to throw a shower for her, surround her with friends and family who’d assure her she was not alone. The writer in me gave her Pete. I hope you approve.

All the best,

Shannon Waverly

www.millsandboon.co.uk

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

EPILOGUE

CHARLES DRUMMOND STARED at his daughter over his reading glasses. “How far along are you?”

Mary Elizabeth swallowed. “Nearly three months.”

“Nearly three months,” he echoed, his long patrician face set in distaste.

“I’m sorry,” she said on a broken whisper.

Removing his glasses and tossing them onto the desk, he got to his feet and began to pace. “How could you do this, Mary Elizabeth?” He didn’t raise his voice. A Drummond never did. “How could you bring such disgrace to this house?”

Above his meticulously groomed gray head hung a family portrait painted seventeen years earlier, one year after he’d been named president of the Deerfield Institution for Savings and two years before his wife’s death. The five Drummonds presented as perfect a family image as ever there was, even to the extent that the artist had inadvertently painted Mary Elizabeth’s eyes blue instead of brown, to match everyone else’s.

“But no one cares about such things anymore.” Mary Elizabeth spread her hands. “Times have changed.”

Charles stopped pacing. A muscle jumped in his cheek. “If you believe that, you’re more a fool than I thought.”

She flinched.

“People talk, Mary Elizabeth, especially about families like ours. And they never forget. Ten years from now, twenty, they’ll still remember you as the Drummond girl who got pregnant before she was married.”

This wasn’t the way she’d envisioned their conversation. She’d entered this library hoping they’d discuss her situation like two rational, enlightened adults. She hadn’t come looking for easy answers; all she’d wanted was his love and support during a difficult time. When would she ever learn?

Charles reseated himself in his leather chair with a long disgruntled sigh. “Have you set a date?”

“For what?”

“A wedding, of course. Have you and Roger set a date?”

Her breath stalled. “No. Roger doesn’t even know.”

“Well, what are you waiting for? Are you afraid he’ll refuse to marry you? He won’t. He’s an extraordinarily decent young man.”

“Father, we broke up seven weeks ago. It’s over between us.”

Charles breathed out a bitter laugh. “Apparently not.”

“But I don’t want to marry Roger. We don’t love each other.”

“You made your bed, Mary Elizabeth...or do you think you’re so extraordinary you should be excused from doing what’s morally right?”

“No, of course not, but I don’t see the point of raising a child in a loveless home.”

“You should be grateful to be so lucky. Roger has a good job and a secure future at the bank. He doesn’t have any vices that I can see...well, any other vices.” His hard blue eyes flicked briefly to her waist. “He comes from a pleasant family....”

But Mary Elizabeth was still shaking her head. “Marrying under these circumstances, he’d feel trapped. He’d resent me and the baby. I don’t want that.”

“What do you intend to do, then, have it out of wedlock?”

“I...yes, that’s an option.”

Charles shot her a crippling look. “Over my dead body.”

“But—”

“I don’t care if certain segments of society have relaxed their standards, or that unmarried mothers are as common these days as the married variety. Drummonds do not belong to that vulgar trash.”

Mary Elizabeth glanced at the painting, blinking away tears. It seemed she’d been receiving lectures all her life on how Drummonds did or did not behave. Once again, she didn’t measure up.

“Tell me, what sort of social life do you expect to have, burdened with a child?”

She misunderstood his remark as rising from concern and was about to reassure him when he added, “Who do you think is going to be interested in you now?”

A piercing pain sliced right through her.

“It isn’t merely that you’re pregnant, although Lord knows that’s a formidable enough reason for any man to avoid getting involved with you. After all, who wants to take on another man’s child?”

Mary Elizabeth’s breathing had become so labored it felt as if someone had stuffed a rag down her throat.

“It’s also the fact that you’ve obviously had intimate relations, and by remaining unmarried, you’re all but announcing to the world that those relations were meaningless. From there, I’m afraid, it’s an easy leap for people to see you as indiscriminate and promiscuous. In plain English, Mary Elizabeth, they’ll see you as cheap.”

With each word he leveled at her, Mary Elizabeth felt smaller and dirtier. She sensed she ought to say something in her defense, but her will to act seemed to have deserted her. On a level she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge, she knew her father made sense.

“I hope you realize I’m saying these things only because I’m concerned about your future happiness. I want to see you settled, with a family, in your own home. But if you continue to follow this path, I don’t see how that’s possible.” Charles smoothed a palm over the desk blotter, wiping away imaginary dust. “Now, you might argue there are lots of broad-minded men out there who’d be interested in you, but don’t kid yourself, Mary Elizabeth. Most decent men still want to marry a ‘nice’ girl, no matter how liberal they claim to be, and I hate to say this, but the label that’s usually attached to the sort of woman you aspire to being is—” he cleared his throat “—’used goods.’”