Redeeming the Earl

by Jenn Langston

  “Don’t worry about it. Between the two of us, we will think of something.”

  Where the devil was that woman? Charles had been back from London for two days, and the midwife he hired had yet to arrive. In this situation, patience wasn’t exactly something he had in large quantities.

  His hands shook as he paced his study, forcing himself to relinquish his weight to a chair. Rebecca. It still hurt to think of her. An image of her lifeless body floating in a pool of blood never left his mind. He couldn’t allow that to happen.

  How could he have done this to her? Willingly sacrificing Rebecca’s life for an heir when Francis was fully capable had been a senseless choice.

  He thrust his fingers through his hair and fisted his hands, reveling in the pain he deserved. This didn’t make sense. It shouldn’t bother him this much. After all, he’d decided on this course of action a long time ago.

  The idea of never seeing Rebecca’s smile again brought an acute aching to his chest. He immensely enjoyed how her face lit up at the faint hint of music. How her body swayed against his when he held her close. How everything else melted away when she was in the room.

  His heart missed a beat. He loved Rebecca. Dear God, how he loved her. Never before had he felt so strongly about someone, nor had he ever been so happy. Well, at least before he found out he’d sentenced her to death.

  Jumping up from his chair, he crossed the room. He should have known better than to trust that midwife to come on her own, especially one rumored to have special powers. Now he would have to fetch her again.

  A knock at the door halted his dash across the room. Had his wife decided to come to him? Anticipation propelled him the last few feet, and instead of waiting as usual, he threw open the door.

  His startled butler stared back at him. “My lord, a Madam Hershal is here to see you.”

  Relief alleviated his disappointment. “I shall meet her in the drawing room. Please have Lady Dunmore join us.”

  “Very good, my lord.”

  Charles followed his butler to the designated room. Upon entering, Madam Hershal stood up from her chair. The woman didn’t look fatigued or disheveled from her travel. She appeared the opposite, actually. She seemed much younger and more beautiful than he remembered. Were the whispers about her simply rumors? Or was the woman really a witch?

  “Thank you for coming so quickly, Madam Hershal. I trust you had a pleasant journey.”

  “Merely tolerable, my lord. I fear I don’t enjoy travel. However, your cause intrigued me.” Her assessing eyes made him uncomfortable. “Please call me Sylvia. The care you show for your wife does you credit.”

  Discomfited with the praise, he moved further into the room. “I appreciate the offer of familiarity, however, considering our circumstances, I must decline. Shall we sit? The countess will be joining us before long.”

  As if conjured by his words, Rebecca appeared in the doorway. He jumped to his feet and basked in the sight of her. Her upswept hair cascaded down her left shoulder, tempting him to brush it back for her. However, the wariness in her eyes told him such a notion wouldn’t be appreciated, regardless if they were alone.

  He cleared his throat. “Lady Dunmore, please allow me to introduce Madam Sylvia Hershal. She has agreed to assist you during this time.” He turned to the midwife, relieved to see her icy stare on his wife instead of him. “Madam Hershal, this is Rebecca Edwards, Countess of Dunmore.”

  Rebecca inclined her head in acknowledgment, but didn’t part her tight lips. He didn’t like it. Where was his warm, amusing wife? Fear pierced his chest. Had the pregnancy already begun to affect her?

  “Thank you for the introduction, my lord,” Madam Hershal said. “The countess and I can become better acquainted now.”

  With that, he was dismissed. He shook his head as he left the room. To be dismissed in his own home, at the hand of the guest, no less, was unsettling. The world had turned upside down. Regardless, he allowed it.

  Needing a distraction, he sought out his steward, Josiah. Over the last few months, Charles had taken a lesser role in regard to the estate. As a reward, less money had been collected from the tenants, and more paid out in repair. He intended to discover why.

  While walking down the corridor leading to the room he’d assigned to his steward, he heard whispers. Normally he didn’t waste time on such things, but the sound of his wife’s name had him stopping and straining his ears.

  “. . . will get worse since she’s here.”

  “But what can be done about it? Matters are only going to escalate further once she’s dead.”

  Charles’s hands clenched, but he forced himself under control. He needed to discover what they were talking about.

  “Yes, but she will die. Everyone knows that.” The voice sounded regretful. “What we need to do is decide a course of action before that happens. Rally the others, and we’ll hold a meeting.”

  “I wish we could reason with him. See if he could spare this one.”

  “That’s out of the question. We need to stop the bloodshed, not encourage more. Now, let’s go before we are missed.”

  Fear turned in Charles’s stomach, making him ill. He needed to find the owners of the voices. Unfortunately, the whispered tones didn’t sound familiar. He had to discover more. Slowly creeping forward, he tried to soundlessly hasten toward the portrait hall. That would be the only means of escaping without passing him.

  Rounding the corner, he cursed. The room was empty. He strained his ears, trying to hear footsteps. Nothing. Had they heard him, and remained in their hiding places? After waiting motionless for a few minutes, Charles realized he’d been too late.

