Regency Society Revisited

by Susanne Marie Knight

  "Yes?” He continued his assault on her exposed skin.

  "Nick, please ... I ... um, stop ... oh, damn you!"

  Somehow, she managed to slither away from him. She stood, and again smoothed down her soon-to-be wedding dress. Married—to Nick. Now the real adventure was about to begin.

  "Okay, Nicholas Wycliffe. You win. But don't say I didn't warn you!"

  Nick sat back and smiled. “Warning noted."

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Time passed with a blink of an eye. Serenity couldn't believe Christmas Eve was already here. The day awakened with a freshly fallen blanket of snow. Following custom, the Wycliffe clan gathered at Reveley Hall to celebrate the holidays. When she and Nick arrived, everyone made her feel so welcome—like part of the family. Instead of missing her parents and Tracy, Serenity fretted that this would be the only Christmas she'd share with the Wycliffes.

  In the sitting room, Serenity and Zeena just finished playing games with Amaryllis's brood. Because of the holidays, the three Sedgwick girls, ages twelve, ten, and eight, had been allowed to dine with the adults. The games comprised after-dinner entertainment.

  On the hearth rug, Serenity sat back on her heels, content with the scene of domestic tranquility before her. The men, Lord Rotterham, Nick, Cecil, and Rodney, buried their heads in the evening newspaper. Lady Rotterham and Amaryllis concentrated on complicated needlework held in their laps. The silence was companionable. Only the young girls’ muffled giggles from the opposite end of the room disturbed the quiet.

  "Whew! The girls are a lively bunch, aren't they, Zeena? I believe I've had enough blind-man's bluff and hunt-the-slipper."

  Serenity nodded in Rodney's direction. “Looks like he's taking a snooze. Keep him up late last night?"

  Zeena blushed. “A little. He is turning into an old fogy like the others,” she whispered. “I am certain he wanted to join in the games but felt it beneath his dignity. Goodness, I hope I never get that old!"

  The girls retrieved the hidden slipper from under the walnut writing cabinet and returned it to Zeena. Unmindful of their dresses, they squatted on the floor and clamored for more games.

  Serenity stood, swayed a moment, and sank into a chair. “No more for me, girls. Too much fun tires me out.” Lately, everything tired her out. She stifled a yawn. It was only seven o'clock, and she had napped today. Why couldn't she keep her eyes open?

  A chorus of disappointed yelps filled the great room. Serenity looked over at Lord Rotterham, and winced. Any minute he'd stride over to his granddaughters and toss them out the door—or the window!

  "Pack of cursed prattle boxes,” he grumbled darkly.

  Nick came to the rescue. He poured a cup of wassail punch for each of the game's players. “Now, girls, it is time to settle down. Your Aunt Serenity needs her rest."

  Winking, he handed Serenity her cup. In a low voice, he said, “This will quiet the lassies."

  Serenity sniffed. Along with scents of cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg, was the unmistakable bouquet of wine.

  The wassail punch might quiet the trio but it'd also put her to sleep for sure.

  The girls accepted the drinks, gulped down the liquid, then bandied cries of “Uncle Nick!” between them.

  Serenity leaned over to Zeena. “At any second, I do believe your father will burst."

  Zeena noticed the blotches of red creeping up the Marquess’ neck. “Poor Papa. He is trying so hard not to roar at them."

  The ruckus woke Rodney. He extended his long legs, and commented, “Vocal little beggars, aren't they?"

  Serenity and Zeena laughed, but Nick's gaze withered his brother-in-law.

  "I've got it!” Serenity drew everyone's attention. A diversion was needed—and fast. “Why don't we go caroling? It's not too late—we could sing at the Lyndons. And when we're finished, the girls can play with their cousins for awhile."

  Georgiana and Harry, along with the twelve- and seven-year-old daughters, plus baby Vincent, were houseguests of the Duke and Duchess of Lyndon. The Osbornes had received a warmer welcome at the Lyndon estate because Edward Wycliffe felt six children under one roof was six too many. By looking at his martyred expression tonight, he was making a great sacrifice in occupying the same room as his noisy granddaughters.

