by Raven, Sandy
"I love her," he whispered. "I love her and I am going to figure out a way to get her out of there."
"We love her, too, captain," Becky said. Then she told Lucky exactly when and how he could see Mary alone.
Chapter Twenty
Mary-Michael walked from the room, stoic in her resolve not to weep until she was in the privacy of her room, and she managed to withhold her sobs until after the door to her cell was locked. Lucky had lied to her. But hers was the greater lie.
He'd merely kept a part of who he was from her. While she lied about the relationship with Mr. Watkins, leading Lucky to believe she was infertile while she prayed she conceived a child—a child she had never planned to share with him. What she'd done was far more grievous a sin.
One she knew she would pay for one day.
Rachel brought her Lucy, then left to attend to her duties with the other children. Lucy started to fuss as Mary-Michael rocked her. When she realized the babe likely wanted to nurse again, she struggled with the squirming infant as she unbuttoned her bodice. After her daughter latched on, she wondered how she was going to hand her little angel over to Lucky for the rest of her child's life. How could a jury of men—some of whom worked for her and Mr. Watkins—make the decision to end her life merely because she wanted to have a child?
Lucky had even mentioned marriage, though it seemed she was the only person in that room to realize that marrying was an impossibility.
She wept silently as she fed her baby. Mary-Michael didn't want Lucky here to witness her execution. She would have to do her best to convince him to leave—with Lucy. And until he did, she would nurse her daughter, change her diaper cloths as needed, and cuddle, hold, bathe and play with her little darling.
A light rap on the door told her one of the nuns was back to check on her. Likely Lucky had told Sister Agnes he thought Mary-Michael was upset. Taking the soft linen blanket from the infant's bed, she wiped her face then covered herself and her suckling babe and called out for the guard to allow the nun in. Only it wasn't Sister Agnes, Sister Euphrenia, or Sister Elizabeth.
It was the duchess.
The woman had a gentle glow about her, as though Mary-Michael's situation didn't ruffle her at all. What little she'd heard about noblewomen, Mary-Michael had assumed that no woman of blue blood would want her sibling marrying so far beneath him. The nobility married within their own class. Mary-Michael could not possibly be good enough for this woman's brother, first by her lack of any aristocratic connection, and secondly by fact of being a convicted adulteress. One sentenced to hang, at that.
"May I help you, Your Grace?" she asked the woman, her voice trembled as she spoke the words.
"I am here to help you," the lady replied, her voice full of compassion.
Doubtless, the duchess was here to pressure her to accept their assistance, perhaps even agree to whatever plan Lucky was trying to concoct. Marriage as a way out of her sentence would not work and she said as much to Lucky's sister.
"Luchino told me he loved you when we were in England, before we left to come here." The duchess' lilting English accent bore just a trace of her native Italian. "I believe his desire to save your life and his offer of marriage are both sincere."
"He didn't love me enough for the past two years to share with me who he really is. His status as a nobleman is... surprising." She remembered how he carried himself and the air of authority and expectation of respectful behavior from those in his presence. Even Ian, who also had a title was more like her than Lucky was. A big part of her felt betrayed by his omission, and she felt he was only asking her because he thought it might, in some way, help her escape her sentence. She didn't think it would. But it would hopefully prove to the judge who the father of her child is, that she was willing to marry him so he could take their daughter and raise her. For that she might consider it. She would have to talk to Mr. Baxter when he returned.
Lucy squirmed and Mary-Michael moved her daughter to the other breast. Her Grace smiled as she sat on the room's only other chair.
"I nursed all three of mine, and will likely nurse the fourth one as well." She ran a hand over her barely noticeable belly.
Mary stared at the woman, gape-mouthed. While she was a beautiful woman, Mary-Michael thought she might be a bit too old for more children.
Her Grace laughed slightly and nodded. "Wait until I tell my husband. He will be furious with me."
"Why is that? Aside from your age that is?"
