Hugo glanced over at Neve, who was sleeping peacefully having fed the baby an hour ago. He’d pretended to be asleep in order to hide the evidence of his frustrated desire, knowing that his advances would not be welcome. Neve had barely allowed him to touch her since the birth, leaving him confused and upset. She’d been so easily aroused while pregnant; a certain look, a fleeting touch, a sweet kiss, and she was reaching for his flies, ready and willing, and now she was as cold and remote as a block of ice. Hugo assumed that it was natural for women to feel a certain lack of interest after the birth, as they recovered and spent most of their waking hours caring for a baby, but it had been two months, and the doctor said that after thirty days, it was reasonable to expect to resume marital relations. Most men would either just exercise their husbandly rights or slake their lust on a whore, but Hugo couldn’t fathom doing either. He would never force himself on Neve, nor would he betray his marriage vows by visiting a brothel. He didn’t want just anyone; he wanted his wife.
Hugo briefly wondered what his father would have advised, but deep down, he already knew. Joss Everly had been a harsh man, who brooked no disobedience from wife, children, or servants. He never spared the rod, never spoiled the child, and never gave any quarter to his wife. Hugo could almost hear the old man’s voice, as full of derision as it had been when he was still alive.
“Do you never tire of your sentimental claptrap, boy?” the voice demanded. “Your wife is your property as much as your horse is. Do you ask your horse if you may ride it? No, I thought not, so why ask permission of your wife? Take her, and if she gives you any trouble, just show her the back of your hand. You’re her master, and she should know it. Your mother never had the temerity to deny me; she knew better. I always said you were too soft.”
Yes, perhaps he was, but he could never be the tyrant his father was. Strange how he still argued with the old man in his head so many years after his death, still torn between pleasing his sire and being true to himself. His father always said that he’d taken after his mother, who had been kind and loving, but whose spirit had been broken years before Hugo was even born. His mother would have advised him to be patient and kind, to try and understand what Neve was feeling rather than assert his power over her like some feudal overlord, and his mother’s advice would be the one he would take every time.
Hugo moved closer to Neve and pulled her into his arms, but even in sleep, she stiffened. Has she stopped loving me? he thought, suddenly realizing that the lack of desire could be stemming from a change of heart. Was she sorry that she’d followed him back in time, and could she be planning on returning to her old life and taking Valentine with her? He couldn’t stop her, of course. If she chose to go back, he would not stand in her way. He couldn’t say with any honesty that he would have made the same sacrifice and chosen to go back to a time of violence and ignorance for a woman, but Neve had given him her love and her life, and he’d accepted them gratefully, and stupidly assumed that they were his for the duration of her lifetime. Had he failed her in some way? Had he done something to hurt or disrespect her?
Suddenly, the pain in Hugo’s heart was too much for him to bear alone. He needed to know what was on Neve’s mind, and he couldn’t wait another minute. If she were making plans to leave him, he’d rather know and try to accept her decision than lie here in the dark second-guessing her motives. Hugo gently shook Neve awake, holding his breath as her eyes flew open in panic. She sat bolt upright, her gaze going straight to the cradle on her side of the bed. The baby slept peacefully, her tiny mouth open in an O, just as it had been when she released Neve’s nipple, already snoozing happily.
“What is it?” Neve asked, finally accepting that there was nothing wrong with Valentine, and Hugo had woken her up for some reason of his own.
“Are you leaving me?” he blurted out, suddenly unsure that he wanted to hear the answer. He’d been heartbroken when Catherine left him after two weeks of marriage, but if Neve left him now, he’d never recover. Nothing would matter anymore because she was the best part of him, the part that gave him a reason for being, the lifeblood that flowed through his heart and kept him alive.
“What?! Where did that come from?” She was wide-awake now, looking at him with that frown of worry that caused a line to appear between her brows. Hugo could just make out her features in the glow from the dying embers of the fire, but he was relieved to see shock rather than the guilt of being found out. Neve looked genuinely perplexed.
