Tender Fortune

by Judith E. French

  * * *

  Lightning struck a pine tree not fifty feet from the trail, and Jamie threw up his arm to protect his eyes from the flash. The stallion reared, screaming with terror. His back legs slipped in the mud and he half fell to the left, fighting his way up. Jamie struggled to hold his seat, giving the animal his head, allowing him to break into a gallop and bolt up the dirt road away from the smell of sulfur and burning wood.

  The wind drove needles of rain into the bodies of man and horse. The rain was so heavy, Jamie trusted the stallion's instincts to stay on the path. "Damn you, you bitch," he shouted into the storm. "Damn you to bloody hell!" He loved her. God how he loved her. Even now. "You stupid bastard! You're supposed to have sense enough to hate her after..." But he couldn't. He couldn't. That heart-shaped face, those full curving lips, those sea-green eyes were burned into his brain.

  Jamie leaned over the ebony horse's neck and urged him still faster, heedless of the danger to them both. How could she do it? Marry that doddering old man?

  The thought of those old hands touching Charity, caressing her, making love to her tortured him. Tears of rage and anguish clouded his brown eyes.

  Suddenly a split-rail fence loomed ahead of them through the rain. Gallantly the stallion attempted the jump. In midair he struck the top rail, lost his balance, and fell heavily to the ground. Jamie was thrown violently, rolled, and slammed his head against the base of small tree.

  Stunned, he lay there for long minutes, the cold rain beating against his drawn face. Then the sound of the animal's whinny dragged him from the foggy daze. Cautiously he moved his legs and arms. He felt as if he'd been rolled over by a coach and four, but nothing seemed to be broken.

  He cursed himself nine ways from Sunday. If he ruined a fine animal out of frustration and self-pity... "Ebony. Here, boy. Good horse, come here, boy."

  The stallion snorted. Jamie walked toward him slowly. The horse stood, head down, one back leg raised.

  "Whoa, Ebony. Let me see you, boy. Are you all right?"

  Soothed by the sound of his master s voice, the horse took a hesitant step in Jamie's direction. The eyes were large in the magnificent head, the muscles in the arched neck quivered with pain and fright.

  "Good boy, good Ebony." Jamie caught the dangling reins and ran a practiced hand down the injured leg. Tenderly he fingered each bone and bent the leg at the joint. "Good boy." The animal flinched, but he felt no severe damage. A chunk of hide was missing and the gouge was bleeding, the stain rusty against the black hair and hoof.

  Crooning to the nervous animal, Jamie stroked his entire body, ignoring the rain and wind. Then he led him a few steps. Limping, the horse followed, favoring the hind leg. "You'll be all right," he promised. "A little salve, a few days rest, and you'll be fine."

  But would he be fine? Would the red mist of fury that urged him to make Charity a widow recede? Jamie straightened his shoulders and ran a muddy hand through his soaking hair. He'd said the game was beyond her skill. But was it? Had the pupil outpaced the master? Wearily he turned toward home, leading the black horse.

  Mud and water turned the dirt road to a morass of slime. The Spanish leather boots that had cost so much in London would be beyond repair. Jamie laughed sarcastically. He'd not yet learned to come to grips with his new station in life. The Viscount Braemar didn't have to worry about the price of a pair of boots.

  Lightning struck again, splitting an oak from topmost branch to ancient trunk. Ebony shied, and Jamie had a hard time holding him. The storm was a bad one, the worst he could remember on the Tidewater. He hoped it wouldn't bring hail. A hailstorm could devastate the tobacco crop.

  Devastate... devastate. He'd been devastated when he'd heard the news that Charity was wed to another. He'd come straight from Annapolis without sleep... hell, without even a bath or a fresh change of clothes. He'd thrown a saddle on Ebony and rode like the hounds of hell were pursuing him straight to Widow's Endeavor. He'd known she'd be waiting there... waiting for him.

  "Fool! Stupid damned fool!" To be taken in by a woman's lying tongue. I knew she was a fortune hunter from the start. And am I one to talk? But he had kept faith. He'd left his parents and the court life to return to Maryland for her. "Little bitch." Ebony snorted and Jamie patted his head reassuringly.

