by Mary Balogh
The air inside the cottage was oppressively stuffy. The day had not cooled off at all with the coming of evening. The storm that threatened more ominously than ever still had not broken.
Then Mrs. Perkins' hands were gripping convulsively at the sides of the mattress, her back arched against pain, and she stifled moans that had the two infants wailing in terror. David shrugged out of his coat, removed his neckcloth, and rolled up his shirtsleeves. There was clearly a need for more than comforting words and prayer here.
"All right, Tess," he said, turning toward the ten-year-old as Mrs. Perkins began to relax again, "I am going to rely on you to help me. What do you usually do to help the midwife? Perhaps we can get all prepared for her before she comes."
Soon he had one of the older boys scurrying for clean water. He poured part of the pailful into a basin and set Tess to boiling the remainder and keeping it hot. He directed Lil to take her mother's apron from a chair and fan Mrs. Perkins' face with it. He sent the two frightened infants into the inner room to climb into the bed beside their grandmother and the remaining children outside to join their father. He did think at times that he probably would have worked far more efficiently if he had not had the two older girls, old Mrs. Perkins, and Mrs. Perkins between her pains all telling him what needed to be done.
He took the basin of cold water and a cloth and set about the task of washing off the hot face of the woman on the mattress. He folded the cloth and laid it on her forehead. He took one of her hands and held it tightly when the pains took her, murmuring soothing words until she began to relax again. And on the advice of the quavering voice coming from the inner room, he set Lil to finding all the rags she could ready for the birth.
"Oh, God bless you, Reverend," Mrs. Perkins said weakly when he first began to apply the cool cloth. "I am sorry I'm not much help. The pains are bad, and I can't think straight. Will the midwife be here soon?"
"Soon," David assured her soothingly. "And don't even try to think. Tess and Lil are doing a splendid job of getting ready for the midwife, and your mother-in-law is making sure that we do not forget anything. And I am here to hold your hand." He smiled, wondering how his voice could sound so cool and confident. "Relax."
But she arched against the pain again, breathing loudly and raggedly, moaning aloud when it was at its worst, so that David had to fight terror and panic, had to force himself to hold her hand firmly and reassuringly.
And his whole world became focused on the suffering woman on the mattress before him, a woman who was racked with pain every few minutes, tensed, arched against it. A woman who faced her ordeal with a dogged courage, biting her lips against the agony until they were raw and bleeding, allowing groans to escape her only at the very worst moments. His whole purpose in life became to assist her, to somehow help her endure the pain, to offer all the comfort and relief that he, a mere male, was capable of.
He found that she turned her head to look at him between her pains, staring into his eyes as he dabbed at her face and neck with the cool cloth, almost as if only by doing so could she find the strength to endure the next onslaught. He found himself looking back, his eyes smiling down at her, his lips forming words that he could not remember afterward. And when she did speak, he answered her questions soothingly, assuring her that the little ones were with their grandmother, probably asleep, that clean water had been boiled, that plenty of rags were ready.
And that the midwife would surely be there soon.
Hours passed.
***
By the time she had danced the first two sets, Rachel knew that she would not be able to keep up her facade of gaiety for the whole of the long evening ahead. She could have done so if David had been there. She could have been the brightest flame at the ball if David had been present. She would have felt compelled to be so. But he was not there, and she could feel her composure crumbling.
She had prepared herself to endure the evening. She had worn her favorite sea-green lace gown with its underdress of midnight blue. She had had her maid dress her curls high in an elaborate coiffure. And she had sparkled as she left her room and joined the other members of the house party in the drawing room at Oakland. More than one person there had commented that she looked as if she were about to attend a London ball, as if she were about to make her come-out again.
She had shared a carriage with Sir Herbert Fanshawe, Miss Ames, and the Marquess of Stanford, and she had monopolized the conversation with her bright chatter and gay laughter. She had entered the dining room on the arm of the marquess, knowing that several people around her were murmuring at the apparent renewal of a London courtship. Through dinner her relief at not having to face David had been enough to sustain her mood. All attention at her end of the table had been focused on her. Everyone around her had appeared happy and full of laughter.
But she could not sustain the mood. It became clear when the music had started that David was not coming at all. And so Rachel was desperately unhappy, feeling that only his presence could have given her the strength to continue her playacting. Suddenly, without David there, there seemed no point in keeping up the deception.
Algie had been so kind to her all week. He had been kind to her tonight, smiling the length of the table at her whenever there was a burst of laughter from her group, leading her into the opening set, complimenting her on her appearance.
She felt cheap, shoddy. Wretched. Her life was one big lie. Her smile became actively painful to maintain.
At the end of the second set, Rachel grabbed Algernon by the arm, smiling brightly up at him. "Take me outside, Algie," she said. "I want to talk with you."
"Are you very warm, Rache?" he asked. "It is a wicked night for a ball, is it not? I wish that wretched storm would break. You will feel better when it does."
"I need to talk with you," she said, her smile slipping a degree.
"I have asked Madeline for the next set," he said. "Can you wait half an hour, Rache?"
"Please, Algie."
