by Kerryn Reid
How humiliating it must have been for him, groveling before her father. Why should Lewis give her this alternative at the cost of his own happiness?
Yes, he’d felt a tendre for her, once upon a time. But now? How he must despise her! She would be a monster to condemn him to a marriage he could not possibly want, raising a daughter not his own. It had been a disaster for her father and for the daughter he’d raised.
And this was worse. This child was conceived by Lewis’s own brother. A brother he hated, and with good reason.
How could he think she still loved that heartless, scheming knave?
His voice pelted her from above, clipped and constrained. “I know it’s hard, Anna. I know I’m not the man you wanted. I’ll demand nothing of you once we’re married. But you had best come up with an unassailable reason to refuse my offer. Your daughter needs you.” His footsteps rushed across the floor in his hurry to be gone.
Her heart skipped a beat. Then the tears fell, hot and harsh, searing her eyes and throat, soaking her pillow. All the tears she had kept inside since the day the baby was born. Tears of agony and bewilderment that somehow, imperceptibly, transformed into relief and gratitude.
Putnam came in and sat beside her, patting her back, murmuring awkward endearments, and eventually Anna returned to the present. To the necessity of breathing, of blinking her swollen eyes.
Her daughter would be safe. Her daughter would have a chance. Her daughter would have a family.
A cry sounded from the other room. Anna blew her nose, took the cool cloth Putnam provided, and pressed it to her face to ease the heavy ache that filled the place where her brain should have been.
She had let Lewis leave unsure of her answer.
“Let’s get you over to the chair, dearie. I’ll straighten the bedclothes while you feed that little mite.”
“And get paper and a pen. I must write to Mr. Aubrey afterward.”
By the time Anna was situated, the cries came angry and urgent. “Yes, yes, I’m coming,” Putnam sang out.
Anna waited, eager to see her daughter. Strange, when all week she had felt only dread. Dread at the bonds that wound through her as she held the beautiful, innocent child she must leave so soon. Dread that those bonds would rip her heart to shreds when Putnam took the babe away for the last time.
She settled her daughter at her breast. How had she ever thought she could go on living after she left? Each time Putnam brought her little girl in for feeding it became less possible. Rosy cheeks that burned bright red when she cried, toothless greedy mouth, silken wisps of light brown hair, eyes that locked with hers until, sated, they closed in rapture? Tiny, perfect hands that she had unwrapped that morning for the first time, that held softly to her breast as she nursed? What would she do with those memories if she left?
She would go mad, remembering.
It was a choice she need no longer make. Yes, Lewis had brought the best possible news—an alternative. The only alternative she needed.
He might marry her for the child’s sake, but for Anna too it was a gift beyond reckoning. In return she would be a good wife, make his home comfortable, show him a contented face. Affection would come on both sides. She imagined more children, these truly his. If their marriage was not perfect, what of it? It would be far better than her parents had.
Through all the days they lived, she would love him for this. For giving her the right to name her own child.
Chapter 37
Anna remembered precisely when she had last awakened to a feeling of optimism. Cassie’s ball in April. Eight months and a bit more, in which she had aged eighty years.
But today she was alive. Today was for looking forward.
Rising from the bed, she opened the curtain to blue sky and a sliver of sunshine. Lewis would not find her moldering in darkness today.
She longed to wash her hair, but it was too late for that. Who knew when he would come. She washed as well as she could with soap and cold water and sat to nurse the baby—my daughter!—in that narrow patch of sunlight.
“I’ll try the blue gown today, Putnam.”
“No, you won’t. It’s not near time for that.”
“I shall receive Mr. Aubrey in the parlor, and I’ll not do it in my nightdress!”
“You will stay in bed as you were instructed, miss. Mr. Aubrey would be the first to say so.”
“Is there so much difference between a bed and a sofa? I’ll put my feet up and you may wrap me in as many blankets as you choose.”
Putnam grumbled but gave in. “Don’t know what Mrs. Milledge would say, but the truth is I’m so happy to see you happy, I’d be hard put to deny you anything.”
