He said nothing, uncertain of how much Bridget knew. “No. There willna be children for us.”
“It could happen, lad,” Bridget said. “Och, there’s time yet. It’s only been a few weeks since ye wed her.”
Nearly a month, but he didn’t correct her. She led him inside the next house, and he let himself fall into the familiar routine of treating wounds. It was kinder to agree with his mother than to make her aware that there would never be any grandchildren.
She’d barely seen her husband in three days. Though Juliette had spent the time visiting with her family, Paul had immersed himself in caring for the wounded crofters. On the occasions when she brought him a basket of food, he’d wolfed it down, kissed her, and gone back to his work.
Her father hadn’t spoken a word, pretending the marriage didn’t exist. Her mother had smiled brightly and chattered on, asking questions about London and Aunt Charlotte. But beneath it all, she sensed the tension between her parents.
Henry Andrews kept to himself, offering little in the way of conversation. But sometimes Juliette caught him sneaking glances at her mother. He seemed bewildered, as if he didn’t know her anymore. And Beatrice seemed on edge herself, hardly speaking to him.
For that reason, Juliette had decided to pay her older sister a visit this morning. She hoped Victoria could shed light on what was happening between their parents.
When she reached the duchess’s house, her sister was blossoming in the glow of pregnancy. Juliette smiled as Victoria embraced her, laughing as she turned. “Soon, I’ll have to hug you sideways. I’m getting larger every day.”
“You’re not at all,” Juliette said. Her sister had a thickened waist with a slight bump, but certainly she wasn’t large. “Are you feeling all right?”
“It’s wonderful,” Victoria answered, a softness stealing over her face. “Sometimes when I lie down at night, I feel the baby move inside. You can’t imagine what that’s like.”
A tightness closed up in Juliette’s throat. Yes, she knew exactly what it was like. “Do you know when the baby will be born?”
“I think in November,” Victoria said. She bade Juliette to sit down beside her. “And what of you? Are you enjoying your married life?” There was enough of a blush on her sister’s cheeks to know that she was referring to the most recent letters she’d sent, filled with advice.
Juliette nodded. “Paul is a good husband.”
“I know Amelia was quite disappointed not to see the pair of you wed. She told me so in her letter. But we’re all happy for you.” Victoria reached out and rubbed her swollen middle. “Perhaps you’ll have a child next year as well.”
“No,” Juliette answered automatically. “That is… I don’t think so.”
Her sister glanced over at her. “It only takes once, Juliette. When was the last time you had your monthly?”
Exasperated, she shook her head. “I’m not going to have a child.” The one time she had made love with Paul, he had not finished within her. And since then, they had been careful not to risk it again.
“Oh, you needn’t worry,” Victoria said. “A child will come when he’s meant to.”
“Well, not now,” Juliette remarked. Or ever.
Victoria shrugged. “Well, if you’ve had your woman’s time since you were married, I’m sure you’re right.”
Juliette’s smile froze, as she stopped to think about it. For she hadn’t bled. She counted back the weeks, and she was stunned to realize that it had been over a month since her last flow. Had it been five weeks or six? Her brain tried to reorder her scattered thoughts, reminding her that there was no reason to worry. A woman could miss her monthly and it would come again in time.
But we were careful, she thought to herself. Surely it couldn’t have happened. Could it?
Her sister began speaking of Aphrodite’s Unmentionables, talking about the sales and ideas for new designs. But her words blurred against the panic rising within Juliette.
“Margaret doesn’t like the new designs,” Victoria remarked. “But I believe they will sell quite well among married women. I know His Grace likes them very much. What do you think?”
“I’m sure they will be fine,” Juliette answered, though she’d not heard a word of her sister’s suggestions. In fact, she remembered nothing of the drawing Victoria had shown her. It could have been a white sheet and rope, for all she knew.
