He smiled a little at that. Trust Mariah to bring a bit of light into a dark day. “I fully intend to sleep the clock around once I know Laurel is all right.”
“See that you do,” she ordered.
Lady Julia was already gliding downstairs, one hand on the railing and the other holding a sizable tapestry bag. He took it from her and led the way out to the chaise.
When they reached Kirkland House, he returned the chaise while Lady Julia went inside immediately. By the time he returned to Laurel, Lady Julia was able to meet him outside the bedroom with a diagnosis.
“It’s as expected,” Julia said quietly. “It was far too early to know if it would have been a boy or a girl. As miscarriages go, this one was fairly easy physically, if that’s any comfort. Laurel is doing well, but very, very tired. She just wants to sleep. She said that you were to do the same.”
“Can I sleep with her? Just . . . to hold her?”
Julia shook her head. “You both need deep, uncomplicated rest. Someone will stay with her. She’ll be tired for a few days, but she should be back to normal within a fortnight.” Julia hesitated, then added, “Physically, anyhow. She’s had a difficult time of it. I know I don’t have to tell you to be gentle with her.”
His mouth twisted humorlessly. “I shall do my clumsy male best. I assume there’s no reason I can’t see her, just to be sure she’s all right?”
“Go ahead, but quietly. She’s sleeping now.”
He opened the door to her bedroom and saw that, rather unexpectedly, Mrs. Simond was the one sitting with Laurel. But they had become good friends, and Badger had followed along. The cat lay sleeping at Laurel’s side. She’d be happy to see him when she woke.
He moved silently to her bedside and saw that she’d been cleaned up and put into a nightgown with her lovely bronze hair in a braid. She lay peacefully, looking very young. He kissed her hair with gossamer lightness. “Sleep well, my love.”
When he headed out to his own room, he realized that he couldn’t remember when he’d last eaten. But the numbness that wrapped body and soul had also numbed his appetite. Sleep first. There’d be time enough to eat when he awoke.
He barely managed to get his boots off. Rhodes-the-valet would have been upset by their condition, but Rhodes-the-lover probably wasn’t thinking about much beyond the fact that he had Violet safely back.
Kirkland stripped off his coat, which was ruined, and his cravat, whose condition didn’t interest him in the least. Then he crawled into bed, wrapped his arms around a pillow as a poor substitute for Laurel, and slept the clock around—despite recurring nightmares of losing his wife beyond recall.
It was barely dawn when Laurel woke the next morning. She lay in bed and watched the shape of the canopy become more visible in the lightening room. Physically, she felt fairly well. The cramping was gone, and while she had bruises all over her body, when she considered what her condition would have been on the Jamaica Queen, she felt amazing.
Except . . . she rested her hand on her belly, which no longer contained that bright spark of possibility. She felt hollow. Worthless. She’d failed her husband and herself.
And she’d killed a man. Not in cold blood, and not without cause. But she would remember the crunching bones when the heavy telescope smashed into her victim for as long as she lived.
Wanting to obliterate the memory, she sat up in bed and looked around the familiar room. Mrs. Stratton was asleep on the most comfortable chair. Everyone had taken such good care of her. And yet . . .
With sudden desperation, she wanted to go home. Not this grand house which belonged to Lady Kirkland, but home to Bristol to her brother and her friends and her plain, practical clothing. Lady Kirkland, after all, had failed in the first duty of a peeress, which was to produce an heir. She didn’t deserve this grand house.
Quietly, so as not to wake the housekeeper, she rose and tiptoed into her dressing room. It took only a few minutes to don one of her simple old gowns and to throw a few items into a bag. Most of her life was back in Bristol, after all.
She slung the bag over her shoulder and headed downstairs and out to the mews. The household would be waking soon, and the stables were already stirring. The grooms were awake and drinking strong tea, grooming horses, and telling each other stories of their grand adventure of rescuing her ladyship and the pretty lady’s maid.