  He needed to get to the bottom of this. If someone threatened Rebecca, he would tear them apart. Although he could do nothing for the women who came before, he still could protect her.

  Enough blood had been spilled between these walls. He would do everything in his power to ensure they saw no more.

  “Your husband is a curious sort.”

  Rebecca stopped her sewing and looked at Sylvia Hershal. The midwife had been her constant shadow for over a week now, and overall Rebecca decided to like the woman. Although she’d heard the rumors about Madam Hershal being a witch, she didn’t put any faith in such nonsense. After all, how could some who looked so normal have any special powers?

  Wiping the wrinkle out of her skirt, Rebecca chewed her lip. This was the first time Sylvia had mentioned Charles. She had been dying to know how his arrangement with the midwife had come about, but hadn’t been sure how to ask. After all, she had no desire to upset the woman.

  “Why do you say that?” Rebecca tried to hide the extent of her true interest in the answer.

  “From what I’d gathered in London, I expected an entirely different man.”

  “Oh, you mean the rumors. Don’t pay them any mind. He’s innocent.”

  Knowing she wouldn’t get anything more, Rebecca picked up her needlework again. She wondered why Sylvia would agree to leave London to live in the home of a rumored murderer.

  “That’s not what I referred to. You see, the type of man who rushes to London to secure midwife services for nine months without negotiating the price is desperate. The fear lurking in his eyes didn’t belong to the man who I’ve seen here.”

  “What do you mean? Charles has no reason to fear.”

  “He did when he was in London. Which is why I expected your doting husband to follow you around like a stray animal.”

  Hearing how Charles’s disinterest even disappointed the midwife brought an aching to her chest. She looked toward the empty fireplace and breathed through her mouth. Crying in front of her guest would not do.

  “My lady,” Sylvia said as she crossed the room and sat down beside her. “I didn’t mean to upset you. He cares for you a g
reat deal. I am an excellent judge of character and know my initial assertion is not wrong.”

  “You didn’t upset me,” Rebecca lied. “I’m simply trying to picture the earl as the romantic character you portray.”

  The truth being, it wasn’t hard to picture him in that role. Prior to her pregnancy, she certainly could see him as the dashing protector. Now, however, she knew the truth about him. He was through with her.

  “He’s in there somewhere,” Sylvia promised. “Perhaps once the baby is born, his true self will reemerge. Men have a fear of such things, and they all show that in different ways.”

  Rebecca swallowed. It couldn’t be possible for Sylvia to be unaware of Charles’s past, but she certainly made no indication of having the knowledge.

  “It’s more than that. He’s a widower. The fear of childbirth is more of a reality for him than most.”

  “I know, but he has no reason to worry about you. The child and you are a picture of health. You are different. You will not die.”

  For some strange reason her words brought relief. Rebecca hadn’t realized how much she’d been worried. Even more unusual was the fact that her concern resided more for Charles than herself. After all, she couldn’t be sure he’d survive another wife’s death.

  “How can you be certain?” Rebecca couldn’t help but ask.

  Sylvia smiled, a strange smile. It seemed to permeate from her and made her glow as if caught in a sun ray. “Because I am here, and I’ve never lost a mother and baby before. You can be sure I don’t intend to begin now.”

  Discomfited with the unusual proclamation, Rebecca returned her smile and resumed sewing. Having someone so passionate could only help Rebecca’s chances of being Charles’s first wife to produce an heir.

  Without further thought the question over her safety dissipated, however, other concerns rose to the surface. Gulping, she placed her hand over her stomach. What if she didn’t carry an heir? Would her first born daughter share the life she had? Being an unwanted item who only remained due to her mother’s love hadn’t been easy.

  Her arm tightened around her child. She wouldn’t let that happen. If their lives turned in that direction, Rebecca would leave. Her daughter would never know the hatred of the man who had sired her.

  “You protect your baby already.” Sylvia patted Rebecca's knee before walking toward the door. “She will be one lucky child.”

  That brought Rebecca’s head up, but Sylvia had already left the room. The woman was strange. Surely she couldn’t honestly believe she knew the sex of the baby. Rebecca shook her head and resumed her work. It had been a guess, nothing more.

  The next day as Rebecca sat at luncheon with Charles and Gloria, she couldn’t get the thought from her mind. Even reading details of the most recent scandal her brother had written her about didn’t capture her thoughts fully. After all, he’d taken care in his research, and her Unscandal Sheet article would be printed as if she’d never left London. The pride she usually felt was gone as she contemplated her situation.

  She stole a glance at her husband. Although the all-important heir had been what he sought, a daughter would be nice. Would he mind having a girl?

  “Charles,” Gloria began. “Did you know your wife has a skill at gardening?”

  His eyes shot to Rebecca. “Surely you haven’t been undertaking such a chore in your current state.”

  “The work is minimal, and I find the activity relaxing,” Rebecca assured.

  “I will not have you taking such risks. You have no idea what impact it could have.” Charles’s hard eyes bored into her.

  “Be reasonable.” Gloria crossed one arm over her chest and held her cup of tea in the other. “The midwife came with us. She voiced no complaint.”

