by Jude Knight
Hugh, preoccupied with trying to comfort his wife and lift her from the death grip on his knees, was barely aware of anyone else in the room.
“Stay, Becky. I want you to stay, my love. You haven’t failed; you’ve given me a beautiful daughter. So beautiful, but never as beautiful as her mother. Not to me, my love. Never to me. I want to see you, every day of my life, Becky. Treasure of my heart. My love. My wife. Stay, Becky. Please stay.”
Unable to raise her, he was kneeling with her, brushing the hair off her wet cheeks, trying to kiss them dry as he wet them again with his own tears.
“But... Aldridge?” she asked.
“Forever and ever, Becky. You promised. We promised. To have and to hold, from this day forward...”
“Till death...” Becky whispered. She looked at him then, met his eyes deliberately for the first time since Belle was born. And her eyes were clear, focused on him. She recognised him. She yearned for him.
“I love you, Becky. I love you so much.”
Becky went very still, her eyes clinging to him as her hands went limp. And then, with a sigh, she collapsed into his arms, snuggling under his chin as she had before That Day.
“Thank you, God. Thank you, God. Thank you, God.” It was quiet, almost under his breath, but in his heart he was singing great, rolling paeans of glory. He lifted her; she was so light, so frail that it broke his heart anew, but then she shifted to put her arms around his neck and the joy returned.
The duchess’s party was gone. He vaguely remembered her herding her companion and her son out of the room some time ago. He would need to thank her. Later. For now, his wife needed him. His wife. His Becky.
Hugh fed Becky her dinner, only a few mouthfuls, but more than she’d eaten in weeks. He had the maid cut it, so he could use just his fork, since she clung to his hand as if without that anchor, she would drift back into the darkness. He had left instructions for Aldridge and the duchess to be given his apologies if he didn’t come down in time, afraid to leave her, but she surprised him again.
“Hugh, you should go and have dinner with Her Grace and... Will you tell them I am sorry? I don’t think... should I come down? Will the duchess think me rude?”
He reassured her. She had been ill. She should rest. She could meet the guests tomorrow. He instructed the maid to call if he was needed, and crossed to the door, then hurried back to her bed for another clinging kiss. “I love you, Becky,” he said again.
He was a little early for the meal, but he needed to go via the nursery to reassure the girls. He ran up the stairs two at a time, relief making his legs light.
He could be hopeful, but shouldn’t expect the current rally to last, the Duchess of Haverford instructed him. She had sent her son to play cards with her companion, and demanded that Hugh escort her into his study, where she asked him incisive questions about Becky’s illness and her treatment.
“The doctor said her humours were out of balance, and he bled her, but...”
“Stupid,” Her Grace said. “Very stupid. She had just had a baby and lost who knows how much blood, and the man bled her?”
“He bled her for the fever, too,” Hugh admitted. “But the second time, she was so weak. I was afraid she was dying. I wouldn’t let him do it again.”
“Good.” The duchess nodded. “You have some sense, then. I had my doubts. Very well, Overton. You shall place yourself in my hands, and I shall tell you what you must do.”
“I will not put her away,” Hugh said, firmly. “Even if her mind is weak...”
“Put her away? Why would you put her away? She will recover fully, and I will help. I have seen this before, Overton. Women, after giving birth to a child, often suffer a disorder of the humours. It passes. Your wife has had a worse time of it than many, perhaps because she also had childbed fever. I sometimes think that we gentry are more prone than cottagers, because others will do our tasks if we turn our faces to the wall.
“Several of my goddaughters have had this melancholy, and I, myself, after the birth of my dear Jonathan. Also, Overton, I think there has been some cause for estrangement between you. You will tell me whether I am right, for I do not suggest it to be a busybody, but because you need to mend it for your wife’s sake. A misunderstanding, of course, because she cannot bear to be parted from you. And you, it seems, love her dearly, about which I am delighted, since I hold myself in some sort responsible for the marriage.
