by Jenna Jaxon
“Easy now, my lady. Let me just see what we’re about here.” The woman lifted away the covers and raised Alethea’s nightgown.
“You should go, Jack.” Alethea turned her head away, though she held fast to his hand.
“I am going nowhere, my lady. You may make sure of that.” He kissed their joined hands and looked directly at the midwife. “Well?”
Shaking her head, Mrs. Johnstone pressed on Alethea’s stomach gingerly, drawing a groan. “We must help your body expel the child. I’ve sent to Cook for some rue tea. That will help get rid of everything so you can start fresh in a month or two.”
Tears leaked from the corners of Alethea’s eyes.
Helpless to ease her anguish, Jack stroked her hair away from her face and kept hold of her hand. A giant hand seemed to be squeezing his heart.
The midwife busied herself with changing the soaked toweling between Alethea’s legs.
“Is she supposed to bleed so much?”
“It’s a bit heavy, but sometimes that’s best. Gets everything out quickly.”
“She’s got a fever though, Mrs. Johnstone.” Clemons plumped a pillow and eased it behind her mistress’s neck.
“Well, some willow bark tea then. It’s always done wonders with pain and fevers.” The midwife held her hand against Alethea’s flushed face, then shook her head. “We’ll have to see how she does with that. By morning I hope she’ll take a turn for the better.”
The door opened and a footman hurried in with a steaming mug on a tray.
“Here we go.” Mrs. Johnstone plucked the cup from the tray and the footman bolted for the door. “Here you go, my lady. It has a strong, nasty taste. Lets you know it’s getting right to work.”
Jack held Alethea’s head up, but she closed her eyes and pressed her lips together.
“I don’t want it,” she said, barely getting the words out through clenched teeth.
“You need it, my dear.” Rubbing her back to soothe her, Jack worried she would turn stubborn again. “Let Mrs. Johnstone help you to get this over with.”
“No.” She shook her head, avoiding the cup.
“Alethea.” The woman would try the patience of every saint in the calendar. “Just drink the medicine.”
“No.” She tossed her head again. “If I don’t drink it you’ll be rid of me and the baby.”
“Alethea!” Dear Lord, she was out of her mind. “You must drink it.”
“It’s all right, my lord. Women in such straits often talk out of their heads like that. Not to worry.” Deftly, and with a practiced hand, the midwife pinched Alethea’s nose shut. When she opened her mouth to breathe, Mrs. Johnstone neatly slipped the cup to her lips and poured it down her throat.
“Ugh. It’s bitter as gall.” Coughing, Alethea sat up. “It may kill me yet.”
“Not likely, my lady,” Mrs. Johnstone replied, still plying the cup. “Drink all that down and it’s done. Good.”
Malice gleaming in her eyes, Alethea cut her eyes toward Jack. “Are you going to sit there and let her poison your wife?”
Heaving a sigh of relief at the return of his wife’s spirit, Jack grinned at her. “We’ll see if the poison is in your mouth or only your tongue, my dear.” Chuckling, Mrs. Johnstone handed the cup to Clemons. “Run that back to the kitchen, if you please Miss Clemons. Then ask Cook to brew some willow bark tea and send that up. With any luck, this will all be over by morning.”
Clemons nodded and slipped out the door.
Alethea closed her eyes, as if wishing to sleep.
Gazing down at her, Jack marveled once more at her beauty. Despite the haggard cast of her face brought on by pain and grief, she retained the loveliness of feature that was simply stunning. Delicate brows, usually swooping up in a saucy question, but now furrowed into a stern V. Her usually porcelain-like skin now cast with a disturbing pallor made her stand out against the sheets. Her bright hair, soaked and clinging to her head, lay like a coppery cap, cradling her head. As he longed to cradle her. He ran a light finger down her cheek. Poor love.
A deep moan suddenly broke the silence in the room. Her hands clutched her belly as she writhed in the grip of the pain.
“Mrs. Johnstone, what is the matter with her?” Hovering over his wife, Jack sent a stricken look to the midwife. His panic rode close to the surface.
