by Darcy Burke
Perched on the edge of the bed, Dinah, her dark blonde hair swept onto her head save a few strands that grazed the left side of her face, grunted in response.
“Are you going somewhere?” Poppy asked.
“Just to the chair. I can’t stay in this bed all the time.”
“Of course you can’t. Do you need any help?”
Dinah silently glared her response, her dark brown eyes snapping. Poppy snagged her lower lip lest she say something, then turned to deposit her cloak and bonnet on a hook.
As she pivoted back, Dinah was just settling into the chair, lowering her small frame slowly so that she looked far older than her perhaps twenty years. Dinah angled her round belly toward the fireplace, which sat between this room and the main room where Judith was preparing the tea.
Poppy tugged her gloves off and tucked them into the pocket of her cloak. Since there was only the one chair, she went to the narrow bench that stood at the end of the bed and moved it closer to the fireplace so she could sit by Dinah.
“How are you feeling today?” Poppy asked conversationally.
“Fine.”
“I brought biscuits, and Judith is making tea.”
Dinah’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of biscuits?”
“Lemon.” A light sparked in Dinah’s eyes. “Do you like lemon?” Poppy asked.
She blinked the gleam of interest away, and the stoic young woman returned. “Yes.”
“You’ve had lemon biscuits before, I take it?”
“A few times.”
Poppy had tried to glean information from Dinah about her background, particularly the circumstances that led to her condition. She wasn’t married—that much she’d admitted. “Do you know how to make them?”
Dinah shook her head. “The cook said it wasn’t hard.” Her eyes widened briefly, and she turned her head to frown at the fire.
Judith came in with a small tray bearing their two cups of tea and a plate of biscuits. She looked about, clearly wondering where to set the items.
Poppy patted the empty space on the bench beside her. “Put the tray here. Thank you, Judith.”
After depositing the refreshments, Judith departed. Poppy picked up the plate and offered it to Dinah with a smile. “Here you are.”
Dinah tentatively took one, her eyes as wary as they’d ever been, as if she expected Poppy to snatch the confection back from her fingers. She took a bite, and her expression relaxed into a joy Poppy had never seen on her face before.
“I’ll have Cook make another batch,” Poppy said before taking one for herself and setting the plate back down.
“Yes, please,” Dinah said before she had swallowed. “They’re delicious.”
“I’m glad you like them. The cook you mentioned—was that your cook?” Poppy didn’t think that was the case but didn’t want to make any assumptions.
Dinah laughed as she reached over the arm of the chair for another biscuit. “No, my mother did all the cooking when I was young. Until I went to work in the scullery in the—” She cut off whatever she was going to say by taking a bite.
Poppy picked up her tea. “You were a scullery maid?”
“For a few years.” She continued to nibble at her biscuit.
“Did you like that?”
“Not particularly. I was relieved to be promoted to upstairs maid.”
But then she’d become pregnant. Poppy wondered by whom and why the jackanapes hadn’t married her. “Did you leave the position when you became pregnant?” she asked softly.
“In a manner of speaking.” Her response was terse, her eyes blazing with fury.
“They let you go?” When Dinah glared at the fire, Poppy softly added, “Because of the babe?”
Dinah riveted her angry gaze to Poppy. “It wasn’t my fault. My employer made me, said I would lose my job if I didn’t let him.”
The rage radiating from Dinah sparked in Poppy and caught fire. “Who did this?” she asked, her tone low and furious.
Dinah clenched her jaw and viciously picked up her teacup, sloshing droplets onto the bench and floor. “Doesn’t matter.”
“It does.” Poppy wanted to confront the man herself.
“And what would you do?” Dinah asked, arching a dark blonde brow.
Shoulders drooping, Poppy frowned. Sometimes being a woman made one feel utterly helpless. If she were a man, she could at least call the blackguard out. She turned to Dinah in sympathy. “I’m sorry.”
“I went home, but my parents didn’t want me either. A neighbor took me in until everyone started to shun her.” Dinah sniffed, then coughed. It took her a moment to control the spasms, but not as long as when she’d first arrived. She sipped her tea and set the cup back down. “I don’t want the babe. It’s been nothing but a burden to me.”
