Stars are Brightly Shining

by Quinn, Paula

  Jenny suddenly felt extraordinarily selfish at having invited Maggie with the flippant, “Your turn, dear sister.” However, since she was encumbered by the final weeks of her delicate condition—carrying twin souls, according to the experienced midwife—Jenny had thought it her privilege not to travel. After all, she was in confinement, not seeing anyone except her own family and servants, except for one festive party that had exhausted her down to her swollen toes. According to the midwife, who’d also delivered the first Lindsey heir two years prior, Jenny could expect her babes early in the new year.

  Patting her impressively large stomach, Jenny couldn’t help but fret. She’d already told her husband she wished for nothing more this Christmas than their babies’ safe delivery. Asking for more had seemed like tempting fate. Now, though, she fervently wished for nothing less than the safe travel and expedient arrival of Maggie, John, and baby Rosie.

  Jenny missed her own normally calm state, unable to stop her fertile, worried imagination from picturing the Cambreys’ carriage overturned on an impassable road or their having been detained at an inn, with the doors entirely snowed shut.

  She sighed.

  “That sounds like an extremely heavy burden, my love,” her husband’s voice came from the doorway.

  Jenny turned to see Simon’s handsome face, framed by rich brown hair. He had little Lionel on his hip, as usual. When their toddling boy wasn’t crawling over his strong father while playing on the floor, he was climbing him or being carried. She smiled. How on earth would her husband manage to hold the next two at the same time?

  Instantly, that thought gave way to one of her other irksome worries. Would Lionel resent his younger siblings stealing his parents’ attention from him for even a moment?

  For months now, instead of being entirely thrilled by the prospect of more children, Jenny had felt a mounting concern about her ability to love the new babies as much as she already loved her sweet son. As the impending reality of two more children became ever clearer by her stomach’s growth, she feared she would always love her firstborn more than she could ever love any other. Could she be a good mother to all three?

  “You went from sighing to smiling to frowning in the space of a few seconds, dear wife. Tell me what’s wrong,” Simon ordered as he crossed the room before setting Lionel down beside her.

  Her husband’s grace and ease of movement compared to her own ungainly physique and swollen ankles irritated her to kingdom come and back. Tamping down the irrational vexation, she said simply, “I’m worried for Maggie and John.”

  He nodded and tried to take her in his arms, but there was still the span of her extended belly between them. He turned her and pressed his long, muscled body to her back, crossing his arms over her breasts, which also seemed to have ballooned to magnificent proportions. It took all her restraint not to shrug him off, due to all the discomfort she was in, but she didn’t.

  Instead, with great effort, she relaxed against him, and let his distinct Pears soap scent envelop her. Simon smelled like home and love.

  “Do you think they are close by?”

  He hesitated, which she desperately wished he hadn’t done. They never lied to each other—they’d been through too much and knew each other too well. However, just this once, when she was feeling so anxious about everything, Jenny wished he could have simply soothed her with nothingness words.

  “I don’t think they’ll come tonight, my love. If they were going to, they would have come by now, in the daylight, and you won’t make them arrive any more quickly by staring at the snow all evening. They are sensibly holed up somewhere warm and safe and will undoubtedly arrive for Christmas breakfast.”

  Her husband was probably correct on all counts. In fact, Jenny hoped John and Maggie were already tucked into a cozy suite at an inn rather than out in the elements. A bitterly cold December had suddenly warmed enough to snow thick, damp flakes instead of the dry dustings they were used to.

  “We should have insisted they come much earlier, either for Stir-It-Up Sunday or for the St. Nicholas Day party at the very latest.”

  She felt him nod against her head just as Lionel pushed his way against the front of her legs by burrowing under the girth of her stomach. Ouch!

  Jenny didn’t even flinch. She adored everything about this generally good-natured scamp—his big, gray-blue eyes like his father’s, his head of silky dark hair, and his wee little grin that flashed constantly.

