by Diane Gaston
Sally slipped off the bed and moved slowly to the wardrobe. ‘What do you wish to wear today?’
‘A morning dress, I think. I doubt I shall venture outside in weather like this!’
She must find something to do, though, or her thoughts and regrets would plague her all day.
* * *
It was afternoon before Edmund saw Amelie. He’d set up a space in the library to look over the ledgers, pushing a long table nearer to the window to take advantage of the light, even though not much light shone through the grey sheen of the rain.
Amelie came in the room carrying a tea tray with sandwiches and biscuits. She looked hesitant. ‘I brought you some tea.’
‘Amelie!’ He stood and took the tray from her hands. ‘You should not be serving tea. What happened to Lloyd? Or Jobson?’
She blinked as if she’d been reproached. ‘Jobson is helping Mrs Stagg in the kitchen. Mrs Wood and Lloyd are busy with other tasks.’
He had not meant it as criticism.
‘I—I thank you.’ He placed the tray on the table. ‘Now I see the food I am famished.’
‘I thought you might be hungry,’ she said in a quiet voice.
He hated this reserve between them, but he did not know how to break it. ‘Please sit with me and tell me how you are faring today?’
Her eyes flickered with sadness. ‘I am well enough,’ she said.
He gazed at her, wishing he knew how to speak of the night before, deciding it was best to wait for her to speak of it.
She gestured to the table strewn with ledger books. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Looking through the farm’s records for the last six years.’ He closed the open book he’d been examining and stacked the others.
She poured his tea and handed him the plate of food. ‘What are you finding?’
He sipped his tea. ‘Everything seems in order. The farm is doing well under Reid’s care.’
‘I am glad to hear it,’ she said.
They fell silent again.
Edmund put down his teacup and offered her some of the repast. ‘How have you occupied yourself this day?’
She shook her head to the food. ‘I spoke with Mrs Wood about hiring more help. She knows of relatives and villagers who could use the work. I’ll interview them as soon as the rain stops.’
‘Good.’ He ate one of the sandwiches. ‘And what of this afternoon? Do you have plans?’ He’d love to take a walk with her away from the house to one of the beautiful spots on the property, but the rain prevented that.
She fiddled with the cloth of an apron she wore over her dress. ‘I am going to look through the attic.’
‘The attic?’
She glanced at him but glanced away again. ‘The house needs decoration, and Mrs Wood says many of the items that once adorned the rooms were brought up to the attic. I thought I might see if we want to use any of it.’ Her voice shook a little.
‘Sounds like a big task,’ he said.
‘I must do something,’ she whispered.
He stared at her. Why must they always need to get used to each other all over again? ‘Shall I help you?’
Her eyes widened. ‘In the attic?’
‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘We can explore it together.’
She looked wary again, but she nodded. ‘I will be glad for the assistance.’
He finished his tea and picked up two of the library’s lamps to take with them, handing one to her. They left for the attic, up a steep flight of stairs above the second floor.
He opened the door and entered first before turning and offering her his hand to assist her into the space, which smelled of dust and old wood. They stood and surveyed the vast expanse, their lamps revealing a jumble of wooden boxes, chests and furniture, some shrouded in dust covers.
She placed her lamp on a box and wrapped a scarf around her hair. ‘I do not know where to begin.’
This was more than a day’s work. ‘Shall we walk through and see what we can see?’
She picked up her lamp again. ‘I’ll go this way.’
She turned to the right, and the implication was that he should turn left. Not the togetherness for which he’d yearned, but at least they were in the same space.
He threaded his way through some boxes and trunks, obviously put wherever there was space, with no effort at organisation. It was impossible to tell if a box was placed there yesterday or a century ago. He ran his finger across one of the trunks. Except perhaps by the thickness of the dust. He squeezed around a tall chest of drawers, behind which was a dust cover thrown over several small pieces of furniture. He placed the lamp on the chest of drawers and pulled off the dust cover.