Inwardly, her panic had evolved into full-fledged terror. She couldn’t be pregnant. Surely there was no chance at all. The very thought sent a cold storm of fear blasting through her.
She tried to remember her symptoms when she’d been pregnant with Matthew. Almost two weeks from the time she’d missed her monthly, she’d begun waking up ill. During those first few weeks, she’d been miserable, unable to keep any food down. And whoever had come up with the idea that it was a pregnancy sickness only in the mornings was completely wrong. She’d been sick from the moment she got up until the moment she fell into bed at night to sleep. All-day sickness was what it was.
But she wasn’t feeling sick right now. Only the sense that her monthly was going to start at any moment. Surely she was imagining things.
“Victoria,” she interrupted. “How have you been feeling during this pregnancy? Have you been sick at all?”
“Strangely, no,” her sister admitted. “Everyone told me their stories of being sick, but I wasn’t. Only hungrier than usual. And”—her face reddened—“my breasts have gotten much larger.”
Juliette clenched her hands together. “I suppose His Grace is happy about that.”
Her sister sent her a wicked smile. “Oh, yes. It was most gratifying to have a respectable bosom with no padding, for the first time in my life. In fact, that’s why I considered designing unmentionables for women who are enceinte. Not only do I need a different corset, but I find that I am more sensitive to the fabric.” Victoria rang for a tray of food, and went on to describe her ideas for the garments. She sketched out a sample, and after a moment said, “You’re really not interested in this.”
“No, I am. I’m just worried.”
“About your husband?”
She nodded, though it wasn’t the truth. She was mostly worried that she’d confused the dates of her menses. Over and over, she reminded herself that it was too soon to tell. After all the difficulties of the past few weeks, surely it was only anxiety that was causing it.
“I’m also worried about Mother and Father,” Juliette said. “They’re hardly speaking to one another. Do you know if everything’s all right?”
Victoria shrugged. “I don’t know. Mother pretends as if all is well, but they’ve been apart for three years. I think they had a row when Father learned about Aphrodite’s Unmentionables. Mother refused to prevent us from continuing with our business. She said if His Grace didn’t mind, neither should he.”
Juliette eyed her sister. “I imagine that didn’t go over well.” But at least it explained the tension between her parents.
The tray of tea and sandwiches arrived at last. She took one, while her sister enjoyed three, laughing at herself while she ate. “I do believe I would eat anything that wasn’t still alive and fleeing from me,” Victoria admitted, reaching for another sheaf of papers. “And while I’m eating the rest of your sandwiches, why don’t you tell me what you think of these, Juliette?”
She looked over the remaining sketches and offered her opinion. Yet, looking at the scandalous undergarments made her think of the night Paul had made love to her for the first time. Despite being terrified, she now was no longer afraid. It had been as wonderful as she’d thought it would be. And though it was impractical, she wanted to be with him again.
“Did I embarrass you with my last letter?” her sister asked, as she put away the sketches.
“Very much,” Juliette answered honestly. “I never suspected—” Her words broke off, her face crimson at this conversation. “That is, Paul and I—”
“You don’t have to say any
thing,” her sister said, her own face growing red. “I know what you mean.”
She was grateful at not having to go into detail.
“Where is Dr. Fraser now?” Victoria asked. “And is he truly a viscount? Was our mother overjoyed?”
Juliette gaped at her sister. “Do you have any more questions, or can I answer now?”
Victoria patted her stomach and waved her hand. “Go on.”
“Yes, my husband is a viscount. He inherited the title when his uncle died this past spring, but he’s still a physician. He went to tend the wounded, and one of the men died a few days ago.” She shivered, though both of them had known the inevitable. “He comes home late at night and hasn’t spoken to our parents yet.”
“Tell him to be careful,” Victoria advised. She sobered, adding, “My husband had to return to London, since he’s been neglecting his duties at the House of Lords. He doesn’t know about the shootings or Lord Strathland’s return.” Her face turned dark, with a warning look. “And you aren’t going to tell him, either.”