  They’d only had the one jovial party this yuletide season. Usually, the St. Nicholas Day revelry would have been merely the start of festivities leading up to a large gathering that very evening. Then, after Christmas day, as the Earl and Countess of Lindsey, they would have opened their doors to the Sheffield villagers and other guests from afar, all welcome throughout the twelve days of Christmas.

  Instead, she had ruined it all with her girth and her continual fatigue. And now her beloved sister was out in the snow. Tears welled in her eyes.

  Stop it, Jenny admonished herself, trying to take comfort in her husband’s arms and in the warmth of her little boy, nestled in her skirts. She was overly emotional and constantly worried or irritable. Frankly, she was tired of being with herself.

  And then one of the babies seemed to sit upon her bladder, causing a sharp pain and the immediate desire to relieve herself. The past week, she’d taken to keeping a chamber pot in each room as this was happening more and more often. Glancing sideways, she saw the porcelain sticking out the back from under one of the sofas.

  She had to get rid of Simon at once. After all, if she hoped her husband would ever see her again as a desirable woman, apart from being a breeding cow, she had best not be reduced to squatting in front of him on a pot.

  “Out,” she commanded. “Both of you.”

  “Jenny, love, I don’t—”

  “Now!” she ordered sharply, making Lionel begin to cry as his fingers grasped her skirts more tightly.

  Dear God! Now she was frightening her little boy.

  “I simply need a moment’s peace,” Jenny added, reaching under her belly to stroke Lionel’s head before prying him loose. She propelled him toward his father, who scooped him up while frowning at her.

  “He should be in bed anyway,” she reminded Simon, then reached out to take her son’s little hand. “How will Father Christmas come if you’re awake, sweetums?” she asked him, trying to sound normal while she was certain she was going to disgrace herself the next instant.

  She kissed Lionel’s hand and then his soft cheek. He smiled at her again. Her heart melted.

  “I’ll get him tucked in,” Simon said, still looking slightly miffed at her high-handed behavior. “Then you’ll come kiss him goodnight?”

  “Of course,” she snapped, desperate to be alone.

  Her loving husband’s eyes widened. What could she do? Lifting her hand, she stroked Simon’s cheek as she had her little boy’s, hoping to soften her words. Shame lanced through her when he flinched. He probably was unsure whether she had intended to slap him or caress him.

  She was behaving like a monster! At that moment, squeezing her thighs together and hardly able to breathe, she could do nothing else.

  “Go,” she urged.

  She would make it up to him after she’d used the chamber pot. She would climb the stairs—which took all her strength at this stage—and kiss Lionel and then kiss Simon even if she couldn’t press her body against her husband’s and get close to him the way she wanted to. Or used to want to.

  Simon seemed to be ambling.

  “Out!” she repeated, not realizing she’d said it aloud until he glanced over his shoulder with pursed lips, then hurried from the room.

  As soon as the door closed behind them, Jenny darted behind the sofa where she withdrew the chamber pot with her foot. Lifting her skirts, she settled over it, using the back of the sofa to help her lower and stay steady.

  In moments, she felt infinitely better. Still, as she rearranged her skirts, s
he glanced out the window once more, unable to give up hope her sister would appear. To have all her family under one roof would help calm her anxiousness.

  And then she saw a light in the darkness.

  What on earth! The glow moved across the snowy landscape, rather low and wobbly like a shooting star gone far off course and slowing down to rest. She smiled at her own fanciful thoughts, much more like Eleanor, who, even then, was in the upstairs drawing room wrapping presents with their mother.

  Jenny rang the bell with the unpleasant task of asking the downstairs maid to empty the chamber pot.

  “But please bring it back soon,” Jenny said.

  “Yes, my lady.”

  Turning again to the window, she saw the light move toward the stable yard, then to the right of the manor house.

  “Maggie,” Jenny whispered. Could it be her sister and family arriving on a sleigh or possibly walking?