Poppy stared at her. She didn’t want the child? “You can’t mean that. A child is a gift.”
Dinah blinked at her. “What has this wretch given me but heartache and poverty? I lost my job, my place. I have no prospects.”
Hearing her refer to the babe in such a way twisted Poppy’s heart, and yet she could see the woman’s perspective. The man—and the resulting child—had robbed her of what little choices she’d had.
“Hartwell House is the place for you. Mrs. Armstrong helps women just like you.”
Dinah’s eyes flashed with challenge. “There’s no room.”
“We’ll make room.” Poppy was determined to help this woman. “When the babe is old enough, you can go back into service. Perhaps we can even hire you here at Darlington Abbey.”
Dinah shook her head vigorously. “No. I won’t work in domestic service ever again.”
Poppy couldn’t blame her, but it would be different if she was employed here. “You’d be safe at Darlington Abbey. And you could have your babe.” Poppy wasn’t sure how they’d work that out, but they would. She had a vision of taking care of the child herself. The resulting ache was strong—and dangerous. She pushed it away.
“I said no.” Dinah stifled a cough and grabbed another biscuit and thrust it into her mouth.
Poppy flinched inwardly. She didn’t want to upset Dinah and perhaps provoke a coughing fit. “All right, then. You could learn a trade at Hartwell House. Perhaps sewing.”
“I don’t want to sew. Or cook. Or clean.” She gritted her teeth. Poppy was keenly aware of how trapped this poor woman felt.
Poppy angled herself toward Dinah and leaned forward. “What do you want to do?”
The fire behind Dinah’s eyes dwindled. She looked down at her belly. “You’ll laugh.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
“Since I was a little girl, I wanted to be an actress.” Her voice had turned soft and shy. She lifted her gaze but quickly averted it to some spot beyond Poppy. “My father took me to see a traveling troupe once. The actors were so beautiful, and they told such a magical story.” She looked as if she were back there, reliving that moment.
“What was it?” Poppy asked, enchanted by Dinah’s reverie.
Dinah blinked and looked at Poppy. “I can’t remember, but I think it was Shakespeare. It was about a fairy queen and a king and lovers.” She exhaled into a smile, and Poppy smiled too.
“Sounds like maybe A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”
“It was lovely. I wanted to be a fairy. Then I realized there are no fairies, so I’d have to be an actress so I could pretend to be one.” She rested her hand on her belly. “I can’t see how I’ll ever do that now. It was a silly dream.”
“No, it wasn’t. Dreams aren’t silly, and you shouldn’t give up.” She thought of her own, which would never happen, her gaze straying to Dinah’s belly. You shouldn’t give up. This was different—she couldn’t make herself become pregnant, no matter how hard she tried or prayed or wished. She could, however, realize her dream another way. Right in front of her was a woman who said she didn’t want her baby…
“Is there a good orphanage in the district?” Dinah asked, b
reaking into Poppy’s selfish thoughts.
Orphanage? Then Poppy could volunteer to raise the child… No.
“I don’t know, but I don’t think you should consider that. I know this seems overwhelming to you now, but when you have the baby and see his or her face, you’ll change your mind. You’ll fall instantly in love.” At least that was how Poppy imagined it would be. Her lungs contracted, and she fought to take a breath.
“I can’t imagine it,” Dinah said.
“That doesn’t mean it won’t happen. Give yourself—and the child—the chance. Doesn’t he or she deserve to know its mother?”
Dinah picked up her cup and sipped the tea.
Poppy took her silence as an opportunity to continue her persuasion. “You could stay at Hartwell House, maybe even for a few years, until the babe is a bit older. You could learn a trade—something to do while you are trying to be an actress.” Poppy had no idea how she would even go about that, but she was determined to encourage this young woman who’d been robbed of so much. “You could spend time reading plays. Perhaps you could organize the children there to perform something.”
Dinah’s eyes widened with horror. “Organizing children to perform? Is that even possible?”