  As could be expected, the girls jumped at the chance for a Christmas adventure. “Could we? Oh, please, please, Uncle Nick?"

  Serenity relaxed against the chair cushion. Funny, why didn't the children ask permission from their father?

  Nick brushed back a stray curl on Serenity's forehead. “Are you certain you are up for the drive, m'dear? It is uncommonly cold this night.” His puckered brows showed his concern.

  Serenity's heart filled with love. When it came to her, Nick was like a mother hen—clucking over the least little thing.

  She glanced at the girls. Grey, blue, and brown eyes silently pleaded with her. Serenity was tired, but she couldn't disappoint them. “I'm fine, Nick, really. It's only a short way and we'll all bundle up."

  Zeena clapped her hands. “Oh yes! It would not be Christmas without caroling. Shall we, Rod?"

  Her husband sighed and put down his newspaper. He knew Zeena wouldn't take “no” for an answer. “Won't be too much for you, Zeena?” he asked hopefully.

  "Of course not!” was her indignant reply.

  Rodney sighed again. “Have to leave the best seat in the house to freeze my toes off singing in the snow. By Jupiter! The things we do for love."

  He stood, stretched, and headed over to Cecil, comfortably entrenched in the newspaper. “What about you, Sedgwick? Shall you join us? Your daughters, you know."

  Misery did love company.

  The children's father barely looked up from his reading. “Are you daft, man? I'm not pudding-headed. Merry as a grig right where I am. You young ‘uns enjoy yourselves."

  Amaryllis paused from her needlework. “Sedgwick is an old stick in the mud.” Before anyone misinterpreted her comment, she added, “But then, so am I!"

  Nick designated himself in charge of the outing. He turned towards his parents. “I don't suppose...?"

  Both Lord and Lady Rotterham quickly voiced their preference to remain at home.

  Serenity gingerly rose from the chair, eager to get started. “Okay, we have four adults and three children. Let's get our coats and meet out front in fifteen minutes."

  "Hooray! Hooray!” The girls raced out of the room as if sucked out by a vacuum cleaner.

  The adults trailed behind. “Were we ever that young?” wondered Rodney.

  Zeena gave him a hit on the arm. “Speak for yourself, you ... you curmudgeon, you."

  Serenity and Nick had to laugh.

  * * * *

  "I did have my doubts, but I will admit this is a dashed fine idea.” Nick guided the pair of horses over a rut in the road.

  In the open curricle, Serenity sat next to him, bundled up with a hat, scarf, mittens, muff, and two blankets; Nick insisted on the blankets. She raised her face to the invigorating, bracing wind. “This is how Christmas Eve is meant to be celebrated. In a two-horse open sleigh, riding under the starry night with the one you love."

  She sighed. “But I do think it was bad of you to insist Zeena and Rodney travel with all three children."

  "Good experience for Presson. Impending fatherhood and all.” Nick flicked his whip to urge the horses onward. The other carriage was just barely in sight. “Besides, we need some time alone. Since we arrived, all you women have been inseparable. Us men have remarked on it, you know."

  "Have to catch up on the news.” Serenity lifted herself up and kissed his cheek. “With Zeena and Georgiana expecting, your mother is in her glory. She's busy refurbishing the Rotterham nursery."

  They spent the next few minutes in silence. Then Nick cleared his throat. “So, how have you spent your other Christmases, Serenity?"

  This was the first time Nick asked about her past—or more aptly—future life. Why did he want to k
now now?

  She paused a moment. “My parents and I always fly down to Florida to visit the grandparents. They're rather frail and—"

  "Beg pardon?"

  About to repeat herself, Serenity stopped. Fly—of course he was curious about the word, fly. She grimaced and stole a peak at Nick. He sat rigidly on the bench, looking neither right nor left. Not exactly open to the miracles of modern-day living. Oh well, she would try to explain.

  "We have machines, where I'm from, that take off from the ground and then land. Airplanes. They look a little like birds—huge birds, of course. Even have wings, only the wings don't flap. Engines provide the forward thrust."

  His “Harumph!” told her what he thought of airplanes.