“You haven’t allowed me to touch you since the baby’s birth. Have I done something to hurt you? Have you stopped loving me?” Hugo cringed at the pathetic pleading tone of his voice, his pathetic need to be reassured that he was still loved and needed. He felt like a dejected puppy, but he couldn’t stop now. “Why are you rejecting me, Neve?”
“Because I’m scared,” Neve replied simply.
“Of me?”
“No, of getting pregnant again. Hugo, this was my first baby, and I had no idea what to expect. I was so scared of giving birth, especially in this time and place, but I pacified myself with the idea that there would be a competent physician by my side, or even an experienced midwife. Their presence would not make up for the lack of hospital and an epidural, but at least there would be someone to guide me through the process and help me bring our baby into this world. Instead, I got Archie, who might have delivered a foal at some point in his life. There was a moment that night when I really believed that I was going to die,” Neve said quietly, making him feel like an utter ass for questioning her love for him. She’d risked her life, more than once, and here he was, whining about her not giving him the affection he needed.
“I love you more than I’ve loved anyone in my life, but the thought of getting pregnant again terrifies me. I know how much you long for a son, and my heart breaks every time you reach for me, but I just can’t bring myself to surrender this tiny bit of control I have over my destiny at this moment. Please forgive me,” she cried softly. “I know I have been unfair to you.”
“Is that all?” Hugo asked, feeling ridiculously relieved. “I thought you were planning to go back to the future with Valentine.”
“It never even crossed my mind, you silly fool,” she said and bent down to plant a kiss on his lips. “I will get over this fear, but I just need a little time.”
“Neve, I do want another child, but I can’t guarantee that you would have an easier time of it during delivery. I’m so terribly sorry for not being here when you needed me. I would have turned this city upside down to find help, but I failed you, through no fault of my own. I will respect your wishes, but there are other ways to avoid pregnancy than celibacy. I need you, and I want you, and I will do whatever it takes to avoid getting you with child, if you’ll let me.”
“What can you do? I know the Church’s stance on birth control, not that there are any reliable methods available to us in this century.”
“I don’t care about the Church’s stance; I will not lose you over doctrine. I will see to it,” Hugo promised as he noted a softening of her face. Perhaps not all was lost. “In the meantime, there are other ways of loving,” he whispered softly as he slid down between her legs. Hugo smiled to himself when Neve let out a whimper of pleasure as his tongue slid inside her, reclaiming what he believed to be rightfully his.
Chapter 20
I felt like a pincushion as three women circled me like vultures, measuring, pinning, tucking, and snipping. Sabine, my new lady’s maid whom Hugo had insisted on, was looking critically from the side, making rapid comments in French to the seamstresses, and clearly displeased with the progress of the fitting. I was completely ignoring them all, lost in my own thoughts. The summons to come to Versailles had come a few days ago, and I was thrumming with nerves like a tuning fork. I would be completely out of my element, and everyone would know it. It would have been difficult enough for me to navigate the tumultuous waters of the English Court, but the French one was scarier than a shark tank. My French
was good enough to purchase a loaf of bread or ask someone for directions if I took a wrong turn, but not enough to converse with French courtiers who would be sniggering at me behind their fans and gossiping about my gauche ways.
I found it somewhat puzzling that Hugo had engaged Sabine about a week before the summons came, and had arranged for the seamstresses to come calling with swaths of fabrics for me to choose from. It’s as if he knew that we would be invited, which was odd, since French nobility had unanimously shunned us since our arrival in Paris. Hugo had made the acquaintance of several expats who were happy to receive him, but the French had closed ranks -– until now. That seemed to brighten Hugo’s spirits as well as the reconciliation which our night talk had inspired.
