Regretting the Wife He Threw Away

Chapter 631

"I know," Mary murmured, her hand resting protectively on her belly. "But... what

if, after he's born, he isn't recognized as Ferdinand's child?"

Not Ferdinand's child?

Briony's gaze sharpened, trying to read Mary's intent. "What are you saying?"

Mary met her eyes steadily. "Briony, I've been having nightmares lately." She changed the subject so abruptly that Briony's brows knitted in concern.

"I keep dreaming I'll die in childbirth," Mary whispered, “and Ferdinand dies too." Briony pressed her lips together, silent for a moment.

She remembered when she was pregnant with the twins-how nightmares plagued her, too. The dark visions always seemed to foreshadow something awful. Later, when she delivered early and nearly bled out, the bloody chaos was eerily similar to what she'd seen in her dreams.

Maybe it was a mother's sixth sense.

Was Mary's nightmare another warning? A mother's gut instinct?

If Ferdinand died, would that mean Stewart's people had finally succeeded? That would be a good thing... for everyone else.

But what about Mary? So blameless in all of this.

Briony didn't want Mary's fate to mirror her dreams. Mary had only loved the wrong man; she wasn't lost beyond hope. And the child she was carrying-the child was entirely innocent.

were his own; neither Mary nor her baby should have

to comfort her. "Pregnancy makes dreams more vivid, especially if you're stressed. Try not

lips curving with bittersweet understanding. "Briony, you do care about me after

survived unhappy childhoods,

hope you won't hold them against me. I've always thought you were brave, but with Ferdinand... you lost yourself in him. Still, you and your baby are innocent. Ferdinand's sins are his alone. If you ever get the chance, I hope you'll find the strength to leave him, take your child, and start over

eyes glistening with something

was taken aback. She'd expected resistance, a need

a good

Mary was willing to walk away from Ferdinand, maybe there was

was left now was to wait for the

about to drift off when the bedroom door

slung over one arm. His white dress shirt hung open at the collar, the tie loosened

sinking down on the

of whiskey

palm pressed against the back

are you

planted a hand firmly on his chest, glaring

in his eyes and the way he slurred his

it wasn't the comforting kind

been meant as

celebration, a pre-wedding dinneret