"I'm not that old!" Lucky's sister protested. "I'm not thirty-nine summers yet, though I will be before this child comes."
"It was not my intention to offend, Your Grace," Mary-Michael said. "It's just..." Mary thought women just didn't continue sharing their husbands' beds beyond a certain age. Certainly not after having already borne the heir and spare.
"My husband will be upset because I knew before I left England and said nothing."
"Why didn't you?"
"First, because there was an infant here that would need a woman's care if something had happened to you. While my brother is likely competent enough as a baby nurse, if the worst possible scenario had come to pass, he wouldn't be thinking clearly. I came to support him as well as help with the babe.
"But also, because this isn't the first time I've run afoul of counting the days in my cycle. I've had a few scares over the years. This—" She chuckled softly as she rested her hand on her still-flat womb. "This is not a scare. I cannot wait to have another babe." The duchess stared out the window into the rear courtyard where the resident children played. "I can hear him now. 'You never should have taken the risk of coming here. What if something had happened?' "
"His Grace seems quite imposing," Mary-Michael said. "Do you fear his anger?"
"No. Never. My husband can be blustery as a winter's day, or as gentle as a lamb. And when the occasion has called for it, fierce as a wolf protecting what it is his. He told me after Christopher, that if I wanted more children, it was up to me. I was just beginning to mourn the idea of not having a little one around now that Christopher is bound for Eton in another year." The duchess smiled at her. "I do love the little ones."
"Perhaps you unintentionally neglected your calendar?" Mary-Michael said, "In order to keep from having an empty nest."
Her Grace seemed to think on Mary's words, and nodded. "You might be right. And if this is the case, I think I shall have to start filling the house with spaniels or cats to spoil as soon as this child is out of leading strings."
Both women laughed heartily for a few moments. She wanted many children too, just like Becky and Cady. Just like Lia and her husband, the duke. When Mary-Michael met the other woman's dark-eyed gaze, her vision began to get cloudy. It would never happen now. Not unless she shamed her dead husband and told the judge that he'd more than acquiesced to her desire for a child, he approved of her choice and facilitated their affair as much as necessary. And how would Lucky feel to learn that he was initially used as a stud to provide her with what her husband could not.
"I'm not sure how you think you can help," Mary-Michael said. "Mr. Baxter has gone to the appeals court. He wants me to tell the judge..." Mary-Michael caught herself about to tell her secret, the one that only her few trusted friends know. It was the thing she never wanted known, because to reveal it might cause the town to think her husband less of a man. But now, her brother and Father Douglas, as well as Mr. Baxter, were all pressuring her to tell the appellate judge the true nature of their marriage.
Mary-Michael realized that having Lia learn of her secret might give Lucky false hope if he were to find out. And she didn't want to do that. "They want me to tell the judge something that wasn't revealed at the trial."
"What is this fact that was not allowed?" Lia asked, concern written all over her wide-eyed expression. "Who would not allow it?"
"I was the one who did not wish this information allowed in court, as I did not wish for my husband's reputation to be sullied."
"But Mary
-Michael, if it might save your life..."
"I did not wish Mr. Baxter to present it at the time because I never thought my community–the jury, the people I worked with and lived among all my life–would despise me and everything I represented. I didn't know there were so many who resented my chosen vocation because of my sex."
"What did they say?"
"The prosecuting lawyer said in his opening arguments that society says my working in a man's field and my wearing of men's clothing is vulgar and abhorrent, and my command of male employees is a gross perversion of nature. And he was going to prove that I abused my power over men for my sexual gratification. Not just by enticing Mr. Watkins into marriage, but also enticing several men, not just Mr. Potts, into affairs as well. Those were his exact words."
The normally serene visage of the Duchess tightened in anger. "He said those things in a court of law?"
Mary-Michael nodded. "And here these last two years, I was trying to keep my husband's business from falling apart as he grew more and more ill. He guided me, taught me everything. But in the end..." She shook her head.
