The man smiled and held out his arm, "Shall we venture forward, Mrs. Norton?"
With the noises, the smells, and more boat loads of people arriving to Vaux Hall, it was probably best to delve deeper into the park.
"Thank you, Vicar, for arranging this today. I think I needed a distraction from Mayfair."
His brow scrunched. "I've never been called a distraction before. But, let's see what we can do about being helpful."
She adjusted the ribbons of her straw bonnet and took his elbow. She tried to appear at ease and unhurried. Ignoring her churning stomach, she lifted her head. The budding greenery might help alleviate her angst.
"If we are moving too fast, I can slow down. With all of Jackson's squirming, I might be going too fast for his enjoyment as well."
The boy did squirm a bit. His creamy white pinafore whipped back and forth against Samuel's dark charcoal coat.
"I might be impatient, too. Mr. Norton, may have found a lost friend of mine. I hope it is her. I was very disappointed the last time."
The sadness of the last Sarah had made everything hurt. The depression of it lasted longer than it should have. Barrington was right to be concerned. "Yes, very sad."
Samuel shook his head and continued up the path stopping near a flutist. The tune was simple. Bliss bounced in the chords.
But it didn't bounce inside Amora. She'd gone to Barrington's study this morning to remind herself of all that had transpired. Helping him, seeing Mr. Miller couldn't be another curious dream. Moreover, her very protective husband could've changed his mind, refusing to take her to visit the newly found Sarahs.
What began as a small morning goodbye kiss between her and Barrington as co-conspirators, ended with his palms on her abdomen. The same motion he always did when she was with child.
For him, it might just be a habit. But, the feeling and the pressure had for the first time felt familiar.
Mama was right.
It wasn't Mrs. Hessing's dinner that made her ill.
It wasn't weakness from falling or anything else. It was the new life inside her.
She shook her head to the irony.
Samuel leaned his head toward her. His careful walnut eyes raked over her, probably assessing her spirit. But, no one could tell the dance fear and happiness did in her womb.
"Yes, Vicar?"
He bit his lip for a moment then turned toward the stands. "I don't think we'll see a tight-rope walker today. My bishop says the park is still a bit subdued. This full mourning, half-mourning business."
"Maybe we should leave, sir."
"It's Samuel, remember? And we have just arrived. Look at how your mother and Rebecca have scouted off, all smiles. Let's endure a little longer for them."
Needing something for her fidgeting fingers to do she reached up and took the vicar's son into her arms. Holding a baby had new meaning today. "Yes, a little longer. I wasn't thinking of them."
"Your mind does seem to be far away." He led her a little farther passed the noisy crowds closer to the lush hedgerows. "I take it you and Mr. Norton are still having disagreements?"
Hackles raised, she stopped and turned to face him.
Samuel's countenance was earnest. Nothing like Cynthia's, hoping for an advantage. "Vicar, you are a dear man. But—"
"I didn't mean to pry. I'm just hoping you two will reconcile." He started to chuckle as he leveled his domed hat. "I do see more of Mrs. Tomàs in you some days, more than others."
She shook her head to him and tried to right the squirming Jackson within her arms. "Well, Mother has some wonderful traits. This young boy takes after you, always so lively." She half-pivoted and took a breath as the boy made a soft kick against her stomach. "I'd like to rest."
The vicar pointed to a bench in the distance. "I suppose he wants to see everything. For me, that includes happy couples."
He nodded and held out his palm. "There seems to be benches this way. Let's head to them."
After shifting Jackson to the other side, she took the vicar's arm.
He made more small talk and oohs and ahs of the juggler they passed. None of this mattered to Amora. As amiable as Samuel was, he wasn't the man whose ears she needed to bend.
Patting little Jackson's back, she took a big whiff of his lavender scented blanket. It softened the oily aroma of the roasted meats strewn about their path and gave her stomach a needed respite.
Plopping on to the bench, she settled Jackson, then cupped her stomach to smooth the deep, dark blue fabric of her carriage gown. Yes, cupping her stomach, just as Barrington did.
