Her mind slipped to Versailles. Her tall, handsome father had been so proud to present her that day. She and her mother had worn gowns with long trains, their panniers pushing out their skirts like wings.
Christian tangled his fingers in her hair, keeping her from tumbling too far into sorrow. Bettina rocked him and remembered her father’s sturdy hand holding hers in that glittering spectacle of the past assembled in the Grand Gallery of the palace. She remembered Louis XVI, shambling along with his sword. And the Queen, haughty, ornate in her diamonds, her hair towering over her high forehead. “We were blinded by our opulent lifestyle—the bowing, the curtsies, and the empty flattery, frivolous rituals. But is it fair to murder? What will happen to the queen and her children?” She choked back despair. “I will never return to that life, nor do I want what I lost anymore. Now my mother is in worse peril. I so hope she left France. I want her to see her grandson … some day.”
“We’ll pray that she escaped.” Everett kissed her cheek. “I spoke with my solicitor in London—one more year to go before we can marry. But Christian is as legitimate to me as if we were wed.”
“I know he is.” Bettina also knew she’d be helpless under the law. She snuggled the baby to her full breasts that ached with milk. He watched her with luminous eyes. Kissing his silken head, she wanted to protect him from life’s dangers and cruel judgment.
* * * *
Maddie set two bottles of brandy on the roughhewn table in the inn’s kitchen. “Here they be. Don’t know how much more we’ll get from France these days.”
Bettina handed her the coins. “We will enjoy them slowly.” She inhaled the smoke and meat smells she once abhorred. Compared to the cavernous manor though, Maddie’s kitchen seemed a cozy haven on this chilly first of February.
Maddie lifted Christian from her arms and held him up as he giggled. “A fine big boy you be.” She made a funny face. “You was lucky Mr. Camborne got his divorce. Just like a man to keep that he had it already in the courts to hisself.”
“I was very lucky, it is so true.” Bettina sat and arranged her skirts to divert her gaze.
“Divorces is impossible to get unless you’re rich.” Ann chopped onions and kept glaring at her with suspicion. “A proper religious ceremony did you have now?”
“It was as proper as it could be.” Bettina hated the continued lies she had to tell people about her marriage.
“Don’t matter how fine, when you get this little angel in the bargain.” Maddie bounced the baby and spoke gibberish.
Watching them, Bettina felt a prick of sadness as she remembered her friend’s tale of ridding herself of her deserting lover’s child.
“There’s no religion left in your country. Nothing but savages would behead their rightful king.” Ann hacked down the knife; a slice of onion slapped to the floor. Bettina winced.
“We English beheaded a king in the past, Ann,” Maddie said.
“I believe now that my king made many mistakes.” Bettina blinked, eyes watering from the onions. Ten days had passed since Louis Capet, stripped of his “XVI”, was guillotined. “King Louis intended to fight with the Austrians against France. He should never have tried to run away. Many of the nobles….” To admit this condemned most everyone she’d known. “They behaved in a selfish manner as well.”
The door burst open and Kerra rustled in, face flushed. “Won’t never believe it.” She plopped down at the table and clasped Bettina’s hand. “Glad you be here, too. Charlie wants to make an honest woman o’ me. Made me wait all this time. Now he's in a big rattlebrained rush to get married.” Kerra laughed, her delight obvious despite her scoffing.
“When will you have the ceremony?” Bettina swallowed her envy, genuinely pleased for her friend. “I am so happy for you. What do you need for a wedding present?”
“Truth be told, just ’bout everything in the world.” Kerra stood and took Christian from her sister. The baby giggled and tugged at her wavy brunette hair. “We’re thinkin’ in April.”
“Be ’bout time. Men think we wait around for them with nothin’ better to do.” Maddie snatched over a bowl and wiggled slimy pig entrails around as she cut them up.
Kerra put Christian on her hip and undulated across the kitchen. “When the banns be posted, no one best say a bad word against me, or they’ll be hell to pay.”
“Church roof will fall in, no doubt.” Ann crimped dough in a pan for the Muggety pie.
