The Virgin Widow

by Jen YatesNZ

  Holly never ventured to Baxendene House unless invited—or summoned.

  ‘My mother sent for Lady Brisco, Denby?’

  ‘No, my Lord. Garnet did.’

  ‘Garnet?’

  ‘Lady Baxendene was asking for you, my Lord. Garnet didn’t know who else to call.’

  There was no one else. By the act of bringing Holly into existence, and causing his father to fight a duel for her honor in which he was killed, his stunningly beautiful, heartless Mama had alienated herself almost entirely from acquaintances and family to a large extent. He was struggling to maintain his usual careless front when he felt as if he’d taken a direct kick from a powerful stallion’s hoof, right in his gut—or maybe a little higher.

  He loved his mother, but had never been able to forgive her for so blatantly cuckolding his father whose memory he’d idolized since childhood.

  Nor could he forgive her for her constant moralizing to him! Where did she think he’d learned such faithlessness? At least he wasn’t married; hadn’t made false pledges of love and fidelity to anyone; had no intention of ever doing so.

  Surely she couldn’t be ill enough to die?

  ‘Please see Miss Selena and Lady Rotherby settled, Denby, and I’ll repair to Baxendene House and send Lady Brisco home immediately.’

  ‘Thank you, my Lord.’

  Every other consideration forgotten but that his mother might be ill enough to die, he raced back down the steps and leapt onto the horse Fosse was holding for him. Baxendene House was only a hundred yards or so around the corner, long enough to give his man the terse details before abandoning the horse to his care at the front steps.

  ‘Garnet!’ he demanded, as soon as he entered the house. ‘What the devil goes on?’

  ‘Your Lady Mother caught a chill and it developed into a nasty infection of the lungs, my Lord. This afternoon Lowry became concerned so we sent for Lady Brisco.’

  ‘Lady Brisco is with her?’

  ‘She is, my Lord, and grateful Lowry was to see her.’

  ‘Thanks, Garnet,’ he said, already halfway up the stairs.

  Tears of relief flowed down Holly’s wan cheeks and she flung herself into the security of her brother’s arms the moment he opened the door.

  ‘Thank God you’ve come!’ she sobbed against his chest.

  Holding her until she’d gathered herself, he settled her on the chaise in the window bay and himself beside her, after assuring himself Mama was sleeping. He struggled not to show shock at her drawn, disheveled appearance.

  ‘Garnet says it’s a lung infection?’

  ‘Yes. She’s refusing to take any more of Dr. Brownlee’s tinctures or allow him to bleed her. Says it makes her worse—and her breathing’s terrible, as you can hear.’

  He could. She sounded like a man who’d run hard uphill for an hour.

  ‘And when she’s awake she keeps asking for you, gets distressed when I tell her you aren’t here and don’t know when you’re coming. I started lying, telling her you’d be here soon!’

  She stopped on a little sobbing gasp.

  ‘That wasn’t a lie, for here I am!’ he said, gently wiping away her tears as he’d used to when she was a child. ‘I’d have been back last night if Hawk hadn’t thrown a shoe. I stayed the night at Pountney Hall and escorted Miss Selena and Lady Rotherby to your home,’ he informed her, feeling an absolute cad at the delight he’d felt at the necessary delay.

  ‘Selena and Jane have arrived? Whatever time is it? I imagine Selena is terribly excited.’

  He growled softly, ‘All is well! Do—not—panic. Selena’s excited, which is to be expected, but she’s surprisingly level-headed for a daughter of Cel’s! And Angular Jane is immensely capable. I imagine you could safely leave anything in her hands.’

  ‘Angular Jane? You never called her that!’ Holly demanded.

  ‘Of course I did! Though she did point out she’s no longer angular. Quite the opposite, in fact. Deliciously so!’

  ‘Oh you!’ Holly spluttered, but he’d achieved his goal. There was color back in her cheeks and a hint of sparkle in her eyes.

  ‘Now I’m here you can return home and I’ll sit with Mama. Where’s Lowry?’

  ‘Poor Lowry! I think she must’ve been up all night. She’s beyond that sort of thing. I should stay until she’s had a rest and can take over again.’