The grooms fell silent when they saw her approaching. She managed a smile, though it didn’t feel real. “I owe you more than I can ever say. Thank you.”
They smiled and shuffled and looked very proud of themselves, as they deserved to. Addressing the head groom, she said, “Could you hitch up the travel coach? I’m going home to Bristol.”
“Will his lordship be coming with you, my lady?” the groom asked doubtfully.
She shook her head. “No, he has a great deal to do here before he can go anywhere. Being a pirate in the Thames requires a fair amount of explanation.”
They laughed at that, then went to hitch the horses to the travel coach. In here as in all ways, Kirkland had made her life so easy.
Such a pity that she hadn’t done the same for him.
Chapter 37
When Kirkland awoke after the longest sleep of his life, he realized that his brief career as a marine boarding an enemy vessel had involved a lot more bangs and bruises than he’d realized. He rang for hot water to bathe, wondering who would appear. Rhodes and Violet had both been given a week off to recover. Rhodes intended to take Violet to meet his mother and sister and then show her some of the sights of London, since she’d not been able to travel freely about the city.
While waiting for the hot water to arrive—he really needed to upgrade the plumbing; what he’d seen at Rob Carmichael’s house had been worth duplicating—he crossed to Laurel’s room. The bed was empty and neatly made up, so she was up and about. She must be feeling better.
As he turned to leave, he saw her sapphire cross sitting on the dressing table. The chain was missing. He wondered what happened to it, but it was no great matter. Chains were easily replaced.
He took the cross to his room, where the hot water was arriving, and Yarrow, one of the footmen who aspired to become a valet, was waiting to shave him. This was a good chance to assess the fellow’s skills, since Rhodes would be moving into Kirkland’s intelligence office soon. Apart from his initial shock after killing Moody, he’d acquitted himself well under dangerous conditions.
Washed, shaved, and dressed in clean clothing, Kirkland felt like, if not a new man, at least a man in good functioning condition. He also realized that he was ravenous, and the quickest way to be fed was to head right to the source.
As he entered the kitchen, Mrs. Simond looked up and beamed. If he wasn’t her employer, she might have hugged him. “There you are, my lord, and right hungry, I’m sure! Shall I make up a skillet of eggs and sausage and potatoes the way you like it?”
“That would be splendid, along with toast and preserves and something hot to drink.” As the cook ordered one of her assistants to take care of tea and toast, he settled into a Windsor chair by the deal table, feeling deeply content.
Badger leaped onto his lap and settled down with a purr, leaving white hair on Kirkland’s dark coat and black hair on his white shirt with a complete lack of discrimination. As Kirkland scratched the broad feline head, he asked, “Do you know where Lady Kirkland is at the moment?”
“Oh, she must be halfway to Bristol by now,” the cook said cheerfully. “You slept a very long time, my lord, and no surprise, such a hero as you are! The stories the men brought back about how you rescued her ladyship and young Violet!”
His hand froze on Badger’s head. Laurel was gone. She’d left him again and he knew this wasn’t a simple visit to see her brother. Once again their marriage had broken.
No, it was Laurel who was broken. As anguish flooded through him, he felt equally broken.
Breathe! He was lucky that a body eventually remembered to do so. Belatedly responding
to Mrs. Simond, he said, “I had a great deal of help from my friends.”
“Aye, and you’re all heroes.” She set a steaming mug of tea in front of him, along with a plate of fresh toast and little pots of preserves and honey. “With maybe some divine intervention, I say.”
He took a deep swallow of scalding tea, feeling it curl through him with heat and energy. “You may be right. The Duke of Ashton has been developing better steamships for years, but having one nearby and ready to go was truly a miracle.”
He needed another miracle. As he ate Mrs. Simond’s hot, hearty breakfast, his mind began to clear. Once before he’d let Laurel run away and made no attempt to stop her, but not this time. Then he’d been too aware of his failings. He hadn’t believed that he deserved love and happiness.