She rose and took her sleeping babe, who'd long since quit nursing, and laid her on her cot for a moment while she re-buttoned her bodice, then pulled back the cover in the babe's bed. Once done, she transferred her still-sleeping daughter to her cradle and tucked her in.
"They cannot sentence you to die simply because you loved a man and lied about it," Her Grace said. "That's ludicrous."
They were both silent a while as Mary-Michael got fresh linens ready for when the babe woke up needing a change. She remembered the judge's words when he read her sentence. He said her case was to be held up to the community as an example of what can happen to those who willfully disregard the laws of the state.
"But we seem to have drifted from the point," the duchess said. "What piece of evidence was withheld from the trial? Your husband legally acknowledged the child before his death, correct?"
"He did. He even protected us by leaving everything to Lucy in a trust, and me enough for us to live comfortably. He wanted me to have this child, as much as I wanted her."
Lucky's sister looked confused. "What did you not tell the jury?"
Mary-Michael begged the duchess' forgiveness. "I think the one person who most deserves an explanation for my actions is Lucky. Before I tell anyone else, I must tell him."
Mary-Michael tucked the light sheet over her daughter as she and Lia began to prepare for bed. Lucky's sister had insisted she call her by her name, since they were soon to be sisters-in-law. Mary-Michael let the woman think what she wanted, she knew Lucky would never marry her—especially after learning the truth. Each time Mary-Michael tried to remind the duchess of this, the other woman gave a tsk-tsk and said something about Mary-Michael not knowing the stubbornness of the men in their family.
A faint tap at the window told her Becky had arrived. Likely there was news of some sort from the village that she might want to know. Perhaps Father Douglas had returned from Annapolis with news from the governor. Or maybe Mr. Baxter was back from Baltimore. It was still too early for Ian Ross to have returned from Washington with the British ambassador. Mary-Michael shushed Lucky's sister, as she opened her mouth to exclaim. Mary-Michael had forgotten to tell her of the frequent late night visitor. Mary-Michael hurried to reach the window and opened it slowly, supporting the window frame so it wouldn't make the rusty squeak. She grabbed the steel bars the blacksmith had added to the room after she was officially arrested, but saw no one.
"Becky?" she whispered, not wanting to trigger an inquiry by her guard if he heard her.
The first floor room didn't get the breeze she'd enjoyed in her upper floor room at the house she shared with Mr. Watkins, but she was fortunate because it allowed her friends to visit her on the sly in the dark of night, during the outside guard's break. Mary-Michael startled when Lucky slid to the front of the window and greeted her with a smile.
He put his arms through the bars, and she grasped his hands thankful to be able to touch him. She had so much to say to him before she begged him for his forgiveness. Mary-Michael took refuge in his strength. It beckoned her so much that she fell into the wall, imagining it was not there and that his body was next to hers. He held her as close as he could, and Mary-Michael struggled to catch her breath. She feared his reaction when he learned the truth.
Behind her, Lia cleared her throat. Mary-Michael stepped back from Lucky's awkward embrace. Lia approached them and asked, "How can I leave the room so you two might have privacy?"
Mary-Michael was quick to reply. "Tell the guard you would like to get a cup of warm milk from the kitchens. Sister Anne is in her cell by now, deep into her prayers. You'll have to hunt around for both items." She smiled broadly at her new temporary cell mate and partner in crime. "And it should take you a while."
"Make it fast," Lia said as quietly as Mary-Michael. "I'm not sure how long I can search for a cup and milk without drawing suspicion."
With a quick nod of agreement from Lucky, he released her and ducked out of view, while Mary-Michael sat on her cot as though in prayer and Lia tapped at the door. Once it was locked behind the duchess, Mary-Michael went back to the window and signaled Lucky. Her former lover was quick to return. She put her arms through the bars.