I was actually glad that I’d been able to confide my fears in Hugo, and he, in turn, made good on his promise. I didn’t ask where he’d gotten the condoms, but according to him, they had been in use for a few hundred years, just not actively since the Church saw the prevention of conception as being immoral. Having been in the twenty-first century and seen firsthand that the Church had survived the crisis of widely used contraception, Hugo put aside whatever reservations he might have had and procured a dozen sheaths made from sheep intestines, which had been cleaned and sewn at the ends. I was actually surprised by how much they resembled modern-day prophylactics.
It took us a few fumbling tries to get the sheaths on since they couldn’t be rolled on like modern condoms, but eventually Hugo got the hang of it, and the peace of mind that this protection gave me was worth everything. Having that intimacy with Hugo again filled a hole in my heart that I didn’t know was there, and I noticed that my weight loss seemed to slow down. I hadn’t realized how anxious and high-strung I’d become, but now that the paralyzing fear of another pregnancy had been removed, I felt more like my normal self, and was able to be Hugo’s wife again in every sense of the word. Hugo hadn’t said anything more about future children, but I knew that he harbored hopes that I would get over my fear in time. Perhaps I would, but for now, I didn’t have to think about it, and that in itself was liberating.
I looked in the mirror as Madame Marie asked for my opinion. I looked like a giant meringue with yards of butter-yellow damask swaying about my hooped hips and the stomacher coming to a point at the waist. The fabric was worked with barely noticeable silver thread made to look like little bursts of fireworks. Cream lace frothed at my wrists and décolletage, and an underskirt of embroidered cream silk peeked from underneath my overskirt. Madame Marie turned me around to show me the train which billowed behind me like a sail. The gown looked like a frothy concoction, but it weighed a ton. I moved experimentally only to freeze when the hoops swayed, and the skirt with them. It felt as if a bronze bell was tolling around my bum.
Madame Marie, her assistants, and Sabine were all clucking in approval, but I just wanted to flee. What I wouldn’t give for a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt. Sabine helped me undress, but another gown was already waiting to be tried on. This one was of dusty rose brocade with accents in a deeper shade of mauve. I sighed and resigned myself to this torture, half-hoping that Valentine would wake up and howl for a feeding.
Later, when I finally managed to escape, I called for a bath. I couldn’t believe how exhausting a fitting could be, and since the baby was full and sleeping peacefully, I decided to do something nice for myself. Most ladies of the time bathed in some sort of garment, but I stripped naked and immersed myself in the hot water just up to my breasts. Lowering my breasts into hot water made the milk flow, which wasn’t desirable when bathing. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, suddenly wondering how this had become my life. I wasn’t complaining by any stretch of the imagination, but the idea of coming face to face with the Sun King was intimidating.
Hugo quietly entered the room and sat down by the fire, watching me in the bath. He looked tired, and had that closed look that I’ve so often seen when he was worried or upset. It was one of those things that were a dead giveaway that something was wrong, and I suddenly felt very tender toward him. He’d been through so much in the past year, but our trials and tribulations were far from over. Hugo was walking a tightrope, and any misstep would result in a deadly plunge, with myself and Valentine falling with him. That was a lot of pressure for anyone to bear, especially a man who understood the consequences of his actions.
“Darling, what is it?” I asked as he smiled at me ruefully. “You look done in.”
“Your new gowns are beautiful,” he said instead, clearly avoiding the question.
“Yes, they are, and I might even remain upright for a few hours before falling flat on my face from the sheer weight of those fabrics. Now, tell me what’s on your mind.”
Hugo turned away and stared into the flames for a few moments, his jaw working in a way that suggested that he was grinding his teeth. I hadn’t seen him do that before, and was suddenly nervous. “Hugo?”
“I’ve had a letter from Brad,” he finally admitted. We’d had no word from Bradford Nash since the last time we saw him in London after Max’s trial, and hadn’t expected any communication until later in the spring. Hugo had sent a letter as soon as the ships began sailing in March, but by the time the letter would reach Brad and he would reply, it would most likely be May. This was unexpected since Brad wouldn’t know where to send his letter until receiving Hugo’s first.
“Really? When?”