  Moving as quickly as she could, which meant a slow, lumbering gait, Jenny went into the marble entrance foyer, dithering with indecision as to the best course of action, which wasn’t like her at all. No-nonsense Jenny. Practical Jenny. Those were the monikers people had for her. Certainly not Dithering Jenny.

  Sighing again at how her thoughts rambled more than ever before—had they flitted across her brain like this when she was pregnant with Lionel?—she went to the cupboard under the main staircase and took out her fur-lined winter cloak, boots, and woolen mittens.

  Where was the admiral, as she always thought of Mr. Binkley, their family’s rigid, no-nonsense butler?

  At that hour on Christmas Eve, he’d already been relieved of his duties and was undoubtedly enjoying some holiday cheer with the rest of his staff.

  Jenny stood at the bottom of the great staircase and called up, “Simon.”

  She waited. No answer. She was being a ninny. Of course, he couldn’t hear her! He was probably on the next floor up in the nursery with Lionel, reading Mr. Dickens’s tedious story, A Christmas Carol.

  That was mean of her, she realized, but she was long-past sick of it, although she’d enjoyed the tale a few years back when it was new. Every host or hostess had felt obliged to read some part of the story at every Christmas season gathering until Jenny used to dread going anywhere at that time of year.

  Unable to bend over for any length of time, she tossed her warm, lace-up boots back into the closet and grabbed Eleanor’s Wellies, the only boots she could get on by herself since she could simply step into them.

  Opening the front door, Jenny was instantly beset upon by the stinging cold. She nearly turned around to go upstairs and be with her little family. After all, in reconsidering, she realized Simon wouldn’t read Mr. Dickens’s ghost story to their son, especially after she’d banned it from their one and only Christmas party. More likely, they were enjoying The Cricket on the Hearth or something from Mrs. Ellis’s Fireside Tales for the Young.

  While she hesitated, she heard the horses nickering, the distinct sound carrying on the frigid air. If her sister’s family were in the stables, Jenny would be the first to welcome them. She drew open the door and stepped outside.

  The moon was hidden by thick clouds, and twilight had given way to near blackness. Regardless, she knew the way easily in the dark even with the dense snow falling around her. Their head groundskeeper had ensured the paths were shoveled from the house to all the outbuildings both in the front and in the back of the manor house. The stables, which were halfway around the house, normally would have a few boys staying in them. But with the nasty weather and it being Christmas Eve, all hands were staying in the main house with their families.

  Yet, Jenny could see a light glowing from the stables’ two windows facing her. Of that, she was glad, for she hadn’t had the sense to bring a lamp with her. What an addlepated fool!

  She trudged onward. Pausing at the small door beside the heavy coach doors, Jenny glanced back at the house. Gasping, she stood stock-still and stared. How beautiful, even magical, Belton Manor appeared from the outside.

  For the past month, she couldn’t recall having gone out at night, thus it was a surprising treat to see a candle in every window, each illuminating the room behind it and glittering against the glass panes. Her home looked so welcoming and festive. If only Maggie would arrive that night to see it.

  Shaking the wet snowflakes off her cloak, she pushed open the door and entered.

  Chapter Two

  The smell of the hay and the more pungent aroma of warm horses wafted around her. Jenny wrinkled her nose. The lamp she’d seen in the distance was set upon the cleanly swept stone floor, lighting the large central aisle from which the stalls feathered off back into the darkness to the right and left.

  To her immediate right was the well-appointed tack room and above it, by way of a ladder, was where the stable boys slept. All was quiet and empty.

  “Hello,” she called toward the shadows beyond the circle of lamplight, back to where the horses were softly whinnying or shifting in their stalls. No answer.

  Hm. Maybe the lamp belonged to one of the boys who’d come to check on a favorite horse. One thing was certain—sadly, disappointingly certain—it did not belong to her sister. Lord and Lady Cambrey had not snuck into the Lindsey stables.