‘My God,’ he exclaimed.
Before him was a baby’s cradle, a rocking chair and a hobbyhorse, all arranged as if they were in a nursery instead of a dusty attic.
He felt as if he’d been punched in the chest.
He could see it! Could see the nursery. The baby lying in the cradle on soft white linens. He could see Amelie bending over the cradle. And himself, beaming with pride.
Just as quickly that vision disappeared and was replaced by another—his mother being covered by a white sheet. The baby wrapped in white, being carried away, the way their baby had been carried away. An empty cradle. An empty rocking chair.
‘My God,’ he cried again. His throat constricted, and he fell to his knees, the unreleased sobs painfully constricting his chest.
Amelie was at his side. ‘What is it, Edmund?’
He pointed to the nursery scene and shook his head.
‘Oh!’ she cried.
She knelt beside him and put her arms around him.
‘The baby.’ His voice came out in a rasp.
‘I am so sorry, Edmund.’ She clung to him. ‘I am so sorry. It is my fault, all my fault.’
He pulled away. ‘No, the fault is mine. I planned that wedding night. I wanted it. I was not gentle with you.’
She hugged him again. ‘No, I told you it would be safe to make love, but I did not know.’
They held on to each other, while he battled to rein in his emotions. To no avail. They seemed to be spilling out all over the room.
‘Edmund.’ She drew away and stared at him. ‘Did you want the baby?’
He nodded. ‘A family. I wanted a family. The baby made it so.’
‘I never knew.’ She rose and pulled over two wooden chairs stored nearby. ‘Come sit.’
They sat next to each other, the cradle, rocking chair and hobbyhorse a tableau in front of them. Edmund took a deep breath. How could three pieces of furniture spark such a flood of emotion?
‘I thought you merely wanted to do the right thing,’ she said. ‘I thought you, like everyone else, wished I’d had the miscarriage a day before the wedding so we wouldn’t have had to marry.’ She wiped her eyes with her apron.
‘I should not have made love to you in Brussels.’ The release of his pent-up feelings untangled a truth for him. ‘But I never regretted it. My only regret is that our baby did not live. And it tortures me to think the baby might have lived if I had not—’
‘No. No. No. Not you. If I had not!’ she broke in. ‘If I had not wanted the lovemaking.’ She turned her face away. ‘How you can bear to be kind to me? I have ruined your life in every way possible. You have every right to wish me dead.’
He turned his chair to hers and took her hands in his. ‘Never say that, Amelie! When you were in such pain, I feared I would watch you die.’ He closed his eyes and saw it all again. ‘I watched my mother die. They carried away her baby, too. My brother who never lived. Seeing this—’ he gestured to the nursery furniture ‘—it brought it back.’
‘You saw your mother die?’ Her eyes grew wide. ‘In childbirth?’
/> He nodded.
She left her chair and held him again. He pulled her into his lap as his grief washed through him and they trembled together.
‘Mr Summerfield!’ a faint voice called. ‘Mr Summerfield! Where are you? Come quickly!’
He groaned. ‘It sounds like Lloyd.’
Amelie moved off his lap. ‘Let us forget the attic today.’ She picked up his lamp. ‘Go on. I’ll get the lamps and close the door.’
He hurried and found Lloyd on the first floor, still calling his name.
‘What is it, Lloyd?’ Edmund felt raw inside, but he was back in control of himself.
He hoped.
‘A leak in the pantry,’ the old man told him. ‘I need help moving the stores to a dry place.’
‘Yes. Let us go quickly.’
* * *
Amelie extinguished one of the lamps and carried them both out of the attic, returning them to the library. She went back to her bedchamber to wash her hands of the attic’s dust. It all repeated in her mind. Edmund wanted the baby. He’d wanted a family. He thought the miscarriage was his fault, but it was hers.
He did not deserve to suffer guilt when she was the one at fault. If she could only convince him.
