Lady at last

by Annabelle Anders

  Her mother was fine with plain speaking? Well, so be it.

  “I’ve only just arrived!”

  “I know.”

  Her mother stood up and examined herself in the looking glass. “Child birth is a rather messy affair.” She sniffed. “I’d not intended upon staying very long anyhow. I only did it for you. I rather felt it was my duty to address the wrongs the two of you did, and, of course, to offer my felicitations.”

  “Of course.”

  Meeting Penelope’s eyes in the mirror, her mother narrowed her own. “Give me your word you’ll bring in the physician and I’ll go. Promise me, now, Penelope.” Her mother almost looked relieved to not have to stay so far away from London. It was the little season, after all.

  “I promise.”

  Her mother paused just a few seconds before nodding. “Very well. Perhaps I’ll make a visit to Lady Fredericks in Plymouth first.” She then kissed Penelope dutifully upon the cheek, smoothed a non-existent wrinkle from her dress, and closed the door firmly behind her.

  Rose was all astonishment. “If only you’d told her that yesterday.”

  Penelope surprised herself by chuckling softly. Ah, if only…

  So now, she truly was alone but for Rose. If only Abigail were here. Perhaps, if Hugh did not return within a day or two, she could write to her cousin. Abigail had been through childbirth twice now and would know what to expect. Abigail had also given birth to twins.

  She would not wait to write. Abigail had delivered an heir for her husband just three months ago. She’d written that all had gone perfectly and the baby was absolutely beautiful.

  Would the duke object to his wife visiting her cousin so soon? It was hard to know. He’d always been such a cold man, although he had warmed considerably since his marriage.

  Yes, Penelope would write to Abigail.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Leaving Morrow Point, no, leaving Penelope, was more difficult than he’d imagined it would be. As he’d ridden down the long drive away from his home, he had to fight the overwhelming urge to turn right back around and make amends with his wife.

  But his original reason for leaving would still be there: A pregnant wife, large with two babies that were not his.

  It frustrated him to no end that she’d persisted in maintaining his paternity. It would be convenient, if he could only convince himself and go forward believing such a blatant falsehood.

  But he could not.

  Could he even believe that there were two children instead of one? Was that claim another falsehood in an attempt to make up for the fact that she was already so very far along in her pregnancy? It would most certainly be convenient for the midwife to announce to him that one of the children was stillborn, and then conveniently dispose of the child’s body, in an effort to cover up the lie.

  Hugh had turned the horse onto the road heading east most purposefully.

  And then she’d gone and told him that she loved him!

  He’d nearly bought into that as well.

  She’d looked so forlorn and desperate.

  There had been moments, when they’d been making love, when he’d nearly declared the sentiment himself. But he’d always held back.

  How could he allow himself to love a woman he did not trust?

  He rode onward firmly.

  He’d told her the truth when he’d said he’d never found greater pleasure with any other woman. The irony!

  If only he could find such satisfaction with her character as he did with her body and her mind. That, of course, was asking far too much from the great almighty.

  By the time he was well into his third day of travel he convinced himself that he’d done the right thing. Perhaps, when he returned, when she no longer was the walking evidence of her treachery, he could reconcile himself to what she’d done, to who she was.

  By the third day, he’d also determined a destination. He would make an inspection of Augusta Heights. He would visit with the new steward there and let the man know that he was not to be taken advantage of.

  Once decided, the miles passed quickly. The weather was cooperative, as were the roads, the horses, and the inns. Less than a week had passed before he arrived.

  And what he found there was quite disappointing.

  He’d been looking forward to several arguments and reasons to walk about yelling and barking at the staff.

  But it was not to be so.

  In fact, the first thing he saw upon arrival was several masons replacing brick where there had been cracks on a manor which no longer seemed to be listing to the left. Damn Penelope. He swallowed hard around the sudden lump that had appeared in his throat.

  And the grounds, he noted, were trimmed tidily, and in some places, cleared completely and replanted. The drive had been smoothed and even the front mahogany door now gleamed with a rich ebony shine.

  As he approached, a footman appeared to take his horse and then that gleaming new front door was opened by a man who appeared to be a butler.

  “My lord, it is an honor to serve you. I am Mr. Charles Bridge, your butler.” He bowed formally before Hugh realized there were other servants lined up in the foyer. “When we heard you were staying at the Boar’s Head last evening, we took the liberty to prepare for your arrival.”

  What a difference a few months made.

  That and a particularly meddlesome little redheaded witch.

  Hugh nodded and proceeded to be introduced to each of the new servants. At the end of the line stood a capable-looking man in business attire. The new steward, he presumed.

  And he was right.

  But of course! Penelope had in fact hired one of the finest stewards in all of England.

  After less than a fortnight in residence, Hugh found himself superfluous. After addressing his responsibilities at Morrow Point, practically daily, the lack of tasks required here left him far too much time to think.

  He had a fleeting thought of traveling to London but had no wish to encounter those who would congratulate or berate him for his summer nuptials. Most certainly the other bachelors with whom he’d spent many of his evenings with while in town would declare that he’d finally capitulated.