  ‘No, you shouldn’t, little sister! I’m here and capable of sitting at a bedside and bathing a brow. There’s no need for you to jeopardize your health or the health of your babe for a woman who doesn’t, and never has, loved you!’

  Shadows of pain flitted through her eyes, but she straightened delicate shoulders and stiffened her spine, looking up at him with the feisty determination with which she’d tackled the whole of her life; a grittiness so at odds with her faerie-like appearance.

  ‘I’ve learnt to accept how Mama is,’ she said crisply. ‘I’m comfortable with it. Last night, at one stage, she was holding my hand and saying ‘sorry’ over and over. Then she said you look just like her—but you have your father’s eyes. Lord knows what she meant. You might find out. I’m not sure I want to know. I have Brisco and the children. They’re all I need.’

  ‘Ah, Holly Molly,’ he murmured, holding her briefly. ‘You’re too forgiving. I doubt I would’ve been. Off home with you now. Garnet will send one of the footmen with you.’

  ‘Thank you, Hades,’ she said, reaching up to press a kiss to his chin because she couldn’t reach any higher.

  Chapter 3

  As the door closed behind Holly, Bax finally allowed himself to observe his mother. Black hair liberally sprinkled with silver lay in thick braids across the pillows. Unnaturally high color emphasized her hollowed cheeks.

  She stirred. He had no idea how long he’d been sitting and gazing at her, thinking guiltily of the times she’d lectured him, especially about his refusal to spend even a night at The Dene after Jason’s death; the bitter words he’d occasionally unleashed on her; the stiff and uneasy truce they’d reached with one another.

  The shadows of evening gathered; a footman had been in to stoke up the fire; Mrs. Lark had brought up his dinner and he’d sipped gratefully at the port Garnet had sent up.

  All he wanted was Mama to wake and speak, lecture him even! He didn’t care so long as she gave him reason to hope she’d survive this.

  ‘Haden?’ She moved restlessly on the pillows, her eyes still closed. ‘Haden?’

  Reaching for the hand lying nearest him on the coverlet, he enclosed it gently in his.

  ‘I’m here, Mama. It’s all right. I’m here.’

  Her eyes shot open and for a moment blazed at him, fierce and bright. Then they closed again as if too much effort was required to keep them open, but her fingers curled round his with a surprising strength.

  ‘I’m dying, Haden,’ she whispered.

  ‘No, Mama! I won’t allow it,’ he said, grateful the violent panic fisting in his gut didn’t sound in his voice.

  ‘You’re not God, my son—whatever you might—believe to the—contrary—’. Her voice faded, then her eyes opened and there was a hint of amusement in their misty depths. ‘He—will decide. Something—must—tell you—’

  A terrible fit of coughing choked off her words and when it was over she’d fallen back into exhaustion.

  Forced to face the possibility she might be right and death was imminent, Bax downed another mouthful of port, then reminded himself of the need to drink sparingly.

  ‘I’m not—Holly’s mother!’

  The raspy words cut off his morose thoughts.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Holly. If I—die, someone should know.—You—should know. Harry—was her father. Mother—was—my—maid, Ruby Dawson.’

  ‘Ruby Dawson? I thought she was Papa’s mistress.’

  He’d thought Mama hadn’t known of her existence or had any clue the estate still paid her a comfortable annuity. Doubtless, he knew nothing, and his mother knew mor
e than he realized!

  ‘Harry—like you. Liked—women. And—they liked—Harry.’

  Bax stared at his mother’s drawn face and unnaturally flushed cheeks, willing her to open her eyes and look at him. His heart felt like mauled meat in his chest and his brain could scarcely begin to process the enormity of what she’d said.

  ‘Then why—why—did you let people think you were Holly’s mother? That he died—because you—because he had to defend—your honor?’

  The words choked in his throat and he thought he might explode with the turmoil in his chest—or burst into tears! Fuck!

  ‘Mama? Why?’

  ‘Honorable—in his way. Said—he had no choice. His fault—my reputation tarnished. Harry loved his children.—Wanted Holly to have—same privileges—as others. We went away. Stayed at Rosen Keep. Brought Holly home with us.—Sent—her mother—to Dover. No one questioned—she was mine. But when she turned out—as fair as Ruby—everyone thought—I’d paid Harry back—in kind.’