As she washed the dust from her hands, her arms, her face, Sally entered the room.
‘Oh, beg pardon, ma’am,’ Sally said. ‘I did not think you were in here.’
‘No reason to apologise,’ Amelie said.
Sally carried freshly laundered clothing, which she started putting away.
Amelie curled up on a chair by the window.
‘Did Mr Lloyd find Mr Summerfield?’ Sally asked. ‘He needed his help.’
‘Yes. He is with Mr Lloyd now. We were in the attic.’ She lay her head on her knees.
‘The attic?’
‘To see what was up there.’ Her voice cracked.
Sally closed the wardrobe. ‘Beg pardon, ma’am. Is something wrong? You look so sad.’
She could not help herself. ‘Oh, Sally! We—we talked about losing the baby. About how guilty we feel about it!’
‘Guilty?’ Sally sounded surprised. ‘Why would you feel guilty?’
‘If—if I had been more careful—’ She would not say more. ‘That is why I insist you be careful.’
Sally looked puzzled. ‘I do not understand. Mrs Bayliss told me the baby was not growing right. She said the baby had no chance of being born.’
Amelie straightened in the chair. ‘What?’
‘Mrs Bayliss said it happens sometimes. I asked her, because I was afraid it would happen to my baby. She said sometimes the baby does not grow right from the start and the mother’s body lets it go, but if I passed three months, I could be pretty sure my baby was growing right.’
Amelie rose from the chair and faced Sally. ‘My baby did not grow right?’
Sally nodded. ‘Mrs Bailey said it could never have lived.’
Amelie released a pent-up breath. ‘It was not our fault?’
‘She said there was nothing anyone could do about it. It just happens sometimes. No one knows why.’
Amelie rushed to the door. ‘I have to find Edmund!’
She hurried out of the room and down the stairs to the kitchen, where Mrs Stagg was stirring something in a large bowl.
‘Mrs Summerfield!’ the cook said in surprise.
Amelie needed to speak to Edmund right away. ‘Where is my husband?’
Mrs Stagg pointed to a hallway and Amelie entered it. She heard voices and followed the sound. Mrs Wood emerged from the doorway of one room and soon Edmund and Lloyd appeared.
‘Edmund!’ Amelie cried.
All three looked at her.
‘I must talk with you.’ Amelie tried to temper her emotions. ‘Come talk with me now.’
Edmund blanched. ‘What has happened?’
‘Nothing has happened,’ she assured him. ‘I need to speak with you, that is all.’
‘Beg pardon, Mr Summerfield,’ Mrs Wood broke in. ‘We need to move quickly. The damp.’
Amelie took a step back. ‘I can wait.’
Mrs Wood rubbed her hands. ‘If you’ve a mind to help us, it will go faster.’
‘Oh!’ She moved towards them. ‘Of course.’
She and Mrs Wood carried the small items while Edmund and Lloyd tackled large barrels or canvas bags. Amelie’s heart pounded.
When all the foodstuffs were secure in a dry room, Amelie seized Edmund’s arm and hurried him away.
As soon as they were out of earshot of the servants, he stopped her. ‘What is it, Amelie? What has happened?’
Those were almost the exact words he’d spoken after she’d panicked during their lovemaking. ‘Let us go to your room.’
No one would interrupt them there. She took his hand and quickly climbed the stairs.
Once inside his room, she turned to him.
His face was grim. ‘We are here. Tell me now.’
Her words came out in a rush. ‘It was not our fault. Not yours and not mine. Sally told me. Mrs Bayliss said our baby was not growing right and could not have lived no matter what.’
He stared at her.
She took his hand. ‘There was nothing we could have done. Don’t you see? Nothing we did caused it.’
His voice turned low. ‘Say it again. More slowly.’
She took a breath. ‘Mrs Bayliss told Sally that the miscarriage happened because our baby was not growing right and could not have lived, no matter what. She said it happens sometimes and no one knows why.’