  Foolish woman, Jenny berated herself. Why on earth had she thought they would go to the stables after a long journey instead of directly to the house? She supposed it was just more of her wishful thinking.

  Perhaps she could walk back with the lamp’s owner since she suddenly felt all-overish—a little hot, a little cold, and as if she wanted to lie down. But she certainly didn’t intend to lie down out there. Besides, the longer she was gone from the main house, the more worried Simon would be when he discovered her missing.

  “Hello,” she called again.

  No response except for a sudden cramp in her stomach. Thankfully, she could not possibly need to void her bladder again. Apparently, the babies were answering her call of greeting by giving her a little pinch. She smiled even as another cramp squeezed her stomach into a hard mass.

  “Oof,” she expelled a breath. She’d had the same phantom labor pains with Lionel at about the same time, too, with a mere few weeks to go. Inconvenient but nothing to worry about, she reminded herself.

  Then another pain grabbed hold of her body, and she did, indeed, need to sit down, if only to catch her breath before she walked back to the house. Luckily, there was a wooden bench nearby, against the wall next to the tack room door, and Jenny sunk slowly onto it.

  Getting up might be the real problem.

  A noise behind her snagged her attention, coming from the room that smelled of leather and polish, where the saddles and bridles were hung with care. Her heartbeat seemed to double.

  “I can hear you,” she said. “Show yourself.” Jenny didn’t want to confess to being frightened, but suddenly, she was. She hadn’t considered for a moment that there was an intruder in their stables.

  Why hadn’t she taken that into consideration?

  Because the babies have sapped every last bit of intelligence that Lionel had left her!

  So, there she was, too far for anyone to hear her back at the manor if she screamed. Nor could she run and hide. Why, she doubted if she could even get up from the bench without assistance.

  Holding her breath as her body tightened again with the intense cramping of her stomach muscles, she heard someone descending the ladder from the loft above the tack room. Then footsteps crossed the stone floor, and Jenny thought they might belong to a woman by the lightness of them.

  After a hesitation that had her in an agony of suspense, a young face peeked from the tack room doorway beside her. In fact, with her being seated, their faces were about on the same level.

  Jenny beckoned with a crook of her finger, relieved by the small stature of the trespasser.

  A boy with dark eyes stared at her. Immediately, she noticed two things, his hollowed cheeks, and as it came into view, his reed-thi
n body, inappropriately dressed for the weather.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  Instead of answering, he made a run for the door, which struck her as amusing since she could do nothing but watch him. Then he stopped abruptly, perhaps remembering his lamp, for he turned back and took a step toward it.

  As their gazes locked, she experienced another painful cramp and was beginning to think these babies were seriously considering coming early.

  “Ooh,” she exclaimed. “That pinched.”

  The boy blinked at her, his head cocking slightly. “Are you all right, missus?”

  She smiled through the increasing discomfort. His accent placed him as hailing from Yorkshire, born and bred.

  “I would rather converse with someone to whom I’ve been introduced. I asked you before, who are you?”

  “Jasper Shaw, missus.”

  She nodded. “Well, Jasper Shaw, what are you doing in my stables?”

  “Yours, missus?” His dark eyes grew wide. “Are you…are you the lady of the house?”

  “I am. My title is Lady Lindsey, but I’m actually just Jenny Devere.” She had a sudden whimsical notion. “You may call me Jenny.”

  His eyes became even wider. “Oh, no, missus. I mean, my lady.”

  She shrugged. It was becoming increasingly difficult even to speak to the little waif due to what was happening inside her stomach, but talking to him was also taking her mind off the cramping and pain. Thus, she persisted.

  “Are you alone?”

  “Yes, Lady Jenny.”

  She smiled again. Apparently, young Jasper Shaw had settled on his own acceptable form of address for her. “How did you come to be here?”

  “I walked.”

  She tried to laugh at his response, but it hurt, making her gasp.