  Unable to sit still any longer, he placed her hand on the coverlet and strode about the room, trying to stomp feeling into limbs gone suddenly numb. All of him felt numb, except his damned heart and that felt—butchered. He stormed back to the side of the bed.

  ‘Mama, why would you make such a promise? He’d ruined your reputation, your life—our relationship! Holly’s life! Why?’

  His voice rose, harsh, ripping through the pain in his throat. He waited, aware she struggled for breath and battled excess emotion. For the first time in his memory he saw tears trickle down his mother’s cheeks.

  ‘You know—‘bout the duel. Harry seduced Shellgrave’s wife. Wouldn’t have stood a chance—‘gainst Harry with a sword. Publicly insulted me—Harry had no choice—called him out. He chose–pistols.’

  Bax dropped back into the chair and took his mother’s restless hands in his.

  ‘Why didn’t he claim Holly then? Clear your name?’

  ‘Too late—to change the story. He knew—was going to die. Had a rake’s honor. Made me—promise—keep Holly’s secret. He—adored her.’

  ‘Goddammit, Mama! Why?’

  ‘Loved—Harry,’ she rasped. ‘Miss him.’

  For Harry, the worthless father he’d idolized all these years. Undeserving bastard! He’d understood that about his father, but had still believed it Mama’s fault; had decided years ago that if, like his parent’s, he couldn’t stay faithful, he’d never make vows he knew he wouldn’t keep.

  A choking cough cut off his violent thoughts and he hastened to help her sit up, desperate to cough and clear her lungs himself. He could think of nothing but keeping her breathing.

  When at last she drifted off again, he sat by her side with his head in his hands. Suddenly looking up at her sleeping face, he whispered hoarsely, ‘I love you, Mama. I’m sorry I doubted you.’

  There was no response from the figure on the bed. He’d been a bastard to her over the years, seeing Holly, his father, even himself as the injured ones. What if she died before he could tell her he was sorry? Now, while she slept, wasn’t enough.

  The door opened after a brief knock and Lowry hobbled into the room.

  ‘Shall I sit with her Ladyship, my Lord?’

  ‘Go back to bed, Lowry. I’ll stay with Mama.’

  For a moment he thought the loyal old woman would argue, but seeing the set of his jaw she dipped a brief curtsy and closed the door. Scarce ten minutes later the door opened again after another brief knock.

  ‘I told you to go to bed,’ he snarled without looking up. Tears trickled down his cheeks and he swiped angrily at the emotional betrayal, the last thing he wanted anyone to see, even old Lowry.

  ‘No you didn’t, Hades,’ came the rich husky tones of Jane’s voice.

  ***

  He’d been holding his mother’s hand—and crying.

  Was she too late? Her gaze flew to the woman raised up on the pillows. Her chest rose and fell, the rasp of her breathing harshly audible. She returned her gaze to Bax’s bowed head. This was not the man who’d played the careless dilettante the last two days.

  Abruptly rising, he strode to the fire, bending to prod the logs with a poker. The room was warm and he was down to his shirt, open at the neck, sleeves rolled to the elbow.

  Not a good time, Jane admonished herself, to notice taut, muscled shoulders straining against fine linen, or manly forearms dusted with black hair. As a young man Hades Delacourte had been as angular as she, and like her, he was no longer angular! He’d filled out in a manly way that did strange things to her woman’s inner workings!

  Thank goodness he was staring into the fire, unaware of her appreciation! No doubt, he was trying to hide the tears.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I never travel without my herbal medicines. It’s what helped James stay alive as long as he did.’

  ‘She says she’s dying!’ he blurted, unable any longer to mask his pain and fear.

  ‘Never give up until life has fled,’ Jane advised quietly, crossing to the bed to look down at Lady Baxendene. ‘And since the patient seems to be resting comfortably at the moment, we’ll start with you.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with me!’

  ‘Nevertheless, a dose of lemon balm and passionflower will help calm you.’

  Opening the medicine chest on the sideboard, she prepared the dose and handed it to Hades.