Though he had all those failings and more, he’d come to realize that if only those without flaws deserved happiness, the world would be a bleak place indeed. He thought of his closest friends and the remarkable women they’d married. In no case had building a lasting marriage been easy, but those friends had proved it could be done.
Laurel had changed, he had changed, the situation had changed. They need not make the same mistakes again.
It wasn’t too late in the day to set off for Bristol. But before he left, he would pay a call on Lady Julia Randall.
Laurel found it comforting to sleep in her own bed again with Shadow lying beside her. Even more comforting had been her big brother’s welcoming embrace. His first question after she’d buried herself in his arms was, “What has Kirkland done?”
“Nothing,” she whispered. “Nothing at all.”
Her voice ragged, she told her brother the bare bones of the story. She could feel his pain when he heard of the miscarriage, but with the wisdom learned in years of medical practice, he didn’t offer soothing platitudes. Instead he invited Anne Wilson to put Laurel to bed, then gave his sister the solitude she craved.
She slept the sleep of utter exhaustion through the night and most of the next day. Now night had fallen again and she could sleep no more. She supposed she should be hungry, but she had no appetite.
She supposed she should cry, but she had no tears.
Music. Only music might express the wordless anguish of her soul.
Music alone with sudden charms can bind
The wand’ring sense, and calm the troubled mind.
That was William Congreve, she thought. She had the wandering senses, and certainly the troubled mind. She lit a lamp, then made her way to the music room.
But she feared that on this night, even music wouldn’t be enough to soothe her troubled mind.
Chapter 38
Kirkland arrived in Bristol after dark. It was almost too late to call on anyone, even a family member. But to hell with manners—he wasn’t going to wait a moment longer than necessary to see Laurel.
He waited so long after wielding Herbert House’s knocker that he nearly gave up. Then Daniel opened the door, his face weary and his shirt spattered with dried blood.
Daniel’s brows arched when he saw who was on his doorstep. “I’ve been wondering if you’d come.” He moved back so Kirkland could enter the small foyer.
“I’m not making the same mistake I did before.” Tiredly Kirkland stepped inside. “Are you going to castigate me for bringing pain and trouble on your sister’s head?”
“I expect you’re doing quite enough self-castigation without my help,” Daniel said gravely. “I’m deeply sorry for your loss, James.”
“It’s a loss for all of us.” Daniel had always loved children and would have delighted in a niece or nephew. Kirkland forced himself not to think of that. “Are you going to be a protective big brother and refuse to let me see Laurel? I don’t advise it.”
“It’s not my place to interfere in your marriage.” Daniel hesitated, then added with painful honesty, “I’ve recognized that my motives have been less than pure. Yes, you’re a complicated devil and not necessarily whom I would have chosen for my sister’s husband, but you’re her choice, which is all that matters.”
“For which I’ve never stopped thanking God. Laurel has been the greatest blessing of my life.” Kirkland wished that she could say the same of him, but he was no one’s blessing.
“When she went to London with you, her absence left a large hole in my life.” Daniel’s mouth twisted. “She’s been my best friend and partner for years, but it’s not fair to her. She deserves so much more than an absent-minded, overworked brother.”
Kirkland shook his head. “Don’t regret what you’ve built here together. Laurel certainly doesn’t. You gave her love and support when your parents turned her away, not to mention the chance to use her abilities as few women can.”
“Yes, but I think her true home is with you.” Daniel smiled self-mockingly. “I’ll have to find the time to make some friends.”
“We were good friends once, Daniel,” Kirkland said quietly. “When Laurel left me, it was doubly painful because I lost you at the same time. Is there any chance we can be friends again?”
Daniel became very still. “I’ve never found anyone who was so good at discussing theology and philosophy.”
“And disagreeing with you half the time.” Kirkland smiled and offered a hand. “I believe I still owe you a letter rebutting your foolish opinions of Adam Smith and his Wealth of Nations.”
Daniel’s face eased into a real smile and he took Kirkland’s hand. “You’re still wrong, you know.”
“Prove it!”
