Chapter Text
On January 1, 1989, exactly one year after she married Rupert Campbell-Black, Taggie wakes with the immediate urge to throw up.
She isn’t surprised. It’s the third time this week, with nausea acting as her constant companion through the holiday season. Wiping her mouth with toilet paper, stomach no longer clenching uncomfortably after her quick dash to the bathroom, she smiles to herself.
Her husband is many things, chief among them an excellent gift giver. But he will be hard pressed to beat this as an anniversary gift.
Slipping back into bed, her space between the sheets kept warm by Gertrude, she lets herself dream. A year from now they’ll have a baby, a tiny being that relies solely on them for assistance. It’s equal parts thrilling and terrifying, her opinion changing almost hourly. Will she be a good mother? Marcus and Tab like her well enough, they always greet her with hugs and regularly argue over who gets to sit beside her on the couch. But a baby is different. This child will be shaped by her actions, the same way she was molded into who she is by her parents.
Neglect is a harsh word, one she hesitates to use when thinking of her family. It was never purposeful, never doled out as explicit punishment. But lately she’s considered that just because it wasn’t intentional doesn’t meant mean it was fair, a realization brought on by nights filled with tears. Rupert has held her together through it, a soft place to land as the rose coloured glasses she viewed her childhood through slowly broke apart.
“I love you,” she whispers quietly, to the little life blossoming within her. Letting her hand rest gently on her stomach, she imagines how the next steps go. Should she plan an extravagant surprise, or tell Rupert over dinner? They had planned to go out, made reservations at a little French bistro in Tetbury that had received rave reviews in the local paper. But the idea of escargot and fine French wine made the nausea return, her stomach flipping at the thought of the smoky air and tiny, unsatisfactory portions.
“I can hear you thinking from here,” Rupert mumbles, slinging an arm over her waist gently. She can’t help but huff out a laugh at the sight of him, hair rumpled and eyes still screwed shut, as if fighting the morning light that poured through their windows. “What’s on your mind, angel?”
Shuffling further into his embrace, her hand leaving her stomach in favour of tangling with his, she sighs. “Could we just stay home tonight? I don’t really feel up to going out.”
A frown pulls across his face, eyes opening and filled with concern. “Are you feeling alright? Sick again? My poor darling, I hope you haven’t caught something awful.”
She’ll tell him later, she thinks to herself, smiling softly. Nothing has been caught, but a seed has been planted. One that will change everything, for the better. But the secret is hers for now, something sacred between mother and baby. “Just want you to myself,” is what she murmurs to him, face tucking into the crook of his neck. And it’s true, a secondary hunger starting to rise in her as she imagines the flex of his arms, the stretch of him that a year of consistent fucking has yet to dull.
Between dessert and dessert, she thinks, letting the warm embrace lull her back to sleep. Only a few more hours, she can survive that.
The hours drag on, each clock tick slightly longer than the last. She has a plan, she thinks, one that she desperately wants to stick to. Pavlova for dessert, the usual white peaks dyed pink and blue and studded with berries. Real blue, not the violet-indigo of blueberries. She is inordinately proud of it, prouder yet that she’s been able to keep it hidden from Rupert all day.
He likes to watch her in the kitchen, listening as she rambles on about which dish goes with certain wines and how flavour palates come together. It’s nice, to have the company, and the trim waistline that somehow increased an inch is evidence that he doesn’t mind tasting her latest experiments.
The blue spirulina had stained her hands for hours, a pricy purchase that was absolutely worth it. The soft baby blue meringue is gorgeous, and as she reaches to adjust a slightly lopsided raspberry, that familiar churn echoes through her.
Morning sickness was not limited to mornings, it turns out. Taggie barely has time to reach the sink before she’s throwing up her breakfast, the noise summoning several dogs and her husband. Reaching for her quickly, he lifts the hair from the back of her neck and rubs a soothing hand over her back as she spits bile into the stainless steel sink.
“I’m worried about you, Tag,” he mutters quietly, his broad form leaning to snag a dishtowel from the nearby drawer. Dabbing it at the corner of her mouth, his forehead wrinkles as he frowns. God, she loves him, even when he’s all pinched and stressed. Letting him fuss over her, the smell of bile still lingering sharply, she reminds herself that there are only a few hours until she can reveal her surprise.
Rupert leads her to the closest sitting room, tucking her onto the soft corduroy couch with a blanket around her shoulders. “I’m going to call Benson,” he murmurs, lifting Claudius up onto the couch so that he can crawl into her lap. “He’ll know what to do about this bug you’ve got.”
“Rupert, I’m fine, I promise—” she starts, but he won’t hear it, stalking off towards the phone in the hall. With the blanket still wrapped around her, she scurries after him. “Really, he’s probably very busy, we don’t need to bother him.”
“Tag, this is the third time this week you’ve thrown up out of the blue, something could be seriously wrong.” Reaching for the receiver, he frowns slightly. “I’m not leaving my wife’s health to chance.”
It spills out of her then, uncontrollably, because god, she loves him so much. “I’m pregnant,” blurted out as Rupert scowls down at the phone and repeated when he goes ghostly pale. “I-I took a test, when I went to Lizzie’s two days ago. I’m pregnant.”
He drops the phone, receiver dangling in the air as the operator’s tinny voice echoes through the speakers. “You’re certain? It couldn’t be a faulty test or false positive?”
For a moment, fear and heartbreak curl through her stomach. He doesn’t want this, it’s too soon. He changed his mind, happy with Marcus and Tabitha as his only heirs. Every possibility races through her mind, each worse than the last, until Rupert kneels before her on the floor, his forehead pressing to her stomach. Though her thick, oversized jumper, she can barely feel the press of his lips. “Hi baby,” he murmurs, one hand coming up to cup Taggie’s hip while the other snakes under her sweater. It presses to the skin of her abdomen, the spot she knows will begin to swell as their child grows. “Hi, my darling, our little miracle.”
A sob catches in her throat, relief flooding her veins. “Y-you’re happy? About the baby?”
“Happy?” He looks up at her, his eyes lined with silver, unshed tears building along his lashes. “Tag, angel, I’m ecstatic. I’ve never been so excited. We’re having a baby.”
“I had a whole plan,” she cries, the tears she’d kept a firm leash on all week slowly coming to the surface. “There’s a pavlova, for dessert, pink and blue. I-I was going to tell you over dinner, a-and I have an appointment with the doctor in two days.”
Another kiss presses to her stomach, words mumbled against the cotton of her jumper that she can’t quite catch. “I ruined your plan,” Rupert says with a laugh, knees cracking softly as he stands and takes her in his arms. “I’m sorry, will you ever forgive me?”
She’s never been able to stay mad at him, certainly not while he held her tight, like something precious. “Only if we can have dessert now,” she says shyly, tucking her face into the crook of his neck. “I think the baby is craving it.”