A giggle escaped from Poppy, and she clapped her hand over her mouth. Then the most remarkable thing happened—Dinah started to laugh too.
After a long moment, their laughter abated, and Dinah yawned.
“You should get some sleep,” Poppy said, rising. She picked up the tray, and Dinah nabbed the last biscuit with a smile. “I’ll be right back to help you settle into bed.” Poppy took the tray to Judith in the other room.
When Poppy returned, Dinah was already in bed with the covers pulled up to her chin. “I suppose you don’t need me,” Poppy said.
Dinah looked at her shyly. “Thank you. No one has ever made me feel like I mattered or that I could hope for things.” She shook her head. “Never mind.”
Poppy offered her a kind smile. “I understand. You do matter, especially to the babe you carry. I hope you’ll think about what I said.”
Closing her eyes, Dinah didn’t respond. Poppy stood there for a moment, wishing there was something she could do to ease this woman’s plight, but some parts of a journey were solitary. Poppy was learning this as she tried to find her way back to where she needed to be. Where she wanted to be. Whole and happy.
Poppy turned and grabbed her cloak and bonnet, then tiptoed from the room. In the main room, she set her bonnet on her head and pulled her cloak over her shoulders.
“Is she asleep?” Judith asked, coming to help Poppy don her cloak.
“Thank you,” Poppy said. “Yes.” She fastened the cloak, then tied the ribbon of her bonnet beneath her chin.
“I heard what you said to her. You’re a kindhearted person, my lady.”
Judith might not think that if she could see inside Poppy. She wanted to be incredibly selfish, and she’d had the chance… Why hadn’t she taken it? More importantly, how badly would she regret not turning this to her benefit, to doing what she’d advised Dinah—to pursue her dream?
Maybe she wouldn’t have to. Dinah seemed quite committed to not raising her child. Giving her another option would be so easy and maybe even welcome. But Poppy wouldn’t take advantage. Dinah was the child’s mother, and Poppy would do everything she could to keep them together.
The early afternoon sun disappeared behind a cloud, lowering the already near-freezing temperature. Gabriel hastened his pace toward Dinah’s cottage.
Though Poppy had only been gone a few hours, Gabriel missed her. Not for the time since she’d left to fetch her sister for the house party but for the past several days. She’d been sleeping in another bedchamber and spending a great deal of time at the cottage with Dinah.
He looked forward to when Poppy came home, to when they could return to the way things were. If that was even possible.
A lingering discomfort pervaded Gabriel’s mind when he thought of what had caused the rift between them. He had caused it, with his lack of understanding for what Poppy had suffered and continued to endure. His relief was her pain. The unfairness of it nearly tore him in two.
Still, he found small comfort in knowing he wouldn’t lose her the way he’d lost his mother and sister. The way she’d lost her mother.
Turning from the road, Gabriel made his way to the door of the cottage. Before he reached the threshold, Judith welcomed him inside.
“I saw you approaching from the window,” she said.
He stepped inside, and she closed the door behind him. The interior of the cottage was warm and cozy, and it smelled of baking bread.
Gabriel inhaled deeply. “How long until the bread is done?”
Judith smiled. “Not long. I’ll cut you a slice.”
“If you insist.” He grinned, then glanced toward the back room. “How is Dinah?”
“She’s reading.”
Gabriel blinked at her. “Is she?”
“Shakespeare. Lady Darlington brought A Midsummer Night’s Dream the other day. She’s had quite an effect on Dinah. She’s actually considering keeping the babe now.”
She was doing what? Gabriel masked his shock and disappointment. “What changed her mind?”
“Lady Darlington did.”
She had? Gabriel was utterly confused. “I’m surprised. Dinah has been clear from the moment we met her that she doesn’t want the child.”
Judith nodded. “Lady Darlington has convinced her that she’d regret the decision, that as soon as the babe is born, Dinah will fall irrevocably in love.”
That sounded like his wife. While Gabriel wanted the child for Poppy, he was moved by her selfless behavior. Taking the child would benefit them, but what of Dinah? What if she did regret not keeping him or her?