  Taking it gingerly, he studied it, then her.

  ‘I’m not taking this if it’s going to put me to sleep!’

  ‘It’s not enough for that,’ Jane said serenely. ‘It’ll calm you. Drink it—and then you can help me get some medicine into your Mama.’

  With one more skeptical glance at Jane and a muttered ‘bossy’, he downed the preparation and handed her the glass. During the next half hour they only communicated for Jane to give instructions and to soothe the fractious patient. She’d learnt over the years the tone of voice to use to gain the confidence of patient and family alike.

  To her relief, Hades quickly settled into the role of support nurse, silently following orders with surprising efficiency. They’d bathed the patient’s face and hands, administered the first dose of Jane’s herbal decongestant and as much fluid as Lady Baxendene could take. Every small exertion exhausted her.

  When she slept and it looked as if Hades was going to continue staring at her and willing himself to breathe for her, Jane rose, took him by the arm, and led him to chairs away from the fire.

  ‘Talk to me, Hades,’ she said quietly. ‘Let it all out. Doesn’t have to make sense—but it’s churning inside you—like a pot ready to boil over.’

  ***

  ‘Perceptive, as always, Jane,’ he muttered, dragging his hands down his face.

  Absently he studied his hands, then asked, ‘Have you ever hated yourself so deeply you wished you could die?’

  Willing the heat away from the backs of his eyes, he knew it stupid to worry what she’d think. Doubtless, she’d seen his tears when she’d first entered and oddly enough, of all the people he knew, Angela Jane seemed the most fitted to the role of confidant.

  ‘I’ve always loved Mama—in a hating kind of way! Because I loved Papa more; worshipped his memory, I guess. I thought—believed—Mama had been unfaithful to him, conceiving Holly—making Papa fight to defend her honor. I blamed her for Papa’s death!’

  Somehow Jane’s hands were clasped around his and their knees were touching. She didn’t speak, simply made soft noises of encouragement.

  ‘There was no getting away from the scandal when we were growing up. Jason always averred there was more to it than we would ever know. But I never questioned it, tried to emulate everything I perceived my father to have been. Mama began sermonizing to me—preaching all kinds of abstinence and honorable behavior. I said some unforgivable things to her about that! And she never once denied any accusation I tossed at her. Because she’d f—promised Papa. How it must have hurt her!’

  F
or a moment he lost himself in confrontation with the angry and arrogant young man he’d been—all his life, if he was to be honest.

  ‘I remember as a lad, before Papa died, bursting into Mama’s sitting room with some exciting tale to tell her, and Papa had her pinned, hands against the wall either side of her head. His voice had this intense quality I’d never heard before. I can hear his words to this day. ‘You—are—my—wife and—’. He never finished what he’d been going to say. Not in my hearing, anyway. As a young man I thought I knew what that argument was about.

  ‘Jason maintained Holly, with her blonde hair and fairy quality was a throwback to Great Grandmother Townville. Besides, he said, she had Papa’s eyes. Just another instance where my brother showed more insight than I did. He should’ve been the Earl. Not me. He thought things through, didn’t allow himself to be blinded by his own importance or any sense of entitlement or—’

  Damn! He was babbling stuff that had festered within him for years; couldn’t seem to stop! What the devil had she dosed him with?

  ‘Jason would’ve inherited the title but for the accident of about five minutes in timing. At least in this generation I can address that anomaly.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘He left twin sons, even married the perfect woman, a descendant of our Granny Bax’s twin sister. His eldest boy will be my heir and the younger is ‘the Lamb’ for Rosen Keep. The boys were barely a year old when Jase—died.’

  ‘At the Battle of Vimeiro, wasn’t it?’

  He took a breath to settle the emotion rising from his belly—eight years and still he had to fight for control whenever he thought of Jason.

  ‘For God’s sake, let yourself feel, Hades! There’s nothing more natural than you should mourn him. He was more than your brother; he was the other half of you!’

  Gripping her hands in his, he simply hung on until the painful spasm passed.

  ‘How did you get to be so wise, Angular Jane?’ he rasped, hoping the use of the old teasing nickname would bring him back to his usual blasé self.