Anna grinned. It almost hurt, it had been so long. “I must think how best to take advantage of your good will.” Anna was through worrying about light and drafts. This horrid little closet was no place to be shut up for a month. By the end of a month, she might be a married woman. Could it happen so quickly?
Mischief fled, replaced by doubt. She grasped Putnam’s arm as she passed by. “Will you stay with me when…when I marry, Putnam? I don’t know how much I can pay you.”
Putnam bent to rest her cheek on Anna’s head for a moment. Her voice trembled. “Aye. I’ll stay.” She straightened and gazed into Anna’s face, smoothing the hair from her cheek. “We’ve been through a lot together, haven’t we? I reckon you’re my girl now.” Tears glistened in her eyes.
Anna kissed her hand. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Now, may I wear the blue gown?” Their shared laughter made her cry, though she had sworn not to cry today.
It didn’t fit. And when Putnam held up the two ghastly garments she’d worn since arriving in Leeds, Anna decided the nightdress looked better than either of them. With a shawl over her shoulders and a pile of blankets on top, it wouldn’t much matter what she wore.
Putnam lifted the baby against her shoulder. “Oh, miss, isn’t it a blessing what Mr. Aubrey has done? Ever since I saw him in the church that night an’ followed him to the Rose and Crown, I’ve been praying for this. Now, aren’t you glad I wrote him that note? It’s the best thing that could have happened.”
Putnam fairly danced around the room with her tiny partner, heaping accolades on God and Mr. Aubrey. Anna brushed her hair and watched the poor babe peering over Putnam’s shoulder, eyes wide and glazed as she struggled to make sense of the world swirling about her.
I know how you feel, little one. It’s a new world for me, too. The brush slowed as Anna’s spirits sank. She was not sure about God, but Lewis definitely deserved his share of praise. She hated to think what he was getting for his compassion, his selflessness, his pain.
She cut into Putnam’s jubilation. “He’s only marrying me out of pity for the baby. He doesn’t even like me.”
Putnam grunted and laid the baby on her tummy on the bed. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”
“How could he possibly feel otherwise? I’ve treated him horribly. I didn’t know I was capable of such cruelty.”
“It’s the circumstances, Miss Anna. He understands that. Your heart isn’t cruel.”
“Evidently it is.” Anna slumped in the chair. “And he will be chained to me for life. Along with his brother’s child.” How long before he regrets it?
Putnam slipped the hairbrush from Anna’s unresisting hands and put it back to work. “Don’t you worry about the child. Mr. Aubrey’s half in love with her already.”
“Is he?” Anna sighed.
“I’ll just braid your hair, then you need your rest.”
What had become of the high spirits that greeted the day? Was it only fatigue that dragged her down? How ridiculous that a few steps round that tiny room, a quick wash, and changing clothes twice should exhaust her so.
She climbed carefully into bed so as not to wake the baby. “Leave her with me,” she said, and Putnam beamed at her.
Anna curled herself around her daughter. Which of them provided greater comfort to the other?
>
Lewis had braved her father in order to bring her good news…with flowers. What was more, he’d behaved as though he truly thought it good, however impossible that seemed. Putnam seemed to think he liked her a little. Could she be right?
She heard voices from the parlor. Putnam, then another woman’s voice. One of the neighbors.
The latch rattled as her door opened. Anna tensed and the baby grumbled in her sleep.
Lewis’s voice came from just outside. “No, not yet.” He sounded stern. A woman spoke in response, the words unclear.
Anna struggled to sit up as he came in, shutting the door firmly behind him. He came to the bed and squatted down beside it. “She’s beautiful,” he murmured, shifting the blanket to give him a better view of the babe’s face. “Putnam says you haven’t given her a name.” Though his tone was mild, it felt like a reprimand.
“No. I was expecting a boy.” The words sounded harsher than she’d intended. She saw his jaw clench and bit that sharp tongue of hers. It had become a despicable habit, one she must break.
She whispered. “I was afraid to…when I thought she wouldn’t be mine. Thank you.”
