Shifting in his chair, Graham had a vision of what his life would be if he stayed ashore. There were some who enjoyed idleness, but he could not face the idea of ending up like his brother, Ambrose, who lived for nothing more than frivolity. Though even that was unlikely to be Graham’s future: Ambrose was a charming young buck, and Graham was a broken castoff. Even if he desired to fritter away his life in such a manner, he wouldn’t be accepted into that sphere of society with his visible imperfections.
It was foolish to come out here. He should be in bed like the invalid he was. Shut away from the world.
“One moment my life was everything I wished it to be,” he said. “And the next, it was ripped away from me. Do you know what it’s like to have your life torn apart? To desperately wish you could piece it back together and being unable to do so?”
Graham met Mrs. Russell’s gaze and saw tears and understanding there. And that was when he realized that of all the people who had tried to talk sense into him, only she understood. The lady turned nursemaid. Graham had no doubt she had fought for her life, but it had been torn away from her just as cruelly as his.
“I know precisely how difficult it is,” said Mrs. Russell, her voice quiet yet firm. “Life is far from perfect and rarely turns out the way we wish or plan.” Her voice wavered, and she lowered her gaze for a moment. With another breath, she straightened once more and continued. “It is the nature of life, but that does not mean it must be unhappy.”
Graham felt like groaning, but that would be terribly childish. He settled for a disappointed huff. “If you are going to start spouting off a bunch of empty proverbs about hope and optimism, I have no wish to hear it.”
Mrs. Russell’s gaze narrowed, her chin rising in challenge. “You may choose to ignore them, but there are always reasons to be happy just as there are always reasons to be miserable. I am not saying you need to be grateful for the hardships you are facing, but you can choose to see the goodness and blessings that come with it. Joy in life is a matter of choice, not circumstances.”
Graham snorted at that tripe. It was not the most polite thing he had ever done, but it was far from the most impolite; goodness knows he had said things far worse in Mrs. Russell’s hearing.
“And what wonderful blessings have come from your great misfortune?” he said with a touch of derision.
Mrs. Russell tensed, as though every muscle in her being was bursting with anger. “Do not mock me, sir. If you do not wish to believe me, that is your prerogative. You may wallow in misery all you wish, but do not speak to me as though I am nothing because I choose not to be as pitiful and rude.”
Pitiful and rude? Graham took a breath and straightened in his chair. “How dare you, madam!”
But rather than quaking as most did when he gathered such fury about him, Mrs. Russell held his gaze, her own muscles tightening in response. And that forced Graham to recognize that he was being a boor yet again. It was not an easy moment for him to be trapped between wanting to give this servant a proper set-down and knowing it would be a mistake.
Sucking in another deep breath, Graham forced his temper to the background, straining to keep control of it. The heat of his anger ebbed, and with it came a dose of chagrin, which left a foul taste in his mouth. He had been having a tantrum. Again. For all his determination not to do so, it had snuck up on him.
Graham took another breath. And then another. When he had regained his composure, he spoke. “I apologize for being so disrespectful, Mrs. Russell. Though I would not say I am pitiful and rude, you were right to point out that I was behaving badly.”
Mrs. Russell’s brows drew together, and her head tilted to the side as she stared at him. Every time he apologized, she seemed so genuinely surprised that it made Graham wonder what in her life had taught her to disbelieve sincerely expressed remorse. Though he did not have to wonder long, as he guessed it was simply another reason to despise the late Mr. Russell.
“My sister and brother-in-law are fond of telling me to look for the good among the bad, and I find I am not fond of hearing it,” said Graham.
Having regained her own composure, the lady nodded. “It sounds trite when coming from those who do not understand.”
“But you are not like that.”
“No, I am not” she agreed. “And I promise that if you will look for it, you may find blessings that come from your hardships. I have.”
“Such as?”
“Cooking,” she said with a smile. “My mother would be mortified, but I quite adore it. Mrs. Bunting has been giving me lessons, and I look forward to it every day.”