  I still want her. "No, damn it! I want no part of her!" But he did. Even swollen with another man's child, he'd had to fight the urge to take her in his arms... to kiss the pulse at her throat... to sweep her up and carry her away. "Damn you to hell, Charity Brown," he screamed into the wind. Traitorously his lips moved, "But I love you just the same."

  * * *

  The heat of August passed and the Tidewater busied itself with harvest. It had been a plentiful year; the tobacco crop was excellent. On Avalon, Charity did not see as much of the day-to-day activities of the plantation as she had at Widow's Endeavor, and she missed it. It was, she realized with a start, her second autumn in Maryland. It did not seem possible a whole year had passed since she and Jamie had made the journey to Philadelphia.

  She was preoccupied now with the coming child. Her body had grown large and unwieldy; she hardly knew herself in the mirror. She kept close to the house and garden and waited, imagining the time when she would hold her child in her arms. "You'll be safe and cared for always, my little lord," she murmured to the baby.

  Her labor pains began on the first day of October. Jane Comegys had come to call, bringing her little girl. The two women were enjoying a stroll in the boxwood garden while Nan amused the child.

  A rider had come from Sweetwater the afternoon before, asking if Lady Beauford would receive Mistress Comegys the next day. Charity had eagerly looked forward to her visit. She had been so long closed up at Avalon, and Elizabeth's visits had been few since the busy season had begun. Charity had welcomed the plain girl with open arms, and the two fell into easy conversation.

  The first twinges of discomfort had been evident at breakfast, but Charity had been so excited about Jane's coming that she'd ignored them. The pain that knifed through her in the garden was impossible to disregard. She caught her breath and both hands went to her back.

  "Oh!"

  Jane smiled knowingly. "It's the babe, isn't it?" She put an arm around her and led her to a marble bench. "Is the pain in your back? How many have you had?"

  Charity's face paled. "A few," she admitted. "Nothing like this. I didn't think it could be the baby with my back aching."

  Jane regarded her critically. "You're low enough. You could have gone into labor days ago. Just as well. There were some who've been counting the months since your marriage. Do you think you can walk a bit? It's the best, really. I should know. I've been through it twice." She motioned to Charity to remain seated. "I'll call a servant so someone can fetch the midwife. Are you all right?"

  Charity nodded. "Yes... I think so. It just took me by surprise." She loosened the laces of the rose gown. "Maybe it's not—" She gasped as another pain wrenched her body.

  "Wait here!" Jane ordered. "Don't move until I get back." She paused a few steps away. "And don't look so worried. There's nothing to it. At your age you'll have no problems."

  The midwife, Abigail Williams, arrived in late afternoon. "I'd have been here sooner, but I was deliverin' a fine boy to one of Lady Deale's slaves."

  She made a quick examination of the patient, then sent a servant for Lady Deale. She left Charity propped up with pillows in the four-poster find went downstairs to speak to Lord Beauford.

  "How long?" Harry demanded. "She's been in pain since this morning. Is anything wrong?"

  The old woman bobbed her head in what passed for proper respect in front of a lord. "She's in good health, and I brought more into the world than I can count. It's in God's hands."

  Charity gripped the blanket tightly between her fingers and held her breath. The pains had become closer and more intense. How long would it be like this? How much could she take and not cry out? She was determined that she wou
ld not, no matter how bad the pain became. Was not suffering woman's lot after Eve sinned in the Garden? For the first time in months, she longed to have her mother with her... her mother, and another... another whose name she would not even think, lest she speak it out loud.

  Jane had departed with the coming of the midwife. She had been afraid her girl would be frightened. Charity would have liked to have her new friend with her, but the fewer in her room, the fewer to hear if she became weak.

  The midwife leaned over the bed and wiped at her forehead with a damp cloth. "Don't fret, little lady, you'll be fine. Don't fight the pains, go with them."

  "Water, could I have some water? I'm so thirsty," Charity said. Her lips were dry; she felt as though her body were being torn in two.

  "Just a sip." Abigail Williams waved to Nan, and the maid brought a goblet of water. The black woman poured out all but a little into a basin. "Too much is bad for her," she explained. "Here, Car'line, jest enough to wet yer lips." She held the goblet for Charity to drink.