Daniel laughed and released Kirkland’s hand. “I’ll start mustering my arguments. But for now—follow the music.” He opened the door that led into the house and a mournful tune drifted down from the music room.
Kirkland took a deep breath. “Wish me luck.” “I’m wishing you both luck. Or to be precise, I’m praying for you.” Daniel inclined his head, then returned to whatever he’d been doing.
Kirkland climbed the stairs and quietly opened the door to the music room. Laurel sat on the bench with her skirts spilling about her and a flickering lamp sitting on the Broadwood. She glanced up, her expression bleak. Unsurprised and uninterested in his arrival, she turned back to the instrument.
Kirkland sat on the bench beside her, but kept distance between them since she didn’t look as if she wanted to be touched. She seemed frighteningly withdrawn, and he didn’t know how to reach her.
He began with the music, since that was an integral part of their marriage. “I love Gregorian chant and you play it beautifully, but it’s melancholy.”
“It suits my mood.” Her long fingers stroked out a haunting melody of loss.
Since that was a dead end, he asked the question that mattered the most. “Do you plan on returning to London, or is this intended to be a permanent move?”
“I don’t know,” she said softly. “I don’t know anything except that I have failed as a wife and as a woman. I have miscarried my salvation.”
Her palpable pain sliced through him like a blade. Though he doubted words could lance such grief, he had to try. “I talked with Lady Julia before I left London. She says that many conceptions, perhaps as many as one in four or five, end in early miscarriage. Perhaps even more. There was nothing unusual about this one. Julia thought it would have happened even if you hadn’t been abducted by Hardwick.”
“She can’t know that. No one can.” Laurel finished the chant she’d been playing and let her fingers walk slowly up and down the keyboard. The result wasn’t music. Just sad, lonely notes.
Trying again, Kirkland said, “Julia thinks there’s no reason to believe you can’t have a child in the future.”
“She told me the same thing,” Laurel said, her voice dull. “But given that I didn’t conceive in the first year of marriage and now I’ve lost this child, I don’t seem to be very good material for motherhood.” More lonely plunking notes.
He swallowed hard. “A marriage is more than procreation.”
“Yes, there’s in
heritance as well.” Her hands stilled on the keyboard. “I’ve been thinking. It wouldn’t be difficult to arrange apparent adultery on my part so you could divorce me and find a more fertile wife.”
He stared at her. “What an appalling idea! Divorce is . . . unthinkable. Remember those vows we’ve discussed? For better or worse, as long as we both shall live.”
Her voice profoundly sad, she asked, “Even if I can’t give you an heir?”
“Bedamned to having an heir to the title!” he exploded. “I don’t care about the bloody title! All I care about is you. Would you like to raise a child? Several children? There are always babies in need of homes. Any child we raise will be ours in every way that matters.”
Finally she looked at him. “You wouldn’t mind that?”
“Not at all.” He laid his hand over hers where it rested on the keyboard, his fingers striking a deep chord. “As long as I have you, Laurel. As my wife in all ways. We’ve worked to rebuild our marriage, and I think we’ve done a decent job of it. Don’t give up now.”
She swallowed convulsively. “I . . . don’t know how to go on.”
“Hour by hour. Day by day. In time, going forward becomes easier.” His voice turned wry. “I certainly didn’t spend ten years celibate so I could find another woman! The night we met, I knew I’d love you as long as I lived. I told myself the thought was absurd, but it was God’s own truth. You are my soul, Laurel. Without you, I’m a hollow man with nothing in my life but responsibility.” His hand tightened on hers. “I want more than that.”
Her detachment shattered and she jerked her hand away from him. “I’m a murderer, James! I killed Hardwick without a single instant’s thought.” Her voice choked. “I feel as if. . . as if losing the baby is punishment for my sins.”
The power of guilt; he knew it well. “That’s rubbish,” he said flatly. “Would you rather have let Hardwick kill me? I’m vain enough to think my life is worth more than his. I certainly hope you think it is!”
Not Quite a Wife Page 27