Lewis met her gaze, lifted her hand, and kissed it.
He cleared his throat, but his voice was still husky. “As usual, Anna, my timing is atrocious. I brought… Perhaps you heard them? Cassie and her mother stopped in Leeds last night on their way home from Bath. I’ve brought them to see you.”
She heard herself gasp—or was it a sob?—and lashed out to hide her insecurity and shame.
“How could you think I would receive them? I can hardly get out of bed.” So much for breaking her habit.
“You don’t need to get out of bed. They can visit here. They won’t stay long.”
She pressed a hand to her stomach. “I feel sick.”
“They’re here, Anna. They’d be halfway to Wrackwater Bridge by now, but they stayed to see you.”
“No, Lewis. I’m not ready. I don’t want them to see me like this.” The perfect society matron in this crumbling, godforsaken building? Allowing Cassie in the same room with a strumpet and her bastard child?
“They know the situation. They don’t expect perfection.”
Her back stiffened, her voice grew shrill. “You told them I look a wreck?”
“I couldn’t possibly, because it’s not true.” He tugged at his hair in a gesture of frustration she’d come to know well. “When we marry, the Wedburys will be the closest thing we have to family.” A glint came into his eye. “And I’m not sure I can keep Cassie out.”
She swallowed a lump the size of a full-grown sheep. She had no choice about this, either. “Where is Putnam?”
“She’s making tea. What can I do?”
He brought her dressing gown and helped her into it, draped an old shawl over her shoulders. Putnam would have done more, but it would have to do. When Lewis went to summon the guests, Anna pinched her cheeks to put some color in them.
Cassie flew into the room, arms wide for a hug. It was awkward with Anna in bed and the baby lying at her side, but Cassie got one arm around Anna’s shoulders and squeezed. Anna reciprocated, clinging so tightly it must have hurt. Then she burst into tears. What an appalling display.
“Oh, Anna, I’m so excited to see you again. And twice as pleased that we’ll be sisters, or as near as makes no difference. Heavens, I’ll be an aunt!” She clapped her hands and laughed in delight.
The baby startled awake, her face puckering for a vocal protest. Anna swept her up in hopes of forestalling the outburst. One mortified glance showed Lady Wedbury a scant half-step inside the room, one neatly-shaped eyebrow raised in judgment. Lewis stood beside her, wearing a little smile Anna could not interpret.
She pressed her cheek to the baby’s forehead. “Oh, please don’t cry.” It was barely a whisper, but it worked.
“I’m sorry I woke her.” Cassie spoke softly, now that it didn’t matter. “I’d offer to hold her, but I expect they’d hear her crying in Wrackwater Bridge. I’ve never held a baby.”
“Neither had I.” Lewis strolled toward them. “Until two days ago. She bears with me surprisingly well.”
That odd smile still played about his lips. Is it… Could it be pride?
“Yes, but I’m merely an aunt,” Cassie said. “You’re going to be her papa.”
Lewis contemplated the child in Anna’s arms. “But she doesn’t know that. Anna, shall I take her to Putnam?”
“Yes, please.” His arm touched her breast as he took possession of the wriggling bundle. He flushed and muttered an apology.
The sight of him cradling her daughter brought tears to her eyes. She blinked them away. But oh, she wished she could draw, as he did. That would be a picture to treasure.
As he moved toward the door, Lady Wedbury came to Cassie’s side. “Well, Miss Spain.”
Anna rushed to avert whatever scathing comment she was about to make. “I’m so sorry to receive you like this, Lady Wedbury. If Lewis had asked me, I would have—”
“Begged off? Quite understandable. I’m happy to have seen you, however. You’ve had a nasty time of it, haven’t you? Well, Lewis is determined to do right by you. For his sake, Sir John and I will stand your friends.”
Anna choked out an awkward, “Thank you, ma’am,” as Cassie fairly bounced with glee.
“Of Cassandra’s support you can have no doubt,” Lady Wedbury added, with the slightest hint of a smile. “Now come, dear, we must be on our way.” She paused in the doorway. “It’s fortunate your daughter resembles you.”