  Time blurred and ran together. The pain grew worse, and Charity bit into her hand to keep from crying. A fire was lit on the hearth, and the room grew heavy with the strong odors of castor oil and feverfew.

  "Take a little of this," Abigail instructed. Obediently Charity swallowed the bitter mixture of herbs and white wine. "It will help," the woman assured her.

  There was a loud sound of footsteps on the stairs and the door was flung open. "It's stifling in here," Elizabeth's hearty voice declared. "Afternoon, Abigail. How is she?" She crossed to the bed and kissed Charity on the forehead. "How are you doing, love? For God's sake, open some windows!"

  Charity opened her eyes and caught at the thin hand. "Stay with me," she begged. A fresh breeze tinged with salt off the bay blew across the bed, and Charity breathed it in gratefully.

  Elizabeth murmured something to the midwife too low for Charity to hear.

  "I've put a knife under the bed to cut the pain, and I've given her a potion of castor oil and another of feverfew. Now we must wait and let the girl and God do the rest."

  Elizabeth wiped Charity's face again. "How long have you been like this?"

  Another spasm took hold, and Elizabeth laid her hand on Charity's belly and counted the seconds aloud.

  "How often?"

  The midwife told her. "The labor is fierce, but little comes of it." She motioned Elizabeth aside.

  Charity's eyes flew open as Elizabeth released her hand. "What's wrong?" she demanded. "Is something wrong with my baby?"

  Elizabeth whispered to the black woman, then returned to the bed. "I'll have to examine you, Caroline. I'll not hurt you any more than I have to."

  Charity turned her face into the down pillow as Elizabeth's practiced hands touched her most private parts. She was beyond caring. Only the baby mattered... the baby and stopping this terrible pain.

  "Caroline." The older woman pulled the sheet up over her. "The child is turned. I believe it's a breech birth. Do you know what that means?" Her palm was cool against Charity's cheek.

  "Is he alive?"

  "The babe is alive and well. But it must be turned if it is to be born. Do you understand?"

  "Am I going to die?" Women died in childbirth every day. Her green eyes locked with Elizabeth's. "You must save my baby. Promise me. No matter what. Save the baby."

  Elizabeth nodded. If God had ever seen fit to kindle life within her, she would have felt the same way. "I'll do what I can, child. You must be very brave."

  Charity forced a weak smile. "I'll try."

  "I can't attempt it yet. We must wait until the proper time. Until then, you must do the work." She sighed heavily. "I can't give you anything to make you sleep. You'll need all your strength to deliver the child."

  Charity nodded. She had sat up with Mam when all the younger half brothers and sisters were born. None of them had taken this long. One of the boys had come feet first. She'd been so surprised she'd nearly dropped him. If they waited a little, perhaps her babe would be born on its own too. She took another breath as she felt the agony begin again.

  Nan slipped out the door and down the steps. From the window, she'd seen Lady Deale's horse and cart arrive. The driver was Jack; she'd spent too many nights in those strong arms to mistake him for another.

  Throwing a cloak about her shoulders, she darted out the back way and hurried to the barn. Jack could carry a message back to Widow's Endeavor and from there to Bold Venture that her lady was near to dying of childbed. Master Drummond—the Viscount Braemar—should know. It was the most she could do for her mistress.

  In the hours just before dawn, Charity believed that she would die. Only the thought of her child kept her fighting. She drifted in and out of consciousness, aware only that she must live until the baby drew breath... and that she must not say Jamie's name.

  Downstairs, the old earl waited as he had waited before. "I'm unlucky. All my wives have died before me," he murmured.

  "Did you say something, my lord?" John asked.

  "No. Go away. Leave me alone." Harry drew the robe closer about his shoulders and stared into the fire. "Go upstairs and see if anything's happening."

  "Yes, my lord." The door shut behind the butler.

  "Sometimes I wish you weren't so damned efficient," Harry grumbled. He wondered if he should go upstairs and see for himself. No, Elizabeth was there. She was as sensible a woman as God created.