"I have wanted to hold you from the moment I received the letter from George," Lucky said, holding her hands close to his chest. "I've wanted to hold you and make this entire nightmare go away for you, for us."
"You talked to Becky and she told you where my window was." It wasn't a question, but a statement. She knew that if Becky confided this, she must have told him more of their secrets, but which ones? The fact that he didn't hate her must mean Becky hadn't told him everything.
"We haven't long," she whispered. "The guard usually takes about thirty minutes to eat and take care of his needs."
"Michael is standing as lookout across the alley," Lucky replied. "When he sees the guard returning he will signal me."
"Lucky, I have so much to tell you," she began, needing him to hear the truth from her now because they never knew if they might get another opportunity to be alone. "I would like for you to know the reason why I am in the predicament that I am in, and I would beg your forgiveness. And afterward if you cannot forgive me my actions, then I would understand."
"It cannot possibly be as bad as you're building it up to be in your head, Mary." His cheerful manner grew more serious when Mary-Michael didn't reply. "Mary, you didn't hurt anyone, you didn't steal from anyone."
"But I did, Lucky. I did." She hung her head to hide her tears, and the deep shame she felt for her own actions. "You see—" And Mary-Michael explained everything to him, as quickly as she could because she didn't know when he might have to go. She told him everything from the very beginning—of her desire to be a mother, the failed adoption of Rowan and Emily, the incredible attraction she felt for him the day they met, to Mr. Watkins helping facilitate their affair when Lucky was in Indian Point. She confessed that she'd planned to never share her Lucy with him. And, that while she did, indeed, fall in love with Lucky, she was intending to live as Mr. Watkins' widow for the rest of her life, because she thought that was the best thing for her child. "Remember, I didn't know you were a nobleman, or wealthy or anything other than my handsome captain."
He remained silent as she spoke, taking in her words. "The same weekend you were here picking up the older boats in July, I was burying Mr. Watkins. That's why George and Father Douglas were not in town."
She wiped the hot, stinging tears that began to trickle down her shamefully reddened cheeks. Mary-Michael deserved his disaffection and more. She deserved his enmity and downright scorn. But in his silence her heart sensed a promise of hope, faint though it was.
"I felt something in your presence that called me to you," she said. "From the moment we met, I had the sensation that the entire reason I was drawn to designing clippers was so that we would one day meet. As though it
was the reason I was born, the reason I was given this gift, and the reason Mr. Watkins saved me. With all my heart I believe that God determined the day, the hour, the minute of our setting eyes upon each other."
She glanced at the hand-carved cradle near the cot. The one in which their daughter lay sleeping. "If I had been fortunate enough to conceive the first time you were here, I wouldn't be here because Mr. Watkins wanted more than anything to claim our child as his own. He didn't want me to be alone after he died." She sucked in a deep, shaky breath, trying to control her weeping. As soon as she was able, she continued. "But our daughter was born when God decided, not you and not I."
"Do you love me, Mary?"
"I think I've been in love with you from the moment we met."
"Do you trust me, Mary?"
How could he ask this? She wanted him to take and raise the only good thing she'd ever done with her life. Her beautiful little Lucy. "With my daughter's life, I do."
"What about yours?"
"It..." She swallowed past the knot forming in her throat, making speech difficult. Could he really mean that he loved her, too? He loved her now, even knowing she'd lied to him? "It goes without saying that I do."
"Then I am getting you out of here if I have to break you out and steal you away to England." The strength of his determination came through in his whispered promise.
"You cannot do that, Lucky. If you are captured, you could go to prison. Or worse." He didn't seem to care for his own safety as he continued to stare into her eyes and give her this knowing grin. "Lucky, if I just disappear, I will not be vindicated. Everyone in the community I love will believe the worst of me. I have a shipyard to run. I cannot allow that." The door rattled and she broke away from his grasp to hurriedly plop down on the bed again, head bowed as though praying. But it was only Lia with her cup of warm milk.