The image of Mrs. Russell elbow deep in flour was surprisingly enticing; it hung in his mind for a good minute before Graham realized his thoughts had wandered into dangerous territory. Shoving it aside, he cleared his throat.
“So, you wish me to learn to cook?” He hoped the tone came off lighthearted, but it sounded more nervous.
Mrs. Russell laughed, which brought a smile to his lips.
“No, Captain Ashbrook. Not cooking, precisely,” she said. “The first step is to recapture what you can.” She pointed to the paper and quill. “Adjust to your current capability, and then explore new passions and pursuits. It would do you good. You must decide—”
But her words were cut short when Simon came hurrying through the back door. The look on his face sent a shiver of fear running along Graham’s spine. He tried to stand, but he had exhausted his strength getting into the garden. Mrs. Russell sent him a look that kept him from trying again.
“Mrs. Russell,” said Simon, his breath heaving. “Please, come…Mina.”
At that, Graham tried in earnest to stand. “What has happened?”
“The baby…” Simon’s face paled. “Something is wrong, but I cannot find a physician, midwife, or anyone else who can help.”
Mrs. Russell’s hand came to her mouth.
“Please,” said Simon, turning to her, “you have some experience with medicine and healing, and you have been through childbirth yourself. Would you please—”
“Of course,” she said. “I don’t know how much help I can be, but I shall try.”
Graham moved to follow them, but Mrs. Russell shoved him onto the chair.
“Sit!” she commanded.
“But…” Graham stared into her eyes, pleading for her to bring him along. He would be of no help whatsoever, but the thought of anything happening to his sister filled him with such dread. He needed to be there with her.
“Promise me you will stay put,” she said. “Hurting yourself will do your sister no good. I will send you news as soon as possible.”
Graham saw the logic and reason, though his heart wished to protest. Giving his word, he watched Simon lead Mrs. Russell away, praying that all would be right with Mina and her babe.
Chapter 11
Tabby was winded by the time they arrived at Avebury Park. Tearing off her bonnet and spencer, she cast them to the butler before scurrying to catch Mr. Kingsley, who was already moving up the stairs to find his wife. Her muscles burned, but she forced herself to keep up. They wound their way through the halls of Avebury Park, and then the gentleman ushered Tabby into a bedchamber.
Mrs. Kingsley lay on the bed, her body shaking with great sobs. Mr. Kingsley hurried to her side, sitting in a vacant chair beside the bed to hold her hands.
“What has happened?” asked Tabby.
Mrs. Kingsley tried to answer, but her words came out so broken that it was beyond indecipherable. Taking a jerking breath, she managed, “The baby.”
Tabby knew that feeling all too well. The panic. The heartache. The anguish. She had experienced it many times before, and her heart broke for any woman having to suffer like that. Sitting on the edge of the bed beside Mrs. Kingsley, Tabby looked to Mr. Kingsley for permission and the gentleman relinquished one of his wife’s hands, allowing Tabby to take it in hers.
“I know how frightening this is,” she said, her voice soft and soothing,
though tears filled her eyes as memories flooded her mind. “I know how lost you are in this moment. But I must ask you to do something for me.”
Mrs. Kingsley stilled and watched Tabby with questioning eyes.
“Take a breath,” said Tabby. Doing it alongside the lady, Tabby took several deep breaths, the tension easing from Mrs. Kingsley with each one.
“Good,” she said, rubbing Mrs. Kingsley’s hand and continuing the exercise until the lady calmed.
“Now, tell me what is the matter,” said Tabby.
Mrs. Kingsley shuddered, her eyes widening, but Tabby kept her tone soothing and had Mrs. Kingsley breathe through it.
“Cramping,” she said, taking another jerking breath. “And bleeding. Something is wrong. I know it.”
Tabby kept her hands gentle, though her chest tightened, and she needed a breath or two for herself. “That can happen, and I know it is alarming, especially with your first child, but we need to keep calm.”