“The rue tea is working, is all. Here, let’s move the covers aside.”
Together they pulled the blanket off Alethea, who shivered as her body twisted.
“Should you feel an urge to push, my lady, don’t fight it.” Mrs. Johnstone busied herself with removing Alethea’s blood-soaked padding.
Clasping his wife’s hand, Jack stared at her face, squeezing her hand, willing her to live. “Look at me, Alethea.” He gripped her hand tighter as she tensed in another spasm. “I’m here with you, love.”
She opened hollow eyes, glassy with pain. “I’m so sorry, Jack.”
“That’s it, my lady.” Mrs. Johnstone wrapped the bloody toweling around something, then pushed another piece of cloth between her legs.
Tears ran down Alethea’s face and Jack turned away, swallowing hard. The babe might not have been his, but he couldn’t help being sorry for it. And for its mother.
“Could you tell, Mrs. Johnstone, if it was a boy or a girl?” Alethea squeezed his hand weakly.
“A girl, my lady.”
“A girl,” Alethea whispered, quiet sobs shaking her.
A daughter Jack could have loved with a whole heart. Was this God’s punishment for his lack of faith? For paying lip service to the idea of accepting a child not his own while praying for it not to be a boy. A crisis of conscience so bitterly painful, he wanted to pound his own head with his fist. He bore a share of the guilt in this travesty.
“I’ll just take this away”—Mrs. Johnstone cradled the mass of bloody toweling—“and be back to check on her ladyship. The bleeding may continue for a bit as all the rest is expelled, then hopefully all will be well with her.”
“Do you know why this happened, Mrs. Johnstone?” Jack asked, fearing all the response he would get would be, “It’s God’s will.”
“Had the mother had a grave shock or a fall of any kind? Any bad news that upset her?”
Staring at the midwife, lost in thought, Jack slowly shook his head. “Not any single event, no. She…we may have had an argument in the past few days. That couldn’t have caused this, could it?”
“Not unless you were violent with her.” The midwife’s eyes shone bright black.
Incensed at the accusation, Jack drew himself up, anger welling like a hot spring. “I would never strike a woman, madame. Especially not one carrying my child.”
“What about exercise?” Mrs. Johnstone furrowed her brow. “Had she taken long walks recently? Climbed hills, perhaps?”
“No.” Jack bit back a curse. Damn. He’d been too lenient with her and this was the result. “She did ride several days ago and again yesterday.”
“Ah, well.” Mrs. Johnstone’s face relaxed. “That’s it then. Too much strenuous exercise will do it. When next her ladyship catches with child, have her take to her bed and I’ll deliver you a healthy babe.” She turned to go.
“What…what will you do with her?” He nodded toward the bundle in her hands.
“Don’t worry about that, my lord. I’ll take care of it.”
“No. I will speak to his lordship.” Jack’s jaw tightened. “Prepare her as though she was a full-grown babe, please. She will be buried with all solemnities.”
“As you wish, my lord.” The midwife threw him a wild look before hurrying from the room.
Drawing back toward the bed, Jack leaned down, placing a tender kiss on Alethea’s brow. “Do not worry, my dear. Our daughter will rest easy beside her kinfolk who will watch over her.”
* * * *
Cold seeped into Jack’s very bones as he stood with Dalbury and Morley in a secluded corner of the small family graveyard tucked away on the Merrywell estate. Dalbury had forbidden Kat and Juliet from attending the brief service, a decision with which Jack completely agreed. If worry or distress could bring about such a grim result, they’d shield both women from it. The men of the family would see it done.
Dalbury had rousted the vicar who had reluctantly christened the tiny body and spoken words of resurrection over the grave. Now Jack, Dalbury, and Morley stood over the small mound, somber and quiet in the gathering dust.
“I am sorry, Manning.” Dalbury clamped Jack on the shoulder. “Deucedly sorry, in fact. Neither you nor Alethea should have had to go through this.” He paused, the set of his mouth firming. “Has the midwife said if Alethea will be able to conceive again?”