  The distaste in Gloria’s voice couldn’t be mistaken. She had developed a disliking for Sylvia from the beginning. Rebecca couldn’t understand why, but the feeling was mutual.

  “Sylvia has encouraged me to take in the benefits of being outdoors,” Rebecca defended herself. She couldn’t believe her husband would think she would do something to harm her own child.

  “I shall have a talk with her.” His voice was final, and his face determined.

  Rebecca wished the man she’d married would return.

  “Enough about this. I didn’t bring up the subject to cause an argument. I simply wanted to request you join Rebecca and I to see her talent.”

  “That might not be possible. I really don’t think I—”

  Gloria set her teacup down loudly. “Come now, Charles. Surely you can spare a few moments of your time entertaining your wife and friend.”

  Silence echoed in the room as the two stared at each other. Part of Rebecca wanted to tell them to forget it, that it didn’t matter, but it truly did. Gloria had promised to make an attempt to encourage Charles’s interest, but sitting here, listening to his denial, didn’t come without a cost.

  Abruptly, her husband stood. “I shall see if I can arrange my schedule.”

  Without another word, he fled the room. Tears tightened Rebecca’s chest. What had happened for him to dislike her so much? They had spent so much joyous time together prior to her pregnancy. Did none of it matter? Had all of it been a setup to get her with child? Their entire life together had been a lie.

  Charles’s hands shook as he paced his study. How could Gloria do this to him? Keeping away from his wife had been difficult enough without having his friend’s encouragement. Now he couldn’t refuse.

  Thoughts of Rebecca’s hurt face flashed through his mind. He ached for her. He needed her more than he needed anyone, but he couldn’t have her. The stolen time with her had already been too much. Now, it was too late to undo his mistake.

  He needed distance. The less time he spent with her, the easier it would be to stop his heart from threatening to cease functioning in her absence. He never asked to love her, and he didn’t want it anymore.

  A knock at the door put an end to his current line of thought.

  “My lord,” Davins said from the doorway. “The baroness requested that I inform you of their intention to take a stroll through the gardens. She also wanted you to know they intend to make a slow exit, should you want to join them.”

  With a wave of his hand, Charles dismissed his butler. He hated how Gloria used their long-term friendship to insolently maneuver him into a more favorable position for herself. Part of it was his own fault. He’d allowed it all these years.

  Grumbling, he made his way to the garden. Luckily, or not, he met the women just outside the manor. The happiness he read on Rebecca’s face made him wary. How would he manage to stop loving her when she made it so easy?

  “Charles, how good it is that you join us. I was just telling Rebecca that—”

  The sound of the splash cut her off. Gloria had been backing up as she spoke and had inadvertently stepped into a deep puddle. Her foot sank down in the muddy water.

  “Gloria!” Rebecca exclaimed as Charles reached out to steady their friend from falling backwards into the mud.

  “How clumsy of me.” Gloria pulled her sodden boot from the water and moved back onto the dry path. “Please, continue without me. I . . . I have something pressing I must see to.”

  “Of course,” Rebecca assured.

  Dumbstruck, Charles stood there and watched Gloria walk away. Now he would have no escape from his wife. Gloria would have offered protection. Now he wasn’t sure how to handle an intimate walk. Too many memories of previous outings clouded his mind.

  After a long sigh, he turned to his wife. “Come. The quicker we do this, the sooner I shall be able to return to my work.”

  Without waiting for her response, he took off down the path, hoping he traveled in the correct direction. It would never do to have them traversing all the paths i
n search of the insignificant flowers.

  Once he reached an intersection, he turned to receive direction from Rebecca. She wasn’t there. Glancing around, he didn’t see her anywhere. She hadn’t followed him.

  Anger crushed his earlier irritation. If she wanted him to see the flowers so badly, where was she? He hastened back up the path.

  Throwing open the door, he marched into the manor. She would not get away with this. If she wanted a stroll, she was going to get one. A cursory search of the main floor brought him nothing but wide-eyed stares, so he darted up the stairs to her bedchamber.

  It was locked.

  He quickly entered his chambers and stomped to their adjoining door. She could not keep him out no matter how hard she tried. Reaching out, he grasped the latch and allowed the feeling of the cool metal to calm him. He stopped and took a deep breath.

  Rebecca was not at fault for any of this. It had been Gloria who had insisted on this outing, and he who went on it without her. He would not barge in on her like this.

  Lifting his hand off the latch, he knocked. No answer. He knocked again. Nothing. He knew she was in there, and her refusal to respond to him allowed some of his ire to return.

  He opened the door and was surprised to see Rebecca calmly sitting at her dressing table with a pen in her hand. Her eyes met him with a question.

  “Enjoy your stroll?”

  Blood pounded in his ears. She enjoyed making him look like a fool. “Not in the least. Now, get up. You and I are taking a walk.”

  Her eyebrow rose a fraction, but she didn’t budge. “No thank you. I’m busy at present.”

  Thinking of the stack of papers he left on his desk, he wanted to howl in frustration. “You can attend to it later.”