“Toria, you shouldn’t stay here,” Juliette argued. “Something might happen to you and the baby.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” the duchess insisted, shuddering at the thought. “I’ve finished with traveling, and I intend to stay here in Scotland until my child is born. Parliament will be out of session by the end of the summer, and His Grace will be back long before the birth.”
“But what about Lord Strathland?” Juliette asked. “Don’t you think he’ll be a threat to you?”
Victoria shook her head. “Not if he wants to continue selling his wool in the years to come. My husband has spoken to the buyers, along with your husband.” She added, “Strathland hasn’t ventured near the house or me. And he won’t. He’s angry at the crofters, not us.”
“I still don’t think it’s safe,” Juliette insisted. Although her sister was deeply afraid of going outside, she wished Victoria would leave Scotland.
“Ever since the shootings, I’ve ordered our men and some of the crofters to patrol the borders of our land. Strathland’s men have trespassed a few times, but we’ve kept them back.” Victoria’s expression remained calm. Her hand moved to her swollen womb, and her face softened as if she felt a light kick. “By the time His Grace returns, I’m confident there will be no danger at all.”
Juliette didn’t believe that, but neither did she want to upset her sister by saying so. To change the subject, she asked, “Are you hoping for a boy or a girl?”
As she’d hoped, Victoria smiled. “It doesn’t matter at all. Whether it’s a boy or a girl, I can’t wait to hold my baby in my arms.”
The swollen ache in Juliette’s heart reared up again. She didn’t know if she would ever hold Matthew again. The more time she spent away from him, the more she missed him.
“You’ll hold your child soon enough,” she told Victoria, trying to keep the thickness of tears from her voice. “Now, if you’ll forgive me, I need to return home and talk to Father about Paul. Tonight, he should be finished with all the wounded.”
“Is the Colonel being difficult again?”
Juliette nodded. “At first, he tried to put us in bedrooms on opposite sides of the house, until Mother intervened. When I told him of our marriage, he was furious. He said he would annul it because I was under the age of consent.”
“He can’t annul the marriage,” Victoria pointed out. “It’s not an English marriage. Furthermore, it’s been consummated.”
She nodded. “I know. Mother is trying to make him see reason, but he seems appalled at the idea of me sleeping with a man, even if he is my husband.”
“He still believes we’re perpetually six years old,” Victoria said, sighing. “When he saw me pregnant, he turned bright red and started coughing into his handkerchief. I thought he would have an apoplectic fit right there.”
Juliette smiled at the thought of their father’s embarrassment. “I imagine he wanted to.” Rising to her feet, she thanked her sister for the refreshments. “I should go, before Paul returns home.”
Before she could leave, Victoria stopped her. “Thank you for coming to see me, Juliette. I’ve missed you so much.” With a soft smile, she added, “And I think you are going to have a baby. There’s something different about you.”
Fear choked up inside her, but Juliette tried to paste a false smile on her face. “Perhaps.”
She could only pray that her sister was wrong.
Chapter Seventeen
He’d saved six of the men. Besides the one who had bled out, another crofter had died of blood poisoning. His mother had been unable to get the bullets out, but Paul felt as if he’d battled Death and won. He’d hardly slept at all in three days. And yet, his mind and body were strung so tight, his awareness was honed to an edge.
The evening had begun to wane, the golden light fading into the purple of night. He’d taken a horse this day, and it felt good to ride along the edges of the duke’s land, trying to release the tension. He wished Juliette were here now so he could ride with her, taking her into the mountains so he could lay her down on the grass.
Though he’d come to her each night, she’d been asleep, her body curled inward. He hadn’t touched her at all, and he’d left before dawn each morning.
Her father hadn’t been pleased to learn that they’d wed. Lord Lanfordshire hadn’t raged or made threats. Instead, he’d gone quiet, his disapproval a palpable thing on the rare occasion when their paths had crossed.