“I hope you have many children.” Bettina prayed Kerra could still have babies after her abortion. “I will need to have a dress made. I have not lost all the weight since having the baby. Not that Everett complains.” Bettina looked down at the straining bodice and waist of her gown. The odor of breast milk wafted off her clothes. She’d have to feed Christian soon to ease her discomfort.
“'Course not. Men love it when you got teats up to your ears.” Kerra laughed when Christian patted her sparse chest. “Gives ’em something to hold on to.”
“Kerra! As an almost proper married lady, you must learn to speak more genteel like,” Maddie scolded, pointing the knife at her.
“Is Charlie out of mourning now?” Bettina asked, after laughing. Then the thought of Stephen’s death and who had murdered him blurred her elation.
“He be just out. His mamm still wears black, but she said she do want to go through with the ceremony. Can’t believe she likes me so much.” Kerra snorted. When Maddie went out to the taproom, Kerra leaned down to Bettina’s ear. “Don’t tell Mads, but I’m with babe again. It’s good we’s tying the knot.”
Bettina eyed Kerra with concern, picturing her skinny body soaked in blood, the mad gallop up the coast. She stood and kissed her friend’s cheek. “I wish you the best.”
Shouts and angry voices came from the taproom.
Maddie strode back in, her mouth in a grimace. She put her hand firm on Bettina’s shoulder. “Don’t know if it’s true, but a gentleman out there just said that France has declared war on England.”
* * * *
Bettina jounced beside Everett as they rode in his curricle through the warming spring air down to the little church in Sidwell. He’d barely made it back in time from London, due to the war concerns with his business the last two months.
“Thank you for hurrying home for Kerra’s wedding. That means so much to me.” She smiled at him. He leaned over and kissed her cheek.
When they entered the church, she felt every glare in the place scouring over them in the rustle of Sunday clothes and beribboned straw hats. She was glad she’d left Christian home with his grandmother. The church felt cool and smelled a bit damp. The morning light seeped in through its high narrow windows.
“That’s Newlyn’s betrothed,” Maddie whispered when they sat in the scratched front pew. Newlyn Tremayne, looking uncomfortable in his Sunday frock coat, stood with a young woman pale and thin as a wisp of straw. “She’s a mite dull, just like him.”
Bettina recalled her ill-fated Michaelmas dance with Newlyn, and Stephen’s ‘escort’. It was the first time she’d met Everett.
Kerra stood with Charlie before the communion table. She wore the exquisite high-collared gown Maddie had fashioned. The ivory satin dress was sprinkled with the seed pearls Bettina bought. Kerra, slender as a willow switch, showed no signs of her pregnancy.
The vicar came forward as Charlie’s parents smiled and nodded—his mother, Avis, was a tiny blot of black.
“Too bad our own father couldn’t be here,” Maddie said in an undertone. “Probably in a ditch somewhere, his throat slit for cheating the wrong person.”
“You do have a colorful way of putting things, Miss Tregons,” Everett told her, an eyebrow arched. Bettina muffled a laugh.
“Kerra, she is beautiful and Charlie so handsome. They are very fortunate to be marrying,” Bettina whispered when the couple recited their vows. Newlyn, as groomsman, dropped the ring, then knelt and groped under the table to retrieve it at the vicar’s feet.
E
verett squeezed her hand. “Everything will come in time.”
“I know. I wish only the guests would stare at the wedding couple, and not at us.” Bettina glared down one of the village gossips sitting across the aisle.
Maddie patted her shoulder. “But you be big news. Leaving here with the richest, most notorious citizen,” she winked at Everett, “and returning as a wife an’ expecting a child.”
Bettina’s pulse twitched. Deep inside, doubts niggled at her that they would never be free to marry. She was a fraud sitting here in this holy place.
The vicar presented the new couple. Everyone stood and clapped.
A man glowered at Bettina as he stepped into the aisle. “Now my sons will be sent over the channel to fight you frog-eaters.”
“She’s not involved in the war. So keep a civil tongue, sir.” Everett towered over the man, who ducked his head and shuffled out.
“I had fear they might blame me for the war.” Bettina clung to Everett’s arm as a few others sneered in her direction.