‘We did not cause it?’ he asked cautiously.
She shook her head.
He put his arms around her and held her tight.
‘It was not your fault,’ she murmured. ‘It was not my fault.’ She rested her head against his chest and felt his heart beat fast.
He held her shoulders and gently moved her away from him. He gazed down at her, his grey eyes filled with relief. ‘I feel scraped raw. But this is good news. You must never reproach yourself again, Amelie.’
She touched his cheek. ‘You must not either. You have done everything right.’
He glanced away, but she turned his head back to look at her. He was close, so very close. She rose on her tiptoes and reached for his lips. He dipped his head down and closed the distance.
His lips ignited the passion that had panicked her the night before. It would not do so again, she had no fear. Her carnal desire had not destroyed her baby. She was a married woman and free to couple with her husband.
He murmured against her lips, ‘We have made love in the afternoon before, Amelie. Shall we do so again?’
A mere hour ago she would have berated herself for wanting the pleasures of the flesh so much she could not wait for night, but that had been when she thought she’d hurt her baby. Now what harm could it do?
She nodded.
This time the ritual of undressing seemed a veneration. She gloried in seeing him naked and felt humbled by the look on his face when he gazed at her. He lifted her onto the bed as if she were some precious idol. When he lay next to her, she ran her fingers over his finely sculptured muscles, reverently fingering his scars and wanting to weep for all he’d endured in battle. She touched the male part of him, now as hard as his muscles.
He groaned and laid her on her back while he rose above her. ‘I cannot wait.’
She nodded. ‘I cannot wait either.’
Still, he entered her slowly and gently, and the sensation intensified the acute passion already wafting through her. They were joined to each other, made one flesh. She understood those words now, understood that this was the marriage. They’d been one flesh since Brussels. He said he never regretted it. She didn’t either, and she d
id not regret now that they were together in this rustic place and had worked in the fields like ordinary people.
As he moved inside her, her thoughts blew away like leaves in the wind. But he remained. Nothing existed but Edmund, moving inside her, intensifying her need. Promising pleasure.
She clung to him, digging her fingers into his buttocks, pressing him against her, as he moved faster and faster, rushing her towards what she now needed more than air to breathe.
He burst inside her, and she felt his seed spilling into her. A hairsbreadth of a moment later her own climax came, a glorious paroxysm of joy pulsating within her and wafting through her entire body.
His muscles relaxed first, then hers became like jelly. He slid onto the bed beside her, holding her close. ‘I feared we would never have this again.’
It had been her fear, too. ‘I thought what—what happened was a punishment for my wanting this so much.’
A part of her wondered again if that made her different from other women in her circles. Perhaps it made her different from even the women she’d worked beside these last few days.
‘I like it very much, too,’ he said, his voice rough and arousing.
What did it matter? If Edmund liked it and she liked it, what did it matter?
‘We have the whole afternoon, do we not?’ She ran her fingers through his lovely dark brown hair. ‘We must occupy ourselves in some way.’
He rose over her again. ‘That we must.’
Chapter Nineteen
Edmund did not mind the two more rainy days that kept them inside and free to enjoy the togetherness of their days and nights. They returned to the attic and found several items to bring down to the rooms below. They discovered paintings for the walls, portraits of unknown men and women, presumably one-time tenants of the house, landscapes, mostly scenes from the Lake District, and still-life paintings with grapes and cheeses and dead fowl.
The days were an idyll, each moment together helping them become used to each other and comfortable in each other’s presence.
Their nights were a delight.
When the rains were done, though, Edmund worked with Reid on the farm. One day when they were off to the sheep market in Keswick, Edmund suggested Amelie and Sally come along to shop and to see the town that Thomas Gray had described as ‘the Vale of Elysium in all its verdure’, where famous poets such as Coleridge and Wordsworth had lived.