He’d come here intending to talk to Dinah about him and Poppy raising the baby. Now he couldn’t do that, especially since Poppy had worked to persuade Dinah to keep it.
“I thought I heard voices.”
Gabriel turned and saw Dinah standing in the doorway to the bedroom. She wore a loose gown, but nothing could disguise the advanced state of her pregnancy. Dr. Fisk had told Judith the babe could come at any time.
“Good afternoon, Dinah,” he said.
“Did you bring lemon biscuits?” she asked.
“I didn’t.” He glanced toward Judith. “Should I have?”
“Yes,” Dinah answered. “Lady Darlington always brings them now.”
“I didn’t realize. I’ll make sure you have some before nightfall.” He walked toward her. “Judith said her ladyship also brought you something to read.”
“She did. I like her. She’s very kind.”
“She is indeed. I am the luckiest of men.”
“I’m going back to bed.” Dinah turned and waddled back into the bedroom.
Gabriel followed her, not yet certain what he meant to say.
She climbed into the bed and looked slightly surprised, her brows arching, as she pulled the coverlet over her belly. “I thought you were going to get biscuits.”
He smiled. “I will. Judith tells me you’ve changed your mind about keeping the babe.”
Deep creases furrowed Dinah’s brow. “I’m considering it. I asked Lady Darlington to stop bothering me about it, so if you’re here to continue her assault, I’d ask that you don’t.”
“I won’t.” Conflict warred within Gabriel—he wanted to support Poppy, but he also wanted this baby for them. For Poppy.
For himself. Maybe he wanted to be a father more than he’d realized. His gut tightened, and he did his best to ignore the sensation.
“Dinah, I want you to know that whatever you decide, your baby will be cared for. We’ll make sure.”
“You and Lady Darlington are the kindest people I’ve ever met, and that includes my own family.” She shook her head. “I don’t understand why.”
And now Gabriel felt like a charlatan. His own desires and mo
tivation aside, he did want to help her, even if she did keep the babe. “We don’t turn our backs on those in need.”
“You spend a great deal of time at Hartwell House from what I gather.”
“We do.”
“How long have you and Lady Darlington been married?” she asked.
“Three years in February.”
“And you don’t have any children of your own?”
He shook his head. “We do not.”
“I wasn’t sure. I assumed if you did, they were with a nurse or a governess. That’s what you folk do.”
Gabriel knew she was speaking from experience—with “you folk.” “Were you a nurse? Or a governess?”
“No, I worked in a scullery. And as a maid.”
“Did you?”
Dinah narrowed her eyes. “Lady Darlington didn’t tell you?”
Gabriel kept himself from wincing. Poppy hadn’t shared much with him of late. He decided there was no good answer to Dinah’s question so he ignored it. “I’ll make sure you have lemon biscuits.”
“Hand me my book before you go, please.”
The tome, from his library, sat on the bedside table. Well within reach, but she’d have to push up to get it. Gabriel handed her the play. “A Midsummer Night’s Dream is my favorite Shakespeare.”
She set the book on her belly, for she had no lap. “I saw it performed once when I was a child—by a traveling troupe of actors. Reading the words, I can see the play again in my mind.”
For the first time, he saw joy in the depths of her usually apprehensive gaze. She looked like that talking about a play, but he’d never seen that when she spoke of her baby. He wondered if Poppy knew how Dinah had come to be pregnant. Hopefully, he’d be able to ask her. When she returned, and they went back to normal.
“Then I will leave you to it,” he said, nodding toward the book.
He turned, and as he hit the threshold, she called, “Don’t forget the biscuits! Please.”
He looked back over his shoulder, but she was already reading. He watched her for a moment, thinking—shamefully—for the first time of her as a person with hopes and dreams and a baby she maybe didn’t want. Or maybe she did. Either way, she was alone, impoverished, and without prospects. Yes, he must speak to Poppy about her. Whatever happened with the baby, they couldn’t turn Dinah out without offering support. That wasn’t who they were.