Grains of wheat for fertility were scattered before the couple as they left the church. Kerra’s little face beamed with joy, Charlie grinning shyly beside her.
“Hold tight to him, men don’t stay.” Ann pelted wheat onto Charlie’s hat. To Bettina’s surprise, she smiled—if more a snarl with her snaggled teeth—though it did nothing to improve her droopy face.
The guests walked among laughter and congratulations up the Fore Street to the inn.
It seemed most of the village crammed into Maddie’s taproom for the reception. Everett’s financial assistance provided a variety of food, wine, beer and flowers.
“Maybe next time I can be the bride, ’stead of the bridesmaid,” Dory said as
Kerra removed her marriage ring. Maddie handed Kerra a sliver of wedding cake, and she passed the morsel through the ring to Dory—this assuring luck to the recipient for future marriage possibilities.
Many of the men snickered. Dory whirled on them with cake crumbs on her lips. “It could come about, you slimy sots!” The blousy young woman looked respectable for once, in her second-hand mauve open-robe gown. Bettina still gave Maddie extra money on the sly to help Dory take care of her family.
Old Milt raised his tankard and sloshed ale down his arm. “To the two Cupid’s victims, the farm boy and brew wench. Have much mites to work here to help out your sister.” The old codger sidled over to Bettina with his malicious grin. He didn’t even look in Everett’s direction. “Glad to see you about again, girl. It’s been dull without ’ee.” His familiar cackle reverberated around the chamber.
“I might have even missed you, I am not certain.” Bettina grinned at the old man and raised her glass. The other guests raised tankards or wine glasses and toasted the bride and groom.
After darkness started to fall, Dory waved her arms to silence the crowd. “They’s just gone upstairs, everyone be ready?” The people gathered around, pushing Newlyn out in front.
Bettina watched as the group tramped up the stairs after the wedding couple. Many pulled off belts, or carried straps. “What are they doing?”
“It’s a Cornish custom to ‘flog’ a wedding couple to bed. This rough treatment is supposed to ensure them happiness and good luck.” Everett had an amused glint in his eyes. The footsteps trampled on the boards above, then they heard Kerra’s squeals.
“I’m more decent.” Maddie rushed past them. “I just throw a stocking at ’em, a more gentler version.” She padded up the stairs as Everett and Bettina laughed, kissing one another.
He took her hand and they walked out and boarded the curricle. “I’m sorry I’ve been away so much. It won’t get any better. I know you want the truth. Shipping is being interfered with because of the war. England’s attacking French merchant ships, so France will retaliate in kind on ours. The difficulty of importing cotton and exporting wool will wreak havoc with the manufactories all over England. It will affect my business.”
Bettina leaned into Everett’s warmth as they rattled up the hill toward Bronnmargh in the velvet twilight. “It is terrible, for everyone. We will cut back our spending, I am used to that. Perhaps more refugees will come to London now, even some of my relatives.” She said this out of habit, no longer believing she’d ever be reunited with her mother.
She fisted her left hand around the ring Everett had bought her in London—the unblessed ring that symbolized a deception, not a vow. If they could only marry, she’d rejoice in her own family here in England.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Christian toddled over the new fallen leaves in Bronnmargh’s south garden. Bettina followed as they walked among the aromatic plants in the crisp September air. The baby bent to finger a damp leaf and fell on his bottom. She laughed and scooped him up. He put his little hand to her mouth and she kissed it, his skin soft like a flower petal.
Her son’s large brown eyes searched hers. “Maman?” The breeze ruffled his dark hair.
“You are still new to walking, mon petit. At least it is not such a mess here as before.” Dead plants and shrubs had been ripped out. The gooseberry and blackberry bushes added the previous year flourished. They would make good jams and tarts.
Mrs. Camborne walked up to them. Her gaze turned skyward, scanning the branches overhead. “Sam planted these oak and ash trees, so many years ago. I’m glad they still prosper.” She removed her work gloves, her narrow face brightened with a smile. “How was your visit with Kerra this morning? How’s her brand new baby girl?”