Mrs. Kingsley nodded. Beside her, Mr. Kingsley looked as harried as his wife. Though bottled inside, his eyes were red and held a glimmer of tears, telling Tabby just how fragile his own heart was at present. Transferring the lady’s hand to her husband, Tabby mouthed the word, “calm” to him. He nodded and continued Tabby’s efforts to lull his wife.
“Do you have paper and a pencil?” she asked while sorting through her memories to recall the exact ingredients of the tisane she had taken in such instances. A maid standing off to the side stepped forward with both in hand, and Tabby scribbled out the recipe. As she wrote, it crystallized in her mind, and she handed it to the maid, who hurried to fetch it.
Tabby sat beside the pair, and Mr. Kingsley kissed his wife’s hand, his eyes never leaving hers. Tabby shifted to move away, but Mrs. Kingsley gave her such a pleading look that Tabby remained where she was. A little discomfort on her part was worth it if it helped Mrs. Kingsley.
“Will they be fine?” asked Mr. Kingsley.
Tabby wanted to give all the reassurances the couple wished for, but she knew well enough that false promises hurt worse than a gentle truth. “This could be nothing. It is not uncommon for such things to happen, but it could be the sign of something worse. I don’t know for certain.”
Mrs. Kingsley tensed, and Tabby placed her hand on the lady’s knee, speaking in soothing tones. “It is too early for us to worry about the worst possible outcomes. I am certain the physician will be here soon, but until then, we must hope for the best. This truly could be nothing out of the ordinary.”
The lady looked fairly calm, but Tabby knew the best medicine at this time would be a distraction, and she scoured for something to pull Mrs. Kingsley’s thoughts away from her fears.
“I forced Captain Ashbrook outside today,” said Tabby.
Both Kingsleys stared at her, but Tabby saw understanding dawning in Mr. Kingsley’s eyes because he jumped right in with, “That’s right. He was sitting in the garden.”
“Truly?” Mrs. Kingsley’s voice wobbled, but it came out in one word, which was most satisfying.
“What did you do to him?” asked Mr. Kingsley. “Toss him over your shoulder and carry him out like a sack of flour?”
A chuckle. An actual chuckle came from Mrs. Kingsley, and Tabby wanted to hug Mr. Kingsley. From the strain around his eyes and mouth, Tabby knew he was not as diverted as his tone implied, but as it was helping Mrs. Kingsley, he appeared willing to aid things with a bit of humor.
“Not quite,” said Tabby, and she began telling them about her battles with the gallant Captain Ashbrook. Lacing it with as much wit as she could muster, Tabby had Mrs. Kingsley smiling at various points, though the tension in Mr. Kingsley’s posture never lessened.
The maid interrupted at one point with a tray, and Tabby helped Mrs. Kingsley drink a cup of the tisane, praying that it would work, all while keeping her patient distracted as they waited for someone more qualified to arrive.
***
Mrs. Kingsley lay on her bed, her face turned towards Tabby as tears rolled down her cheek and soaked her pillow. Sitting on the chair beside her, Tabby clutched Mrs. Kingsley’s hand, running her thumbs over it as she hummed a soothing tune. On more than one occasion, her mama had done the exact same thing for Tabby, but in those cases, she had been sobbing over the loss of her child. How grateful she was that these were tears of relief.
“All is well, Mrs. Kingsley,” said Tabby. “Doctor Clarke said it was nothing but a scare.”
There was a watery chuckle. “You have spent most of the day at my bedside, holding my hand, and comforting me. I think you have earned the right to call me Mina.”
Tabby wanted to accept. On her part, she already thought of Mrs. Kingsley as a friend, but in truth, she was Tabby’s employer, and one did not take such liberties with one’s employer. “I appreciate the gesture, madam, but I could not presume—”
“I know it is not strictly proper, but over the last month, I feel that we have grown quite close.”
New tears gathered in the lady’s eyes, and Tabby knew how emotional—even irrational—a woman can be when increasing. And after the scare she had suffered, Tabby though she deserved that little indulgence.
“Fine, then. Mina. But only if you return the favor,” she said with a smile.
“As you wish. Tabby,” replied Mina.