  He'd sent for a physician without results. Of the two in Oxford, one was away, the other housebound with a broken leg. There was a younger man in Annapolis, but they'd heard nothing from him or the messenger. A bad business this. He'd hate to have King George win after all, and he'd hate it even worse if something bad happened to that sweet little thing upstairs.

  At Widow's Endeavor, Jamie waited. He'd ridden to Elizabeth's as soon as Jack had brought him word. He would have gone to Avalon, but he knew he'd receive short shrift there. They'd never allow him to see her, and with good reason. What man would allow a former lover to visit his dying wife's bedside?

  "No, damn it!" Jamie slammed his fist into his open palm. "She's not dying." It wasn't possible. No one that full of life could die so easily. A woman was made to bear children—wasn't she? Silently, within the depths of his heart, Jamie found himself doing something he hadn't done since he was a child—praying.

  Chapter 21

  Dawn broke over the Tidewater, spilling shimmering ribbons of coral and apricot across the dove-gray sky. High above, a V of Canada geese cried mournfully as they winged their way toward winter feeding grounds.

  Elizabeth leaned against a windowsill and listened until their clarion call was lost in the distance, then turned back to the bed where Charity struggled for her life and that of her unborn child.

  Her face was an ivory mask against the pillow; her harsh breathing echoed through the still bedchamber. Her eyes were closed, her hands were fists, knotted in the twisted bedcovers.

  "It's time," Elizabeth said softly. The black woman nodded her agreement. "Is the willow tea ready?"

  "And a brew of plantain." Both would help control the bleeding, if they had a live patient to administer it to. "Do it now, or make ready the winding," Abigail advised. "Neither will live another hour."

  Vaguely, as though in a dream, Charity heard Elizabeth's voice above the pain. Am I dead already? She couldn't be. The fires of hell were hot, and she was cold. Cold... cold... cold as the waves. Waves of torment ripped through her body, tossing her, grinding through bone and muscle. Where was she? The ocean? Then came the branding agony of flame. Charity half rose, gave one hoarse cry, and fell back, swallowed up by the rolling waves of velvet blackness.

  "Caroline. Caroline, wake up. Open your eyes," Elizabeth ordered. Something wet touched her face... cool and wet. Water? "Caroline!"

  A faint mewing pierced the thick wool-wrappings of her brain. A cat? Why was a cat crying in her bed?

  "Caroline." The voice was insistent.

  Charity to
ssed her head. Why didn't they leave her alone? It was so peaceful here... so quiet. Nothing could hurt her here.

  "Wake up!" A sharp slap on both cheeks snapped her awake.

  Charity opened her eyes and the room spun and slid into place. Elizabeth's worried face materialized before her. She said something but the words were lost in the cat's crying.

  "Your baby, Caroline. Look at your baby," the older woman said kindly.

  A little color tinted the ivory of Charity's face. The glazed look passed and the green eyes lit with understanding. "My baby? It's all right? My baby's all right?"

  "My lady," Nan called. "Lord Beauford is coming up."

  The midwife bundled up the bloody sheets as Nan drew a clean spread over the bed. Elizabeth tucked the infant in Charity's arms and wiped the girl's face again.

  There was a sharp rap against the door and a maid opened it with a curtsy for the earl.

  "Well, well, well," he called heartily. "Good show, Caroline. Good show indeed." He crossed to the bed with the aid of his silver-headed walking stick and beamed down at mother and child. "So this is the imp that's caused all the trouble, is it? My heir?"

  Elizabeth laughed softly. "Congratulations, Lord Beauford. The babe seems none the worse for wear. It will go better than a half stone."

  Beauford lay one gnarled finger on the full red cheek of the squawling baby. "Boy or girl?"

  "A daughter," Elizabeth answered. "A beautiful blue-eyed daughter."

  Charity's eyes widened. "A girl? It's a girl?" She looked down at the squirming bundle in her arms. "There must be some mistake."

  "Not likely." Abigail laughed wryly. "As many as I've brought into the world, I can tell wench from man-child."

  Lord Beauford gave a surprised grunt. "A lass, is it?" He touched a starfish hand, and the infant's fingers closed tightly around his own. He laughed, and his laughter was echoed by the waiting women. "A lass then." He chuckled again. "Good enough for a start, wife. We'll have a boy next time."