It wasn’t about money or rank. No, despite his inheritance, the baron seemed to see past the new wealth to the crofter’s son who was more comfortable as a physician than a nobleman. A viscount would never soil his hands in the way Paul had. But the title was just that to him—a word. Not a social barrier that prevented him from helping others. He didn’t know if Juliette’s father would ever come to accept him. Or if that even mattered anymore.
He drew his horse to a stop at Eiloch Hill, on the outskirts of the duke’s residence. A large tree was dense with foliage, its thick branches casting shadows upon the ground. His father had died here, upon this hill.
So many times, Paul wished he could go back and undo the choices he’d made as a lad. One reckless night had ended all of it. Were it not for his father’s sacrifice, it would have been his body swinging from that tree.
He dismounted and climbed up the hillside, his steps heavy with regret. When he reached the thick oak tree, he touched the rough bark with one palm. And he imagined his father’s hand upon his shoulder, Kenneth speaking to him in a deep voice.
One day you’ll make your mark on the world, lad. Be sure that you can look back on your life and be proud of what you’ve done.
He wished his father were alive today. No doubt Kenneth would smile if he knew Paul had married Juliette. His father had always liked her.
And although Kenneth had never once revealed his past, Paul understood why his father had given up so much. He’d loved his wife enough to surrender everything for her. Sometimes he’d caught his parents whispering together, even holding hands. It had given him a sense of security, knowing that he was loved and that they had loved one another.
He’d do the same for Juliette, if it were ever asked of him.
“Dr. Fraser,” came a voice from behind him. Paul turned and saw five men approaching. All were armed, and one carried a rope. Though he didn’t recognize any of them, their leader had an English tone in his accent.
“Lord Strathland sent us to summon you. He wants a word.”
Paul said nothing, and he suspected Strathland wanted far more than a word from him. “He can come and pay a call on me in the morning. I’m staying with Lord Lanfordshire.” His gaze drew in his surroundings, searching for a sign of the duke’s men or a way out. No doubt the moment he made a move in any direction, they would pursue him. The question was whether they meant to kill him.
Paul supposed he ought to feel fear or a sense of urgency. Instead, his mood was pensive, as if
he’d expected this.
“Lord Strathland wants to see you this evening at his house. We are your escorts,” the man said. “I am his new factor, Charles Davenport.”
Davenport made it sound as if Paul had been invited to tea instead of his own execution.
“You’ll forgive me if I’m wanting to go home to my wife,” Paul said. “But if Strathland wishes to speak to me, I don’t mind returning in the morning.” With an array of weapons and men to stand at his side.
“Lord Strathland wishes to see her as well,” Davenport remarked. “We can escort both of you.”
“You willna go near my wife,” Paul growled, striding forward. He didn’t give a damn what happened to him, but if they dared to threaten Juliette, he had no qualms about defending her.
Two of the men tried to grab him, but Paul wrenched himself away. He hauled back his fist and punched the first man. Although his knuckles connected with the man’s nose, drawing blood, the other drove his fist into Paul’s gut at that moment. All the air was sucked out of his lungs, and he gasped for breath.
He fought hard, but after a time, he realized that he was better off biding his time and reserving his strength. He was outnumbered, and feigning surrender might prove a more useful tactic. One man jerked his arms behind his back, while another came forward with the rope. Paul flexed his wrists, fighting against them as they bound him, trying to force the rope to be looser than they wanted.
He never saw the blow that took him from behind, dragging him into darkness.
Sunlight speared her eyes from between the drapes, and Juliette reached over to the empty side of the bed. Paul wasn’t there. Though she tried to tell herself that he’d likely been tending more wounded people, she had a cold sense that something wasn’t right. Even when he’d been gone for hours, he’d always come home. She would awaken from sleep to find his arms around her, and she’d welcomed the comfort of his embrace.
Unraveled By The Rebel Page 29