The two women sat together in silence, and Tabby continued to hum and hold Mina’s hand. It was the least she could do, and Tabby appreciated the opportunity to ease the lady’s burden.
“I am so frightened, Tabby,” said Mina, her voice barely above a whisper. “My mother and baby sister died in childbirth. What if that happens to us?”
“It is natural for you to worry after having seen the dangers firsthand,” said Tabby, squeezing her hand. “But that does not mean it will happen to you. My mother’s mother passed in childbirth, but neither my mother nor I came close to that. The physician has assured you that everything is as it should be. It is best if you hold onto that rather than make yourself anxious over what might never happen.”
Mina nodded, her eyelids drooping. The poor lady had been a wreck most of the day, and she needed her rest. Tabby hummed her a lullaby, hoping it would do the trick. Within moments, her breathing grew deeper and her muscles slackened. Carefully, Tabby released Mina’s hand and stood, stretching her back.
Looking at the window, Tabby was surprised to see that the sun was setting. The whole day was gone, but she knew it had been time well spent. In truth, she had not done much, but both of the Kingsleys had been calmer with her there, and that was no little thing. At such a time, peace was a precious commodity.
Crossing to the door, Tabby stepped out into the hall and found Mr. Kingsley leaning against the wall, facing her. The man looked as though he had been dragged behind a horse, and it was clear that though she had calmed his wife, he was far from it.
“Thank you for your help today,” he said. “You were miraculous with Mina. She has been a ball of nerves ever since she realized her condition.”
“And I imagine you have been on edge as well,” said Tabby.
Mr. Kingsley’s gaze fell to the floor. “We hoped for a child for so many years, but I never thought about how frightening bringing one into the world is until I was faced with my wife putting her life in harm’s way to do so. In the abstract it had been an exciting thing.”
“She and the babe are fine.”
“For now,” he replied. “But we have several more months of this before we know for certain.”
“And then you have years of illnesses and accidents awaiting you,” said Tabby. “There is never an end to worrying about what may go wrong. Life is fleeting, and spending your time fretting about what could be is only going to waste it, and make you miserable in the process.”
“But—”
“No,” said Tabby, and his eyes snapped to hers. Perhaps her tone was a bit harsh, but Mr. Kingsley needed to understand. “No buts. There is no excuse. Life is filled wit
h heartache. There is no avoiding it. Your wife may lose your child. It happens. With no rhyme or reason, it does. Far too often. But do you know what happens then?”
Mr. Kingsley shook his head.
“You hold your wife close. You comfort each other. And then you try again. Or you let it tear you two apart. Destroy the joy you have built together,” said Tabby. Her words hitched as thoughts of her own marriage came to mind. “It is your choice, Mr. Kingsley. Embrace a chance for happiness or live a life in fear.”
Mr. Kingsley watched her, one side of his mouth slowly quirking upwards. “I see how you have made such strides with my brother-in-law, Mrs. Russell. You are not a blindly optimistic person, but you have such a glow of it about you. It is hard to stay in the doldrums with you around.”
Tabby’s face colored, and she gave a bob in acknowledgment of the compliment.
Mr. Kingsley pushed off the wall and nodded as he stepped into the bedchamber.
“One more thing, Mr. Kingsley,” said Tabby, turning to face him again.
The gentleman gave her his attention and nodded for her to continue.
“It appears as though she has spent a fair amount of time resting over the past weeks,” said Tabby. “From what I have seen of her and her brother that is the last thing she needs. They are people who have to be occupied or they end up lost and emotional. She should take her rest as Doctor Clarke directed, but he said there is no reason she cannot go about her life in a day or two. You must encourage her to do so. A little exertion shan’t hurt her or the baby, but sitting about fretting will.”
Straightening, Mr. Kingsley gave Tabby a bow. A proper gentlemanly bow. The kind she had not received in a very long time. She returned it with a curtsey, and he walked away to join his wife at her bedside. Taking the chair Tabby had vacated, he held Mina’s hand, placing yet another kiss on it. Mina’s eyes opened a fraction, followed by a broad grin at the sight of her husband.
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