  He would not be appreciative of such comments.

  No, he would go to Summer’s Park. A visit with Cortland most likely was exactly what he needed.

  He’d always been able to discuss matters, both of a personal and business nature, with his longtime friend. Once decided, he allowed his mind to return once again to the pressing problem awaiting him at home. The last time he’d been to Summer’s Park had been in February, where, he thought with a jolt, Penelope claimed this had all begun.

  Twenty six days had passed since he’d left her. Had she’d given birth yet? He would know for certain, of that he was sure, upon arrival at Summer’s Park. For Lilly would receive notification right away.

  She would chastise him, no doubt, for leaving Penelope alone.

  He would stay just a sennight, maybe not even that.

  He missed her.

  As he’d rambled about Augusta Heights, her influence and capabilities obvious everywhere, he’d begun to make a decision in his mind.

  Perhaps he could forgive her.

  He would never forget, no, that was impossible, but there was this empty feeling inside, as though a piece of himself was missing.

  He would forgive her. They could begin anew.

  Unfortunately, once he made this decision, a new worry assaulted him.

  He’d been unusually cruel to her when he’d left.

  He’d left her to give birth alone—with her mother—no less. Would she forgive him?

  Their marriage was going to require more than a little compromise on both sides. As he was already so near Summer’s Park, he decided he would stay the night and then ride, hounds for horses, and return to her. Several clouds had gathered on the horizon and the evening looked to be a stormy one. Yes, he would take shelter from the weather, rest for the night, and th
en return to his wife.

  Neither Cortland nor the duchess were pleased to see him. Penelope and the duchess corresponded regularly. He was certain Lilly would have sent him packing if it hadn’t already begun raining.

  Cortland knew him though. He knew that there must be more to Hugh’s absence from his wife at such a time than met the eye. After a slightly uncomfortable dinner, Lilly excused herself so the men could take their port.

  Cortland opened the touchy subject first. “Out with it, Hugh. What transpired between you and Miss Crone—pardon me, Lady Danbury?”

  His wife. His countess.

  Hugh ran a hand through his hair and took a long sip of the sweet aromatic liquid. He’d not really thought through exactly what he would tell his old friend. So, he decided to ask a question instead. “How did you come to trust Lilly again, after?”

  Lilly had married another man, even though she had led Cortland to believe she would betroth herself to him. At one of the very worst times in Michael’s life, she’d abandoned him.

  It had been astonishing, really, because he’d just inherited a dukedom. But in order to do so, he’d lost both his father and older brother.

  Cortland looked at him levelly before answering. “The question you ought to ask is how did she ever come to trust me again? It was I who inadvertently had failed her. There were circumstances I’d have never believed, if I’d been told at the time. All I knew was that she’d married another.” He took a sip of his own port. “At the time, she believed the worst of me, as well. Both of us were wrong. Neither of us had enough faith in the other, in our new and immature love, in order to trust at the time.

  “When we met again, it all came out. I only thank God that she saw fit to nbelieve that I hadn’t wantonly abandoned her. What happened, Hugh? What is it that you believe Penelope has done? Or does she believe you’ve been unfaithful in some way?”

  Ah, how to answer that one. A footman moved about the room quietly, gathering used dishes and silverware.

  “Let’s retire to the study, shall we? Lilly has informed me that she is going to spend the rest of the evening with little Edward.”

  Hugh nodded and the two of them proceeded out of the dining room. This was most definitely not something he would discuss with anyone in front of servants.

  When they entered the study, the familiarity of it comforted him. He’d spent many an hour secluded in this room with Cortland, discussing business, politics, and of course, women. Michael Redmond, the Duke of Cortland, had not lived such a dissolute life as Hugh, but there had been a few long-term mistresses after things fell apart with Lilly that first time. They’d had quite the evening the night of the little marquess’ birth. They had, indeed, put one on.

  It was amazing Cortland had been able to rouse himself in order to go to his wife and newborn son.

  Upon further consideration, perhaps it had been Hugh, more than Cortland, who had done most of the drinking. He remembered now, that he’d been feeling the pressure of his responsibilities more so at the time. He’d been preparing to tackle Augusta Heights.

  He dropped into his favorite chair, and Michael handed him a tumbler of scotch. A few ice cubes floated in the glass.

  “I’ve never tasted scotch before.” Penelope’s voice rang around in his head.

  He took a sip of the amber liquid and relished the flavor as it warmed his throat, chest, and gut.

  “We ought to celebrate, don’t you think?”

  Again, it was Penelope’s voice. He remembered now, the dream he’d had, a faint memory. He’d dismissed it, of course, for the very thought had been preposterous at the time. But now…

  He glanced over at the long leather settee.

  “Touch me, Hugh.”

  “You’re so wet, so ready for me.”

  The sensual imagery struck him like the shock of a nearby explosion.

  He’d lain on top of her.

  In all the times since their marriage, he had never made love to her in the traditional, missionary position. In his dream, he had.

  His body went momentarily numb as his heart seemed to skip a beat. Good God, it hadn’t been a dream!