The all-important question of the succession of the title consumed Dalbury’s every waking moment it seemed. Well, other things came first as far as Jack was concerned. His uncle William hadn’t bothered with getting an heir at all. That was how the title had passed to him. But he would never pressure his wife with the idea her sole duty was to present him with an heir. There were other things more important. Like Alethea’s life.
“She seemed to think it was caused by strenuous exercise—Alethea’s horseback riding most likely. But we will know better next time. Hopefully, there will be a next time.” Reminded of that other business, Jack shot a look at his brother-in-law and forced himself to seem unconcerned. “If I could have five minutes of your time, Dalbury, later on, when Alethea is feeling better?”
“Of course. Any time a’tall.” His brother-in-law quirked up an eyebrow, but said nothing further.
“Thank you.” Jack stooped, placing a small white flower he’d found growing in a sheltered spot in the garden. “Rest well, my darling. May the angels watch over you,” he whispered, and straightened. “I must get back to Alethea.”
The solemn procession turned and headed back toward the manor as the final rays of sunlight bathed the grave in a pearly pink light.
* * * *
Candles chased away the shadows as Alethea fluttered her eyes open. Although incredible weakness suffused her, her head had cleared and a profound sense of peace settled over her.
Movement to her right drew her attention to Jack, sitting in a chair, glass in hand, hair rumpled, his cravat untied, hanging on either side of his neck. Wanting to touch him, she reached out.
He set his glass down on the bedside table and took her hand. “How do you feel?”
“Tired.”
He slid his other hand over her hair, brushing straggling wisps back.
Lord, she must look a fright, but was too tired to lift a finger.
His soft gaze lingered on her face with a sadness about his eyes that suddenly brought back all her heartache. Unbidden, tears gathered in her eyes.
“Alethea, I am so sorry, my dear.”
Choking back the tears, she fought to keep her voice even, unemotional. “It is all right and likely for the best.”
His fingers twined with hers, so gentle a touch that her heart ached anew.
“The loss of our daughter was tragic and certainly not for the best. Let me assure you of that. Had she been born at the proper time, I would have loved her as though she were my own.” His voice was firm, though not sharp with rebuke.
If only she could believe his words. “Our daughter?”
“Yes. Lady Margaret Grace Fitzwilliam.”
“Margaret?” He had given her a name?
“Margaret was my mother’s name. I lost her when I was very young. I pray she will watch over her namesake in heaven.”
Sobbing quietly, she leaned her cheek against his hand on the pillow and he cupped it, collecting the tears in his palm. “Thank you, Jack.”
“The vicar suggested Grace. I thought that appropriate. By God’s grace and this child, you and I were brought together. So shall we stay together to honor her memory and build a family from this day onward.”
“But—” She didn’t deserve this compassion. Her willful act had likely lost her this child the midwife had said.
“Shhh.” He laid a finger over her lips. Lifting her, he settled her against his chest.
Warmth and peace flooded through her. She drew his arms around her, safe in his embrace at last.
“We go forward from this day, husband and wife. No blame or equal blame for our path to this moment. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
“When you are able, we will live as husband and wife and I will show you, if you will give me the chance, that I do love you.”
Her heart beat so frantically she believed it might fly out of her chest. Spellbound by the fire in his eyes and the intensity of his voice, she nodded.
“Do you believe me?”
Nodding by dint of his strength of conviction, Alethea gasped as his mouth closed over hers—soft, the sweet taste of brandy filling her senses.
Too soon he broke the kiss.
“When you are well,” he promised, “there will be more kisses.” His eyes promised more than kisses.
“Yes.” She barely breathed the word as he rose, sent one more tender look at her, then left.
Alethea released the breath she’d been holding, afraid it had all been a dream. But she was awake, her body sore, her heart sick, and her lips still warm from his kiss. Pray God this change in her husband would pave the way to their happiness. Despite the great sorrow of their loss, perhaps they could take this as a new beginning for a life filled with happiness. Out of great sorrow, joy.