Returning to Anna’s at dusk, Lewis made his way up the creaking staircase with his purchases. He found a note on the door in Putnam’s writing. Hush. Sleeping. He set down the tin bucket he carried in one hand and tapped softly. When she didn’t come, he tried the handle. The door swung open to silence.
The parlor was empty. Putnam’s cloak hung on its hook, so she must be in the building. Perhaps she was sleeping too. No doubt she needed it.
He hung up his greatcoat and took the bucket containing their dinner to the wobbly old table, setting it there for her to deal with.
The borrowed cradle sat empty in its spot by the hearth. He crept to Anna’s open doorway.
Anna held the sleeping babe with a sort of tender ferocity, tears dripping from nose and chin onto the blanket. He heard a choked sob, then a thread of tear-stained lullaby. Heartrending.
But what did it mean?
Steeling himself against anything, Lewis walked in. Her head jerked up, eyes wide and startled. She clutched the baby protectively.
“Second thoughts, Anna?” The words sounded harsh to his ears—but he had thought it was done. Yesterday’s note confirmed it, and everything she’d said this morning. If he never won her love, he could be content knowing she and the child were safe, and he had made them so.
“Oh no.” She shook her head, groping one-handed among the bedclothes until she found her handkerchief. She blew her nose and took a long, shaky breath. “I will marry you, though I should not.”
“You should not? Faced with the alternative?”
“I know, it looks like the perfect solution.” She swallowed hard. “But this can’t be what you want. I’ve been an absolute beast. The things I’ve said to you…”
Her voice faltered. “And there’s more. I learned during the summer that my father is…not my father. I’ve seen what happens when a man is forced to raise another man’s child, all the resentment and hostility. He cared far more for his bone china than for me. And it’s understandable, isn’t it?”
“To harm an innocent child because he hates her mother? No! Don’t you dare compare me with your father.”
She met his anger with earnest appeal. “How can I not? You’re a far better man than he could ever have been—but if you should find yourself with similar feelings, despite your best intentions? You would hate yourself for it, and you would fight it as he never bothered to do. You might even conquer it. But surely i
t would take a toll on all of us?”
Her voice softened as she gazed at the infant in her lap. “But it’s the only alternative there is. She’s too precious. I could never leave her.”
“Neither could I.” Anger deflated, he sat beside her on the bed. “If you really didn’t want marriage, I would raise her myself. But I’d much rather have you too.”
“Anna, please don’t cry.” He wiped a tear with his thumb as it rolled down her cheek. “There have been enough tears.”
“I can’t seem to stop. As soon as it stops, it starts again.”
“So I’ll be marrying a watering pot?” Hoping for a smile, he got none.
“I was so humiliated, weeping in front of Lady Wedbury. What she must think.” She shook her head at the thought.
“On the contrary. She called you poor dear.”
“Humph. She has no fondness for me.”
“Not yet. But she’s rather a Gorgon where her children are concerned, and she regards me almost as one of her own. She’ll take you under her wing soon enough.”
He squeezed her hand. “We were friends once, Anna. If we can only find our way back to that, I will be very pleased to be your husband. Do we have a chance?”
She nodded through a fresh onslaught of tears. He gave her his handkerchief in place of her soggy one.
Was all this lamentation normal for women following childbirth? The past two weeks had provided about all the melodrama he could bear. Yet her turmoil had gone on far longer. She had earned her tears.
He went to fetch the parcel he’d left in the parlor and was surprised to see Putnam in a chair by the table. She had removed the various items from the dinner bucket—a large crock, a loaf of crusty bread, and a messy packet of half-melted butter.
“There you are,” she said, slipping off her seat and busying herself with the food. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”
“I didn’t know you were here.”
“I wasn’t,” she said as she carried the crock to the fireplace and nestled it among the glowing coals. Back at the table, Putnam pulled out a dull knife and hacked at the bread. “I went to see the midwife about the eternal weeping. I expect you’ve noticed.”