  Lightning flashed, and a loud crack of thunder followed within the blink of an eye. The storm was directly over them.

  He glanced at Cortland in horror.

  “What is it, Hugh?” Michael asked. “You look as though you’ve just seen your own ghost.”

  “I’m going to be a father!”

  He burst to his feet. He needed to leave. He needed to get to Penelope now!

  “I know, Hugh, sit down. You aren’t going anywhere in this storm.” Michael’s voice was calm but more concerned now.

  His hands were shaking. He’d not realized Cortland had crossed the room until he was there, crouched down before him. “What is it, man? Is the notion of fatherhood really so deplorable to you?” He took the glass out of his hand, stood up, and poured another splash into it.

  Hugh had not intended to explain the entire situation to his oldest friend. He’d not wished anybody else to think poorly of her for what she’d done. No, that had been his exclusive right.

  But now, in light of his revelation, it all came pouring out. It was surprisingly simple, in a complicated sort of way.

  He had taken her bait far too easily. He’d swived her and then gotten her with child. To uphold his honor, he’d married her. The rest of it ought not to matter. It only revealed more of his own weakness and wrongdoing.

  But it did. It mattered greatly.

  He’d left her! He’d abandoned her when she needed him most!

  She’d told him she loved him.

  “I need to go to her. Now.” He ground out the words as he headed for the door.

  But Cortland grasped him by the arm. “It’s a downpour out there. Not safe for you or your mount. You’re of no use to her injured or dead.”

  Hugh realized the truth of Cortland’s words. Rain pelted against the windows in droves and the wind could be heard tearing through the trees.

  He could do nothing for now.

  He sat down and buried his head in his hands. All he could think, all he could imagine, were scenarios of her giving birth knowing he was gone. Of her pain, of her courage. “She’ll never forgive me.”

  In spite of Penelope’s disgust with her husband, she could not help but hope to see him come riding up the lane, returning to beg her forgiveness. But after four weeks of his absence, she’d considerably hardened her heart.

  And now, the time had come it seemed, and he was yet absent.

  The stretching and pulling sensation awoke her just before dawn. Was it real? Was this it? She lay in bed on her side for several minutes before another one overtook her. It was tighter, and somewhat more painful even. When she got out of the bed and walked over to the window, Rose rushed in.

  “Are you all right, Pen?” Rose wore only her own nightgown, and her hair was in a long braid behind her back.

  Pen rubbed her back and winced. There must have been either pain or fear in her face, for Rose became more alert instantly. “I’ll get the duchess.”

  Oh, yes, Abigail.

  Both Abigail and the duke had come quickly after receiving her letter, along with two additional carriages, a nurse, a wet-nurse, and a virtual army of outriders.

  Nonetheless, her cousin, as always, brought her peaceful and calming influence to the entire household. But even more importantly, she managed to strengthen Penelope’s courage for the coming blessed event. She’d not uttered inane platitudes, nor promises that meant nothing. They both knew of the risks, but Abigail had delivered twins successfully years before. As an unwed mother, she’d been forced to give them up and had since discovered that both of them had died tragically as children.

  And Abigail had endured it all.

  Penelope could do this, circumstances notwithstanding.

  Women had done this for years. They’d given birth to live children, and they’d given birth to stillborns. And some women di
ed, but most of them lived.

  Penelope was in excellent health and of a strong willful mind. The babies were actively moving inside of her. In these final days of her confinement, it was most important that she focus on all of these things.

  Abigail had been a godsend.

  Even the duke, the most coldhearted man she’d ever met, had been reassuring to her.

  He, too, had lost children, and yet he and Abigail could only be described as a warm and loving couple. Their lives were not shrouded by the tragedies of the past. They both found joy in the present and hope for the future. And in each other.

  Abigail entered the room just then, as another pain crawled through Penelope’s back and around her abdomen. This one, although sharper than the others, was endurable. Penelope grasped the bedpost and leaned into it. Abigail was there instantly and rubbed her back in a slow circular motion. When it appeared to be over, she finally spoke. “When did they start?”

  “I think sometime in the middle of the night, but I had not realized what they were. About a half an hour ago, I think, I realized their purpose.”

  Abigail glanced over at Rose, who stood by nervously. “Some water and tea, I think, Rose dear. We need to keep her strength up. The work has just begun.”

  Rose nodded and left.

  But Penelope’s mind was elsewhere. “He isn’t here, Abby. He’s going to miss it.”

  Abigail, of course, knew exactly who “he” was. Penelope had told Abigail everything, from the very beginning through the agonizing end result.

  “Do you think he was caught in the storm? Do you think his horse has gone lame? What if something happened to him, Abby? What if …?” God, what if the unthinkable had happened? He could have been overtaken by highwaymen or thrown by his horse. He could be lying dead in a ditch somewhere.

  “Shh… Don’t think of that, Pen.” Abigail helped Penelope lay back down on the bed, on her side, and placed a pillow between her knees. “He’s most likely hale and healthy, sulking in some inn. He may be a dunderhead, but he isn’t a fool. He’d not risk his own life unnecessarily.”