Chapter 19
Next morning, after a breakfast he’d only picked at, Jack knocked on the door of his brother-in-law’s study.
“Come.”
The brusque bark did nothing to bolster Jack’s confidence. Straightening his stance, he opened the door and stepped into a dark paneled room, redolent of the masculine smells of leather and brandy. Dalbury sat behind a solid, carved walnut desk, a set of papers in hand. He looked up at Jack’s entrance.
“Manning, how is your wife? Katarina asked me to find out for her. She said she didn’t want to disturb you.”
“That’s a rare statement for my sister.” Easing himself into a well-worn armchair, Jack glanced around the well-appointed room. “Usually she delights in bursting in on me at unexpected moments.”
“I suspect she’s unwilling to intrude on Lady Manning’s grief.” Dalbury leaned back in his massive leather chair, his fingers steepled before him. “I did not like to do so either. Is she better?”
“Still weak and resting, but Mrs. Johnstone says she’s out of danger. Her fever broke during the night and the…bleeding stopped.”
“I am glad to hear that.” Dalbury stared at him, shifting restlessly. “I apologize as well for my words yesterday. Of course, the loss of any child would be grievous to a parent. I do beg your pardon.”
Jack waved it away. “You meant well and in a pragmatic sense you were correct. However, that is not the subject I need to discuss.”
“Yes, you indicated yesterday there was some matter you wished to consult with me about.” Dalbury relaxed into his chair once more, brows raised. “Does it concern your sister in some way?”
“Lord, no.” That was the furthest thing from his mind. Thank goodness, he’d come to see Alethea’s differences from Kat as well as their similarities. “It has to do with Lady Manning.”
“Lady Manning?” A frown creased the marquess’s brow. “What subject would you need to consult me on with regard to your wife?” The frown deepened to a scowl. “You don’t want to have her set aside, do you? That’s just not possible under the law. God knows we tried hard enough with Juliet’s problem.”
“Good God, no.” How the hell could he put this without embarrassi
ng himself forever? “No, I would never do such a thing to Alethea. She’s been through so…I…I need to know…” Damnation, but this was awkward.
“Would this be a better question for the midwife, perhaps?” Dalbury sat up, almost squirming in his seat.
“A question for the midwife?”
“Did you wish to know how soon after this unfortunate episode you can return to your wife’s bed? Because I’m deuced if I know. Haven’t asked the midwife that myself yet.”
“No, not that exactly.” Close enough to make a start, however. Gritting his teeth, Jack plunged forward. “You can’t return to a place you’ve never been.”
“A place you’ve never been? Spit it out, man.” Dalbury’s face had darkened with impatience.
“Lady Manning…Alethea and I…well, we’ve never had intimate relations.” There. That part was out at least.
Dalbury’s eyes narrowed. “Stop this nonsense, Manning, and ask me what you will. I’ve no time for games.”
“It is certainly no game and yes, it is true. I have not bedded Alethea. Ever.” Jack slowly fisted his hands.
“Would she not allow you in her bed? Because of the child? Or perhaps she cherishes some feeling for its father?”
“Of that last I am not quite sure.” Jack relaxed as he set forth on a somewhat less painful topic. “She’s never told me who he was, so I’m not convinced she does not still harbor a bit of tendre for him. She assures me not, still it is possible. I have been making inquiries about him, but I have no clear idea who it might be. Any of the married men who attended Braeton’s Hunt Ball are candidates.”
“And if you are able to find him?”
“Challenge him to a duel and kill the cur.” Surprised his brother-in-law would even ask such a question, Jack had to inquire, “Would you not do the same if it were Kat?”
“Of course.” Dalbury scowled. “I simply wanted to offer my services as a second. Although we will not return to Town until late March or early April. Still, if I am there, the offer stands. But back to the matter at hand.” The V-shaped frown on his face deepened. “Why is your wife refusing you her bed?”