There was no more denying or ignoring the signs. Only two things remained unsettled. How would Barrington respond? And more importantly, would she be able to carry the child to term?
Her abdomen quivered as fear settled again like a hard lump to her middle. Well, next to the small lump of life.
Samuel sat beside her. "This will give you a great view of everything. The perfect place to rest."
"I think you are right."
The tree line framing their position in Vaux Hall made it wonderful, so much green like Tomàs land. Emerald blades of new grass, leaves of jade surrounding new buds in the trees. All so beautiful and lively, all contrasting the people wandering around in mourning grabs of gray and black.
Samuel stretched out and started to hum. His head pitched to and fro. Perhaps the sights and sounds were too much for this country vicar. "My bishop said this was a good place to venture, but to watch the meat. I wonder what that means."
Stomach roiling over the word meat, she lifted the wiggling Jackson to him. "Here, Vicar. Take your son. I think he wants his father."
Samuel hefted the boy in the air and flopped him onto his lap. The spry thing stilled and began jiggling the vicar's darkened buttons. "Spring colds are the worse. So is that your ailment or did something happen at the Hessing's party to drain your zeal? That Miller woman looked as if she could be bothersome."
Again with more questions. The man was persistent. She rotated from father and son and scanned the walking path behind the bench with her gaze. "I'm fine," she said in her most convincing voice.
When she spun back, his forehead crinkled. His walnut colored eyes clouded. "If you say so."
She should tell him that this wasn't a cold or a lingering weakness from nearly drowning. But it was Barrington's right to know this matter first. How would she tell her husband?
And what did it all mean for them?
She needed to not be under anyone's scrutiny. "Vicar, go show this wiggly worm the sights."
"You want to be alone? Are you sure?"
Cold sweat dotted her brow, but she brushed it away. "Yes, I'll be fine here in the sunshine."
Samuel shrugged, then stood. "Yes, being in the light and filled with it, is the best." He hefted his boy upon his shoulder and headed straight for the crowds. "I won't be far away."
She watched father and son head down the smallish hill.
Alone, she hugged her arms and let her mind be free to fret. Barrington was in such trouble. If Beakes could prove Barrington stole Miller, he would be jailed. Now, in the midst of this and their hunt for Sarah, Amora and Barrington had a baby to think of. So many things could go wrong. Babies were fragile, and they needed a good mother. How could that be her? Wasn't she just as fragile?
Barrington said he desired the confident woman who saved him last night. She wanted to be that woman too, always, not just in fleeting moments.
She looked down at her trembling fingers, the ones numbering potential catastrophe. How can she hold onto her strength and still fear the dark? How could she both hope and dread her returning memories? When would she no longer think like a victim and have victory over the past?
The wind shifted, prickling her skin. The sound of crunching leaves, the noise of footfalls came nearer. She turned her head to the trees.
A lone figure, large and thick moved toward her. The shadow of the branches lifted from his damaged countenance
. Lord Clanville, Mr. Charleton's brother, approached. He tugged his onyx eye patch and quickened his steps, arriving in three long strides to the rear of her bench.
He twisted to one side, obscuring the burnt part of his face. "Miss Tomàs, what are you doing in L-London?" His speech was slow with a lisp. "You l-left Clanville without a word, years ago. The l-last time I saw you."
What was best way to answer without exposing herself to rumors or pity? "Barrington Norton is my betrothed, my husband. We have a residence here."
"Norton." His jaw worked hard as if it took an effort to pronounce Barrington's surname.
Why did she need to defend her marriage to the Charleton family? They were very rich, but the Norton and Tomàs clans were not in want of means of connections. Barrington's inheritance alone made him quite well off, though he hated drawing upon it.
Was it because Barrington was a mulatto?
It didn't matter to her. It shouldn't matter to others. Lord Clanville had no right thinking of how others looked with his own deficiencies.
"Him."
She shrugged her shoulders. Men and their stupid games.
The man lumbered closer. His height towered over her as if he inspected the pleating of her carriage dress for a flaw.