“Whatever the cause, she has roused now, and we shall keep her with us, but be prepared to work hard and be patient.”
And so they began a strict regimen designed to build up Becky’s body. “Her mind will heal itself, Overton,” the duchess lectured, “but she needs good food, exercise, and sleep. And you must reassure her often. You will do that, will you not?”
Her Grace descended to the kitchen, and her visit inspired the cook to new heights in preparing small, tasty meals for a flagging appetite. Becky was served something tempting to eat every couple of hours. Hugh took her walking in the snow when the sun shone, and up and down the stairs and the halls when the weather closed in. And, on the advice of the duchess, he moved back into their bedchamber.
“She thinks you have moved out because you no longer want her,” Her Grace said bluntly. “And if you continue to treat her like a plaster saint, Overton, you are a great fool. She is a woman, and if her needs are blunted at the moment by her sadness, that will not last.”
So, Hugh slept spoon-fashion against his wife, but he continued wearing a nightshirt and made no attempt to make love to her.
Aldridge took over the work of the estate and the factories Hugh owned, so Hugh could spend most of his time with Becky, and Aldridge and Sarah reached an understanding to restore him to ‘Uncle’ status, a privilege Sarah’s sisters also deigned to confer.
These activities kept him mostly away from Becky, and he treated her with cautious courtesy when they could not avoid being in the same room, as if she might explode if he ventured any familiarity. “I do not understand, Overton,” he said once. “Was it so bad, being with me?”
Hugh could afford to be generous. “Not so bad. She said you were kind, Aldridge, and she will always be grateful.”
Aldridge shook his head as if emerging from water, his mouth twisted in disgust. “Grateful! I did not want her to be grateful!” He never mentioned it again, but his puzzled gaze followed Becky when she was not watching.
Twice a day, Hugh and Her Grace took Becky to spend time with the children, and once a day Mrs Goodfellow brought them to her. And not just to be in the same room. “She needs to do things with them,” the duchess insisted. “Read them a story, teach them a sewing stitch, or help them on the pianoforte.”
Becky resisted only the duchess’s last change.
“Did you intend to hire a wet nurse?” Her Grace asked.
Becky paused before she answered, as if she had to come a great distance to hear the question. “No,” Hugh answered for her. “She said she would feed our baby herself.”
The duchess narrowed her eyes, thinking, then nodded decisively. “It has been not quite two months, and you have fed before.”
Becky shook her head. The duchess said nothing more then, but must have spoken to Becky later. Hugh came back from signing correspondence to find the duchess watching benignly, and the wet nurse anxiously, as Belle suckled at Becky’s breast.
At first, Belle was as angry at the change as Becky, but the duchess persisted, and Belle was put to each of Becky’s breasts every two or three hours for four days.
“It is no use,” Becky said. “I have no milk.”
But that very afternoon, a delighted Belle came away too replete to suckle from her wet nurse, and an equally delighted duchess reported success.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Becky marked time by Before the Day Aldridge Came, and After. Before, she had been shut off from the world by thick, wavy glass. She could barely see or hear without diligent concentration. And she was too tired to c
oncentrate. So very, very tired.
When she recognised Aldridge, the glass was suddenly much thinner, and the glare of the real world almost destroyed her. She remembered little of the encounter, just terror at the thought of being expelled from her home, then Hugh holding her and saying he loved her. She wanted to tell him that she loved him, but she couldn’t make her lips move. She couldn’t remember how talking worked.
After The Day, the duchess and Hugh wouldn’t let her stay behind the glass. One of them was always there, making her do things. Coaxing her, scolding her, tempting her. Bit by bit, the glass faded, until she could see and hear clearly, though always at one remove.
Aunt Eleanor—that was what Becky was to call her—Aunt Eleanor made her feed the little girl. It was her primary job. The little girl was very pretty, and everyone loved her. Becky thought she should love her too, but she could not summon more than a remote interest.