  "It's not so farfetched, Nick. What about today's practice of ballooning? Powered by hot air with a basket for passengers. Back in the early 1700's, the notion of a hot-air balloon would've been unbelievable. And, don't forget, I'm talking about two hundred years from now. Anyway, you've got to admit, there are plenty of people today that go ballooning—another word for flying."

  Nick conceded defeat. “You and your family fly often?"

  "About two times a year, sometimes more."

  Nick whistled. “With such luxury as that, no wonder you are eager to return to your home."

  "But I'm not eager. I—"

  He didn't hear her. Arriving at their destination, he jumped from the curricle and helped her down.

  Zeena, Rodney, and the girls joined them in front of Lyndon Manor's massive doors. Everyone was red-cheeked and happy—everyone but dear Nick ... and her.

  When the doors opened, the carolers burst into song. Soon the Duke and Duchess, Marquess and Marchioness of Durnan, Georgiana and Harry, and the three children stood in the entryway, clapping their hands with delight.

  Serenity had trouble singing the current carol—didn't know the words. Something about wassail punch. She tried to follow along, but felt a nudge on her ribs. Was Nick going to tease about her poor performance?

  "What is it?” she whispered, hoping not to disturb the other carolers.

  Nick leaned over to her. “Hmm?” His grey eyes held a question.

  "You poked me in the ribs."

  "Did I?” He sounded surprised. “A thousand pardons, m'dear."

  Serenity turned her attention back to the song. As she sang, “God bless the master and mistress,” she felt the soft nudge again.

  "Nick!"

  He raised his eyebrow. “Another poke? It wasn't I, Serenity.” He spread his gloved hands.

  Just then, she experienced two more taps. Her hands flew to her stomach. “Wh-What's going on?"

  Before the carolers could begin another chorus, Nick firmly pushed everyone inside the Manor. “Time to sample the Duke's hospitality,” he said purposefully.

  After shedding his outside garments and enduring hearty hugs at the surprise reunion, Nick stooped down and spoke into the Duchess’ ear.

  She drew Nick and Serenity apart from the group and led them to a small room. “You rest, Serry dear. I shall send some refreshments in shortly.” The Duchess closed the door, but not before Serenity caught a worried glance between the older woman and Nicholas.

  Serenity relaxed on the sofa near the fireplace. It did feel good to sit.

  Nick knelt beside her and smoothed her gown's thin material over her stomach, rounded by the Rotterhams’ sumptuous repast. “Where does it hurt?” He gently pressed on her abdomen.

  As she felt the tap again, a tiny, raised bump appeared, then vanished. Or had she imagined it?

  She and Nick exchanged looks. Taking a leaf out of his notebook, she exclaimed, “What the devil?"

  Nick repeated his actions and so did her belly. Placing his large hand over her stomach, he sat next to her, threw back his head and laughed.

  She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. “What is so funny?"

  Whatever it was, it reduced Nick to tears. He took a handkerchief and swiped at his eyes. “Damme! If that don't beat all."

  He composed himself and kissed her forehead. “Sorry, Serenity. I suppose I was just glad to learn that not everything in your wonder-world of the twenty-first century works."

  Now what was he talking about? To speed his explanation, Serenity frowned.

  Instead of supplying more information, Nick cupped her face in his hands and kissed every inch of skin. That diversionary tactic was fine with her. Finally, he lovingly gazed down at her. “You do not understand, do you? Serenity, dear, I don't know how to tell you this but ... your anti-conception device is a failure."

  Serenity stared out at the crackling fire. Anti-conception device? What was he saying? If the implant didn't work that meant she was ... she was ... pregnant.

  She jumped to her feet and paced before the fire. “Impossible! This, er, device has a 99.8 percent effectiveness rating. No, you're wrong, Nick. This device is foolproof.” Did her voice sound shrill?

  Nick smiled and studied his hands. Serenity was sure his eyes twinkled. “Yes, you told me that before. I suggest then, that one of us is a fool. And, by the bye, walking is said to lull the babe to sleep."

  She stopped pacing. Pulling up on her gown's elbow-length sleeves, she exposed her upper left arm. “It's impossible, Nick. See? The device was implanted right over ... here."