Impeccable in shimmering dark blue, it was one of the ensembles her mother procured. She didn't feel miserable wearing this slight bit of color during this time of mourning.
"Norton, the barrister, took you?" His lone exposed eye, dark jade like Rebecca's, squinted at her before the earl raised his head toward the trees. "'Cept for last night, I haven't seen you out to gatherings."
He was at Hessing's ball? Maybe he'd become shy because of his injuries. She slipped her fingers into a steeple. "I didn't see you, but I suppose neither of us care much for socializing."
"One of the many things I t-treasured of our acquaintance."
She pivoted on the bench inching away from the earl. There was never partiality on her side. "I don't understand."
The blankness of this half of his uncovered face, no smile or frown, set a shiver down her spine. She swiveled to locate Samuel or Mama.
It didn't need to be dark to make her feel trapped. A hint of his salve on his face twisted her stomach. "My party will be back soon."
He turned his full face towards her and stared. "Good. No one should be alone."
Pity a reckless carriage fire stole his handsome features and most of his nose.
A sigh left him as he pivoted and lumbered down the path he'd come.
When his tailcoat could no longer be seen, she breathed out the building irritation from her lungs and sunk into the bench, setting her gaze to the revelers in Vaux Hall. From a distance, she could see a man swinging a girl high. Could it be the vicar and Rebecca? Maybe a vision of Amora with Papa.
The music faded in the gentle breeze. She closed her eyes. A wave of oaks and Pippen apple trees swayed about her.
A paintbrush had lodged between her fingers. Slapping at a canvas with anger and oils, she witnessed the colors take shape.
A hand snatched her shoulder.
Her breath got stuck in her throat. She tried to cry out but couldn't. Swinging and hitting at the arm didn't prevent her from being picked up. A blurred view of a face hovered above before cloth shrouded her eyes.
She grunted, balled her fist and punched the air. No more a victim. She struck the air again and again.
Something blunted her third blow.
"Amora! Amora."
Not again.
Large hands took her wrists, but she continued to struggle. She wouldn't be taken. Not again, not alive.
"Wake up, Amora. It's Barrington."
She batted her lids and focused on the cleft in his chin. "Barr?"
He released her, then smoothed a tendril from her cheek. With both hands cradling her jaw, he sat and edged closer. "Is this how the vicar lets you spend the afternoon? Alone and unprotected?"
Not caring about the censure in his voice, she leaned into her husband, burying herself within his embrace. Only after hearing three hundred and twelve heartbeats did she move. She sat erect. Her nose wrinkled. Chrysanthemum stench. "I see Miss Miller's been to see you."
He folded his arms as his full lips pressed into a deeper line. "So you can have male friends, and I receive condemnation for my female friends?"
"Vicar Wilson has no intentions of seducing me."
Barrington's brow rose. His dark cheeks looked strained. "I'm not giving anyone permission to tempt you." The temperature of his breath chilled against her skin. "But Miss Miller said you did. Did she lie? Did you give the woman permission to seduce me?"
She looked down at his dark button of his deep gray waistcoat and nodded. "She angered me at Hessing's party. I told her to try."
"Why? Why would you do that to me? You think nothing of my commitment? Hessing saw her at my office. He and the whole Lincoln's Inn thinks she's my mistress."
"She loves you, Barrington. And she's pretty and sane. Sometimes, I think you should've married her."
Barrington seemed on the verge of exploding. Even worse than last night, her husband's veneer of calm appeared permanently severed. "I am married in case you've forgotten. We haven't signed any separation agreement, not that a piece of paper would make any liaison with Cynthia Miller right. I think you want me to be an adulterer like my father. Will that ease your guilt for allowing another man to raise my child?"
She blinked at him. He thought her pregnant, too.
He stashed his gloves into his pocket, reached out and caressed her stomach. He drew small rings around her abdomen just as he did before, when he celebrated the life within her. "My child. That one night before everything went awry gave us another miracle."
She covered his hand, keeping it upon her abdomen. "I don't know what to say."
"You weren't going to tell me at all?" His voice grew small, slowed. "You would willingly keep this secret from me?"