He looked closely at her and frowned slightly. "Wait here," he said. "I shall go and make my excuses to Madeline."
Rachel's smile had slipped all the way by the time he rejoined her a few minutes later. Algernon looked at her in some concern as he tucked her arm through his and led her through the French doors onto the lawn outside.
Chapter 13
ALgernon kept his hand over hers.
"What is it, Rache?" he asked when they were out of earshot of the couples strolling on the terrace in an attempt to escape the heavy heat of the ballroom. "It is unlike you to miss any of the dancing and to request that I do so. too."
"Will this storm never break?" she asked rather petulantly, glancing up to the dark sky. As if in answer, a distant rumble of thunder seemed to shake the air around them.
Algernon squeezed her hand. "You aren't afraid of storms, Rache," he said. "Tell me what is the matter."
"I can't marry you, Algie!" she cried, pulling her arm from his and turning to face him. "Just a few weeks ago I had the effrontery to ask you to offer for me and to persuade you almost to promise that we would be betrothed in the autumn. And you were so kind and understanding and have been ever since. But I have changed my mind, and I feel so dreadful about it. You are easily the nicest man I know, and I do love you dearly, believe me I do. But I can't marry you."
Algernon clasped his hands behind his back and looked down at her. "Don't upset yourself, Rache," he said calmly. "If you feel you cannot marry me, I am not going to force you. And neither is anyone else. It is nothing to get dreadfully upset about, you know. There was nothing official after all, was there? Do you want to tell me what has happened? Has Stanford offered again? And do you wish to accept him? You must not feel guilty about me if that is so. It will be a splendid match for you. And I believe he will make you a good husband. Come, talk to me. We have always been friends, have we not? We have always been comfortable together."
"Yes, we have," she said. "And loved each other. And tha
t is the trouble. I cannot marry you because I would not be able to make you happy, and it would break my heart to know that I was causing you misery. Lord Stanford has nothing to do with this, Algie. I will not be marrying him either, though I believe he means to offer again later this evening. I am not going to marry anyone."
"Your Season in town has made you restless," he said, smiling kindly down at her. "I guessed when I saw you in London that the country would no longer suit you. You have learned that society has a great deal to offer someone with your beauty and your gaiety. And there is nothing wrong with that, Rache. You must not feel guilty that you now find me somewhat dull. I am dull, and make no apology for the fact. And if Stanford does not suit, you must not become upset over that either. You will find the perfect husband eventually, I promise, and be happy for the rest of your life. Come on, cheer up, you little goose."
"Oh, no," Rachel said, looking earnestly into his eyes. "You misunderstand quite, Algie. I do not want more of social life. All of that has grown remarkably tedious. It has meant nothing to me since I have discovered that what I really want is a useful purpose in life. I am not rejecting you because I consider you dull. Oh, please don't think that. I don't want London. I don't want balls."
"A useful purpose," he said, flicking one finger beneath her chin. "Like all this tripping off to your father's tenants and hauling along books to read to the elderly, Rache? Is that what you mean by being useful?" He frowned. "But you cannot make a way of life of that. You will need a home and family besides."
Rachel shook her head. "I am going to start a school," she said. "I want to teach the children to read."
Algernon grinned. "You, Rache?" he said, amusement in his voice. "And you are quite serious, are you not? I can see it in the set of your chin. What will your papa say to that?"
"I am not sure," she said. "But his opinion will make no difference, anyway."
Algernon placed his hands on her shoulders and continued to grin down at her. "You know, Rache," he said, "it is David you should be marrying."
Rachel stared at him numbly.
"Good God!" His hands tightened and his expression instantly sobered. "Have I been that blind, Rache? Is that it? Is it David?"
"I think I would have discovered what I have even without him," Rachel said carefully, "but probably not quite so soon. Perhaps I never would have found the meaning of my life and I would always have wondered why I was restless and not quite happy."
Algernon nodded slowly, his eyes searching hers. "And you love David too."
Rachel did not answer. She did not need to. Algernon's words had not been a question.
"I would not have expected it," he said. "He is devilish handsome, of course, but I wouldn't have thought that he would attract you in the least, Rache. You seem such opposites. And does he love you too?"
Rachel hesitated. "He is going to leave," she said. "He is waiting until his brother goes home and then he is going to talk to you. I will not be going with him."
"Even knowing that you are not going to marry me, he is still leaving alone?" Algernon asked. "Poor Rache." He spoke very gently.
"How can you sympathize with me?" she asked. "I have done dreadful things to you, Algie. Persuading you that we should be betrothed soon and all the time loving David. I should have told you sooner. I owed you that. We have never had secrets from each other, have we?"
"People always have to have secrets from each other, Rache," he said. "There is a part of each person that has to be private even from those we love. Otherwise we would lose our individuality, our very selves, perhaps. I think your love for David has been painful, has it not? Still is, doubtless. No, Rache, you have had every right to keep those feelings to yourself."
Rachel's eyes were troubled and tear-filled as they looked up into his. "You are such a dear man, Algie," she said. "Will you still be my friend? You will not hate me and shun me after this embarrassment? I do not think I could bear it if I thought I could no longer run to you with my troubles. I will not feel quite safe without you."