Love sat somewhere on the other side of the glass. Far away, where she could not touch it. She had loved once. Sarah. Hugh. Aldridge. Sophie. Emma. The love was still there, but she couldn’t reach it.
Soon it would be spring. She would need to plan her gardens. She had promised Hugh roses, and they had been planted in October before she became ill, but other plantings would be needed when the ground warmed a little.
It worried her that Aldridge was still here. Was he waiting for her to fail, so he could take her away? But Hugh said he was waiting for his mother. Hugh said Aldridge was helping him, and that he would go when Her Grace left.
Becky hoped it would be a long time till Her Grace left, because after she went, Becky would be alone with Hugh, and she was so afraid of disappointing him.
Finally, before Becky felt ready, the duchess said they would soon have to move on to the next house in the endless round of Haverford duchy properties. Two days later, Becky stood on the steps with Hugh and the girls, saying goodbye.
Cousin Agatha—if she had another name, Becky hadn’t heard it—presented a pale cheek for a kiss. The duchess enfolded Becky in a perfumed embrace and then kissed Hugh and told him to carry on with what he was doing.
Aldridge was the last.
He had been saying goodbye to the children. Now, he came and clasped Hugh’s hand and shoulder. “Don’t forget, Overton, I’ve promised you a broken neck if you mistreat her.”
“And I, you, if you tease her,” Hugh grumbled back. But both men were grinning, so it was just some silly male ritual.
Then Aldridge came to kiss her, and she was grateful for the glass, thin though it now was, because she didn’t flinch when he hugged her and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “For you are as close to me as a brother, Overton,” he told Hugh fiercely, “which makes Becky my sister.”
She managed not to shake, and even to smile, as they entered the carriages, now converted for the thaw by the addition of wheels that had, apparently, travelled in one of the baggage carriages. Hugh must have sensed something, because he squeezed her hand and whispered he was proud of her.
And then they were gone, five splendid carriages in a line down the drive. And she and her family had the house to themselves again.
Little changed, except Hugh had to take up the estate and mill business Aldridge had been doing for him. He liked to have her near, and she would recline on the couch in his study while he worked, and feed the baby, or sew, or read. Sometimes, he discussed his problems with her.
She struggled to believe in the love he professed. How could he love her, when he knew where she had come from? But he continued to reassure her, not just in words, but in his care for her, in the way he organised the household around her weaknesses, rode through the snow to the village to bring her treats, sang and read aloud to keep her entertained. And with every loving word and gesture, the glass between her and the world grew thinner and thinner.
Until one day, when the little girl was feeding. The wet nurse was long gone, no longer needed. A nursemaid brought the baby to her at mealtimes, and the baby liked her meals complete and often. Today, though, she was almost full, and was playing with the nipple instead of feeding.
Becky removed it from the little girl’s mouth, and then bumped it against her cheek to encourage her to take it properly.
A gurgle of laughter, and just like that, the glass thinned almost to nothing.
“Belle,” she cooed. Such a good name for a beautiful little girl. Belle gurgled again, her lips spread into the most delightful grin. “Belle, Belle, Belle.” With each repeat, Becky bumped Belle’s cheek, and Belle gurgled. “Look, Hugh, Belle is laughing.”
A sound alerted her. He was kneeling a few feet away, tears running down his cheeks. “Hugh? Hugh, my love, what is the matter? What is wrong?”
“You have never called her by her name before.” He scooted closer, putting protective gentle arms around them both. “You have never called me your love before, either.”
She ducked her head, suddenly shy. “I love you, Hugh. I have loved you for a long time now.”
“I love you, Becky. I think I have loved you since the day we met.” He lifted her chin, and touched her lips with his, pulling her closer, until they clung together and the baby between them protested.
“I was afraid I had lost you,” she told him. “You didn’t want me anymore. You wouldn’t make love to me. You moved to another room. I was so afraid, so lonely.”