The aroma of putrid flowers in his jacket made her head light. "I wouldn't hide my pregnancy. I'd tell you when I was sure, but you reek."
He pulled her closer. "Enjoy. It's the present you sent to my office. Some men only get slippers. Such a thoughtful wife."
"You were with Cynthia?"
"Isn't that what you wanted for me? To have me drown in her forwardness and then come back repentant to you. More chits to hold over my head."
Though her heart raced from his caress, the notion of him touching Cynthia, kissing Cynthia turned her stomach. She leapt from the bench and squinted at him. "You didn't bed her. You're not like that. Barrington Norton is honorable."
He folded his arms and rubbed his chin. The silence between them lasted more than a minute. Each moment squeezed her heart, more and more.
Finally, his lips parted. "I have not been unfaithful, Amora. Though the whole of Lincoln's Inn thinks otherwise." He rubbed his brow. The emotion in his voice was so thick, the sorrow-filled weight crushed her soul. "I might be a dull barrister, but even I can understand a woman who's changed her mind about loving me. I finally understand."
The collar to her coat seemed choking. "What are you saying?"
Mama and Samuel, with the vicar's children in tow, traipsed closer. Happy, noisy banter enrobed them.
Barrington lifted his head. He stared at the vicar. "You may not love me, Amora, but I'll fight for this child. I have rights."
"Mr. Norton, you've come to join us." Mama lifted a piece of roast lamb from her bun. "See how thin it's cut."
Samuel turned his head betwixt Amora and Barrington. "Is everything well?"
Her husband charged at her friend. "Why on earth would you bring my wife here?"
Samuel put his son in Mama's arms. "Mrs. Norton said you agreed that we could go on an outing."
Though Samuel might be able to handle himself, Barrington seemed out of control. For the first time ever, Amora was frightened at what he would do to the vicar.
"Mama, take the children back to
the festival."
She shook her head as she pulled Rebecca into her dark skirts. "I'm not leaving you or Vicar Wilson."
"Please, Mama. All will be well."
Wilson patted her hand as he took off his top hat and fanned. "Henutsen, it's fine. I'll catch up with you in a moment."
She shook her head, took the children and traipsed back toward the crowds.
"Now. Where were we?" Barrington said as he stormed within a foot of the vicar. "Yes, you are going to explain why you brought my wife so close to the Dark Walk?" He grabbed Samuel by the elbow and dragged him nearer the bench pointing to the distant grove. "The Dark Walk is through those trees. That's where all those women were stolen. That's where you stole those women."
Barrington raised his arm as if to strike Samuel.
Amora ran and took hold of her husband's arm. "Don't. It's not him. He'd never hurt me."
Her friend broke free. His face paled. "I didn't know, Norton. I just heard it was a green park with music. I'd never put your wife in harm."
Barrington charged again at Samuel, but Amora hung onto his arm. He stopped and released a long, ragged breath. He sounded like a dragon wheezing. "Why are you in our lives, Wilson? There's more to this than being a Good Samaritan. If you are not the fiend, then you must be in league with him."
Samuel stepped back, flipped off his top hat and fanned his face again. "It was happenstance that I was playing cards with the doctor the night of Mrs. Norton's miscarriage. But when I heard her fevered ramblings..." His fingers tightened along the brim of his dome. His voice lowered and then dropped in speed. "I'd heard them...before. I had to help."
Amora latched onto Barrington's elbow. "He's a good man. You know that."
Barrington's jaw twitched. He tugged at his waistcoat causing his buttons to jingle and clap. "I don't know anything anymore. To take you here, of all places, is beyond the pale."
Samuel squared his shoulders and moved very close to him. "I am not he, the man who has taken so much from so many. I came to help. I will stay unless you tell me the work is finished."
He sucked in a deep breath, easing his grimace. He seemed more in control. "Then come with me, Vicar, to meet with Miss Sarah Growlins. We can all take the next boat, then send the ladies to Mayfair in your carriage."
Unveiling Love: A Regency Romance (A London Regency Romantic Suspense Tale Book 3) Page 5