  Finding the site, she offered her arm to him. She looked at her skin, and then saw the long white scar sustained after passing through the Time Displacement Wave. Memories of the deep cut and the heavy bleeding returned.

  Serenity sat back on the sofa. Suppose the implant had somehow been rendered useless by the Displacement Wave? Or perhaps it had been sliced free from her arm?

  Pregnant? Folding her hands over her belly, she shivered. Pregnant?

  Didn't she just menstruate last month? Or was it the month before last? Or....

  True, her periods had always been sporadic.

  She turned toward Nick and whispered, “Do you think it's possible?"

  "Possible and probable. Quickening, the babe's first-felt movements begin at four months.” He counted on his fingers. “Four months back is August. Oh, Serenity!"

  He lifted her and slowly spun her around. “Not every day I learn I am to be a father."

  After a breathless bear hug, Serenity pulled away. “Well, I hope not! But how do you know so much about babies?"

  He returned her to the fold. “I have come in contact with a number of señoras and señoritas in my day, madam wife."

  Serenity submitted to his enthusiasm. She couldn't tell how she felt. A baby! But that meant.... She also counted on her fingers. "If I'm pregnant, if there is a baby, it will be due sometime in May."

  She sagged down on the sofa. How could she have this miracle growing inside her only to be torn away from the baby's father? How could fate be so cruel?

  "May—a glorious month. A wondrous—” Nick stopped. Of course he realized the dilemma.

  He joined her on the couch. “May,” he repeated. “May is three months after February. And in February, I will lose you both."

  Linking hands, they both were lost in sorrowful thoughts.

  * * * *

  That night Nick fell asleep easily. He could thank the two bottles of brandy downed after he returned to Reveley Hall. Lying beside him, Serenity listened to his soft snores.

  Sleep, however, eluded Serenity. She sat with her fingers laced across her stomach. Belatedly, she noticed her waist had thickened and her stomach protruded slightly.

  A baby! How could she leave Nick now? Before today, she had refused to think about February—postponing the inevitable. But now, now not only did she have to think about saying good-bye forever, she also had to think about taking away his baby. No wonder she couldn't sleep.

  She stroked Nick's dark curls, savoring the sensation. If she had a choice, would she return to the future, or would she stay? But why think of that; she didn't have a choice. Professional ethics should be stronger than biological l
eanings. She couldn't turn her back on important scientific research and follow her own inclination. Where would the world be today if everyone followed their own drummer, and forgot obligations and responsibilities?

  She rested her head upon the pillow. Obligations and responsibilities. Why did she have to be so damn conscientious?

  Merry Christmas, little babe. You'll never get to know your father.

  With a sob, Serenity buried her face in the pillow.

  * * * *

  Serenity was running. Through open fields and wooded glades, something pursued her. It panted heavily. Serenity had to run, had to escape whatever chased her. She had to reach the door—the door to her home.

  She could feel hot breath on her shoulder. Hurry, hurry! Almost there. In front of her stood the door—an ordinary looking door with a doorknob.

  Safe. When she passed through the door, she'd be safe. Serenity turned the knob and opened the door. Her sister, Tracy, stood on the other side, blocking the entrance.

  "Tracy!” Serenity yelled. “Tracy, let me through!"

  Tracy's green eyes sparkled and dropped green tears. “No. You can't come back—ever. You have created and you can't come back."

  Serenity tried to push her sister aside, but only succeeded in pulling Tracy through the door. The door now shut and Serenity couldn't open it.

  Serenity turned back to Tracy and watched her green eyes change to blue. Zeena stood in Tracy's place and she smiled at Serenity.

  Serenity screamed.

  * * * *

  "Serenity, wake up! It is only a dream, wake up."

  She opened her eyes to see Nick bending over her. He hugged her to his chest. “It was only a dream, love,” he crooned. “You are safe with me now."

  Serenity gladly rested her head against the soft down on his chest. Safe. She was safe. Her dream was wrong; she was safe here, back in time, back in Regency England.

  "Oh, Nick. Such a dream I had! But there was something important in it. My sister Tracy tried to tell me something important. I've got to remember."

  Nick rocked her slowly, allowing her heartbeat to return to normal. “What did she say, love?"