“I was afraid I had lost you, Becky. After all you had been through, I was afraid I was just another man who had taken away your freedom. I couldn’t bear to come to you, in case you rejected me, or—worse—pretended to want me, but hated me in your heart.”
“No. Oh, no, my love. Hush, little Belle, I didn’t mean to crush you. Here, kiss her, Hugh.”
He kissed his little girl, then his big girl, and made them both giggle.
“It was different with you, Hugh. You promised to love, honour, and cherish me, to worship me with your body. We were not... You did not use me. You never used me. You completed me. We did not couple, we united. We became one.”
He kissed her again at that, and Belle wriggled and squealed. “Has she finished her meal?”
Becky nodded, knowing what he was saying. Belle would yell the house down if she was still hungry, and the nursemaid would bring her back, and Becky didn’t have to look at Hugh’s fall to know what he was hungry for. The glint in his eyes spoke for him, and besides, she was hungry, too.
Hugh took Belle from her, opened the door where the nursemaid waited, handed the baby over with a final kiss, and carefully locked the door.
Then he turned back. “We became one,” he agreed. “It is different, is it not? One flesh. Not just two people after pleasure, but pleasure that takes us beyond ourselves into... I don’t know how to describe it.”
She shook her head. She didn’t have the words either, and then suddenly she did. “I have never been united with anyone before you, and you have never been united with anyone before me.”
Hugh agreed. “We complete one another.” He dropped his voice to that low, melodious tone that vibrated through her pelvis to her most intimate places. “At this moment, I would very much like to unite with you, Rebecca, Baroness Overton.”
And Baroness Overton welcomed her baron home, as the last of the glass between her and the world disappeared entirely.
Part Three
1813
Chapter Twenty-Three
Lancashire
If Becky had been asked to pick her favourite times, she would have been hard pressed to choose, but this would be on the list: lying in her husband’s arms after their passion was spent, not sleeping, not talking, just being.
She smiled against Hugh’s chest. Their neighbours would be shocked that they came straight up to their bedchamber after breaking their fast, that ‘going for a sleep after Church’ rarely involved sleep, even if the children believed the comfortable lie.
Given that a Sunday afternoon in bed had been the Overtons’ habit for close to three years, the n
eighbours undoubtedly did know. For what the servants knew, would sooner or later be known through the village.
“Becky, I’ve been thinking,” Hugh said.
“Are you sure you have sufficient energy for that, my love?” she teased.
He dug his fingers into her ribs, making her wriggle and squeal. “You stole it from me, you witch, and shortly, I shall take it back, see if I don’t.” The thigh she brushed against his groin confirmed his energy was returning fast, and they had the whole afternoon ahead of them. Becky smiled again.
But Hugh’s mind wasn’t on lovemaking, whatever his body thought. “I want you to come down to London with me, once the roads are passable. We’ll take the girls with us, too.”
London? She propped herself up on her elbows to reach the scar that snaked through his hair and ended a bare inch above one eyebrow. “I thought we agreed you would not attend Parliament this year. You are still recovering!”
In one easy movement he reversed their positions, tipping her and rolling with her so she was caged by his body, his thighs enclosing hers and his forearms holding his weight so she wasn’t crushed. “My wife tells me I’m much improved,” and he captured her mouth in a passionate kiss that had her lifting her hips to meet him.
But he rolled again, bringing her back against his side.
“My accident is why we must go, Becky.”
Again, she pushed back to have his whole face clearly in view. “The headaches? Are you feeling worse? Yes, we must consult a doctor! Hugh, you should have said.”
“Nothing like that, my love. The headaches are nearly gone, thanks to all the powers of Heaven. And I’m fit again. But I nearly died, Becky. When the bridge went down, when I was swept away...”
Becky shuddered and pressed herself closer. She would burrow inside if she could. Thank God his foot had become caught in the stirrup. A thousand thanks that the horse had pulled him from the river. When they’d found him at first light, more than three miles downstream from the collapsed bridge, he was still hanging, attached to the wet and shivering horse by one booted foot.