“She is beautiful. They named her Hester, after Kerra and Maddie’s mother. But Charlie said they had to keep trying, because a man has to have sons. He was teasing, of course … I believe.” Bettina surveyed the other plants. “We need to grow as many vegetables as we can. Food will be scarce, Everett said. So much is shipped to feed the soldiers and sailors.”
“The war is hurting everyone. I hear your queen is in danger of losing her life.” Mrs. Camborne touched Bettina’s arm.
Frederick and Mrs. Pollard’s grandson, a stocky round boy named Cadan, ran up with two buckets full of seashells gathered from the cove. The pair dumped their load in a clatter onto the ground and began to crush them under their feet; these shells would be used to fill in the garden paths. A curlew made a pah-weet sound nearby.
“No one is safe in France.” Bettina walked with her baby away from the boisterous boys. “Everything I read in the papers is like a horror story. The massacres and beheadings. A person in charge one moment is sentenced to death the next. I can almost dismiss it as a nightmare, it is so bizarre.”
“I will pray for your family.” Mrs. Camborne followed, leaned in and kissed her grandson’s nose. The two women strolled with the baby toward the manor. “I’m delighted we’re injecting a fresh breath of life into this place. When I stopped in after Clare’s funeral, the neglect sickened me, though not enough to make me stay. I didn’t have the patience I’ve acquired in my maturing years. This pruning reminds me of an incident … before Sam died.” The woman sighed. “I insisted Miriam help me in the garden one day. I was wise to her by then, and wanted her to soil her lily-white hands. But all she did was complain about being stuck out here with no society. I’d had enough of her whining, called her worthless, and she came after me….”
Bettina stifled a laugh, but it sounded like a gasp.
“I hope this isn’t upsetting you, dear?”
“Mais non. Knowing how Everett felt about her, it does not.” Bettina shifted the baby to her other hip. It vindicated her to know that Everett’s mother had seen through Miriam’s façade.
“The worst was, we were yowling like cats and Mr. Slate ran out and tackled Miriam to the ground when she pulled at my hair. He suggested I remove myself elsewhere.” Mrs. Camborne seemed to fight a grin as her cheeks reddened.
Bettina laughed outright. She strained to picture the dour Mr. Slate wrestling with an enraged woman. She couldn’t deny she gleaned a certain satisfaction from that image.
> “But now I’ve come back to find my son happily wed to you, and with a son of his own.” The woman flapped her gloves against her palm. “Life does have its pleasures.”
“We must be thankful for what we have.” Bettina buried her face in Christian’s warm neck and kissed his soft skin. She wondered if Mrs. Camborne would shun them if she discovered that she was Everett’s mistress, the baby a by-blow, to use a harsh word, according to the law.
* * * *
Frederick slapped his book shut on the kitchen table. He leaned back in the chair with a groan. “I’m tired of learning. I want to go and fight in the war. It’s been over a year, England needs all the help she can get.”
“You are only eleven. Do not ever say that.” Bettina stiffened in surprise. She rose and opened the kitchen window to let in the breeze. The scent of flowers drifted in, birds twittered in the nearby trees. Another spring, and still no marriage. She tried not to dwell on it. “I may not be the best tutor for your higher learning, but you need to make more effort.” She’d acquired several textbooks from Frederick’s retired old tutor. She’d struggled since after the new year to teach the lad. “Perhaps you might be better in a school in Bodmin or Truro.”
“I told you I don’t want to go away to school. I never cared for that London school, except for the fencing. I want to do something exciting, adventurous.” He hopped up and paced across the flagstones. He’d grown tall and angular, his plump cheeks a memory of simpler times. His blond curls had darkened to a light brown.
“You have no idea how awful this war is. It only sounds like an adventure.” She’d forbidden Everett from allowing the boy to see any newspapers. The previous October, Marie Antoinette had been executed. Her haughty airs and reckless spending had condemned her. Further awful news made Bettina’s head swim. The Hébertists faction of the Jacobin Club put the Girondins on trial and had executed most of these previous revolutionary leaders. Philippe Egalité, the former Duc d’Orléans—a man her father had known, and who’d worked alongside the rebels—was beheaded in November.
Betrayed Countess (Books We Love Historical Romance) Page 33