“While you were having your fitting. A messenger brought it. It was addressed to Luke and included in the diplomatic pouch to ensure delivery. Brad knew that Luke was in Paris and hoped the letter would reach me.” Hugo grew quiet again, confirming my suspicions that the news from home wasn’t good.
“How are the Nashes?” I asked in an effort to draw Hugo into conversation once more.
“They are well.” More silence. After the long winter, we were all a bit pale, but Hugo looked ashen as he stared into the leaping flames of the fire, his jaw still working. I wished I could go to him, but I was soaking wet with water streaming from my freshly washed hair onto my breasts.
“Hugo, please tell me.” He’d have to tell me sooner or later, but he seemed reluctant to speak the words. I waited patiently, giving him a moment to compose himself. He just sat there, perfectly still and silent, as if keeping the words locked in his head would undo whatever had happened.
“Jane is dead,” he finally uttered, turning at last to face me. His eyes were full of pain, and I could only imagine what he was feeling. Despite his anger and resentment, he still loved the girl Jane had been, and couldn’t reconcile the bitter, angry woman with the sister he had loved. He still blamed himself, I knew that; imagining possible other scenarios in which Jane’s life had turned out differently.
I couldn’t be as generous, given what Jane had intended for me and our baby, but then again, I’d never known the girl, or the young woman who’d been innocent and naïve. I was secretly relieved that the woman who’d plotted to have me thrown into Newgate on a trumped-up charge of witchcraft, and hoped that I would die there, was dead. Now Hugo would have no choice but to mourn and heal, rather than worry about a possible reunion in England and another attempt on my life. As long as we only had a daughter, Jane still had a chance at succeeding in her plans, a fact that Hugo was well aware of.
“From syphilis?” I asked, surprised that it had progressed so quickly. Jane had shown some signs of the disease, but she certainly hadn’t been far gone. I assumed that she still had years ahead of her before the illness incapacitated and eventually killed her.
“No,” Hugo replied stonily. “She was found by some gravediggers in a cemetery in London a few days after the trial. There was a letter to Clarence found on her person. The ink had been smudged since it rained the day before, but most of the message was still legible. She said goodbye and begged his forgiveness, so there was no doubt that it was suicide.” Hugo winced as he said the word, still shocked that his deeply Catholic sister would commit the ultimate sin again
st God.
“How did she die?” I asked softly. I suppose it was morbid curiosity, but I wanted to know.
“It had to be by poison since there were no marks on her body. She was shipped back to Kent and buried at the crossroads closest to Three Oaks. Clarence will pass her grave every time he so much as leaves the house,” Hugo added bitterly.
“Where is he now? Surely he’s not living alone.” Clarence had recently turned fourteen, but he was still too young to live on his own in the house of his birth. He had a tutor, from whom he tried to escape at every possible opportunity, but he still needed adult supervision and help with running the estate. I couldn’t help feeling sorry for the boy, given how close he’d been with his mother. The shame of her suicide would haunt him as well, especially if the grave was just outside the estate for all to see. Clarence had been a bit sullen, as most teenagers are, but he was a good lad, one who didn’t deserve to be abandoned by his mother.
“Clarence is staying in London with his half-sister, Magdalen. In my absence, Magdalen’s husband will be Clarence’s guardian until he reaches maturity and is ready to assume the running of the estate. Brad said that the boy is heartbroken and confused. He will have to live with the stigma of his mother’s suicide for the rest of his life. Thank God Magdalen has taken him in or he would be completely alone.”
“I’m really sorry, Hugo.” I wasn’t sure what to say. Jane had ensured that she would not be buried in consecrated ground or go to Heaven. Was that her way of punishing herself for what she’d done, or was she in such a state that she simply hadn’t thought about it? I would have liked to think that there was a grain of remorse in Jane, no matter how small, but couldn’t be sure. By committing suicide, she’d hurt Hugo once again, making sure that there could be no forgiveness, even in death.
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