Algernon squeezed her shoulders again and drew her against him. "Silly little goose," he said. "When two people have loved each other all their lives, as you and I have, their feelings do not alter just because of one very minor embarrassment. Of course you will always be able to come to me. And of course I will always protect you from harm whenever I can. You must never doubt that. Just as I will never doubt that you will always bring a little ray of sunshine into my life whenever I see you."
"Algie," she said, lifting her face to look up into his. She paused as there was another low rumble of thunder from the distance. "You will marry? You must marry. Though I shall probably be horridly jealous of your wife and will kick myself from here to London and back for giving you up when I had the chance to marry you."
He laughed. "You will probably be one of the first to know if I ever decide to marry anyone else," he said. "So you will still have a chance to engage the lady in fisticuffs and win me back, Rache. I rather fancy the idea of two females fighting a duel over me."
Rachel laughed in spite of herself. "Oh, you do say some absurd things, Algie," she said. "I do love you so."
"Yes, I know," he said, grinning down at her. "Like a devoted sister." He bent his head and pecked her lightly on the lips. "I told Madeline that I would partner her in the next set instead of this one. I must not miss it, Rache. It would not do at all."
She smiled and pushed away from him. "I am going to stay here for a while," she said. "Algie? Thank you. You have made me feel as if it is the most ordinary thing in the world to break one's promise."
"Just don't stray far from the house," he advised. "That storm is going to be moving over fairly soon. And the sooner the better, I think. It will clear the air."
***
Celia was dancing with Viscount Cardwell. The atmosphere in the ballroom was very sticky even though all the doors and windows were open wide. Several couples were walking outside. Among them were Rachel and Lord Rivers. Celia had seen them go and had ruthlessly tried to quell the stab of envy she had felt. She could picture them strolling now in the garden, arms linked, talking easily, looking at each other in that way they had, their eyes glowing with their affection for each other.
She would have liked a relationship like that. She did not suppose it would ever happen now. But perhaps at some time in the future she might meet someone with whom she could be comfortable. She would not lose hope. It would be easy to go home with the idea that she had been a participant in a grand tragedy, when in reality she had merely allowed herself to indulge in a foolish infatuation.
She had known from the start that Lord Rivers was going to marry Rachel. In fact, she had known it even when they had still been at school. And she had known too from the start that it was a match in which there was deep and mutual affection. It had been foolish indeed to allow herself to be attracted by a man who could very obviously never be hers. It had been foolish to indulge in infatuation. She had allowed herself to daydream to the point at which she now felt that she was about to lose the love of her life.
How very childish! How upset Rachel would be if she knew. And how amused Lord Rivers would be. No, he would not be amused. He was too kindly a man to derive pleasure from another's pain. He would be concerned, sympathetic. How humiliating it would be if he ever found out. She would find his sympathy far more mortifying than his laughter.
He had kissed her in the rose garden, of course. By the wildest stretch of the imagination she could convince herself that he had been attracted to her, even if only for a few moments. But, no. The time for daydreams was past. At the time, he was being his usual gentle, kindly self, trying to convince her that she was neither ugly nor dull. He had kissed her in an attempt to make her feel good about herself. He had not really meant to kiss her. He had been quite distressed afterward to realize what he had done. But the very fact that he had kissed her unconsciously proved the extent of his kindness.
At least she would
have that kiss to cherish for the rest of her life. Her one and only kiss. And one that had made her so dizzy and weak at the knees that she still marveled that she had not committed the ultimate blunder of clinging to him and leaning against him. Her cheeks burned now at the very thought.
"It is hardly the night for strenuous dancing, is it?" Lord Cardwell asked solicitously. "Are you all right, ma'am?"
"Oh, yes," Celia said, blushing an even deeper red when she realized the direction she had allowed her thoughts to take. "I heard thunder a few moments ago. Perhaps the air will cool off once the storm has moved over."
"I hope so," he said. "And I hope David does not get caught out in it. He must surely have had a call or he would have come. He said he would be here."
"I think you are right," Celia said. "The Reverend Gower would always put the needs of a parishioner before his own pleasure, you know."
Lord Cardwell smiled down at her, looking very much like his brother for a moment. "Yes," he said, "I have realized that. This visit has reassured me greatly. I was worried about David. I was not sure that the church would suit him as a career."
"I cannot imagine one that would suit him more," Celia said. "Everyone speaks very highly of him, even the poorest people."
The next dance was the supper dance, Celia thought. And then, immediately after supper, she was engaged to dance with Lord Rivers. A half-hour in which to be close to him and converse with him and see those kindly eyes focused on her. Probably she would see him tomorrow. And the day after, she was to leave for home, at her own insistence. She did not think she would even see Rachel again after that. She would not be able to visit Singleton Hall after those two were married.
She would have to do a great deal of living during the half-hour of that set. And then, once she was on her way home, she would have to behave in a manner worthy of her one-and-twenty years and forget her foolish infatuation. But not quite yet. She would live through tonight and tomorrow first.