A Lady Most Lovely

by Jennifer Delamere

  “And you would tell me if he had, wouldn’t you?” Margaret watched him carefully as she asked, searching for even the slightest indication that her solicitor was lying to her.

  He only looked saddened by her question. “How can you even suggest I would do otherwise?”

  “Because the laws of our nation have never been in favor of women,” Margaret pointed out. “As my husband, Tom might be able to find some way to circumvent my wishes. He might find a way to break the stipulations of the trust.”

  “I assure you that would be difficult, even with the bias of the law. Also, I would certainly alert you immediately if your land was in any danger.”

  His demeanor and deference toward Margaret were exactly as they had always been, leading Margaret to believe his assurances. But there were still too many unanswered questions. “What do you suppose that conversation meant?” she asked.

  He sat back in his chair, contemplating the question. “At this point, it’s difficult to say. But I shall look into the matter. Ask a few judiciously worded questions among my colleagues. There is not much I can do for the next several days, however. All work is at a standstill until the duke’s funeral is over.”

  Margaret could believe this. The Duke of Wellington’s funeral was to take place in two days, and the entire city was in upheaval from all the people who had come to town in order to pay their last respects. Even Hawthorne’s chambers had been difficult for Margaret to reach, as there were teams of workmen everywhere, erecting viewing stands and barricades along the five-mile route laid out for the duke’s elaborate funeral procession. She sighed. “I suppose you will also be attending the funeral?”

  “Indeed I shall.” Hawthorne gave a tiny, sad smile and his eyes grew misty. “There has never been a man in England as great as the old duke. We will never see his kind again.”

  “You served him well,” Margaret said. She did not know all the details, but she was aware that Hawthorne’s espionage activities had been instrumental in the effort to defeat Napoleon.

  He acknowledged her compliment with a respectful nod. “That is another reason why you can have complete confidence that I will do all I can to prevent your lands from falling into the hands of anyone who did not serve our country well.”

  He did not elaborate. He did not have to. Margaret was perfectly aware that he hated Spencer’s family for the very same reasons she did. “Mr. Hawthorne,” Margaret begged, “you must find out why my husband is in league with a traitor.”

  “Is that what troubles you?” Hawthorne responded with an enigmatic smile. “Madam, one thing I have learned over the years is that one must never rush to judgment before gleaning all the facts. That something untoward is happening seems to be undeniable. But consider this: it’s possible that Mr. Poole has not entered into these negotiations willingly. I believe you said his words were ‘I’ve told him that drawing up the proper documents will take some time…’ This could be true… or perhaps he is stalling.”

  Margaret blinked. “Stalling?”

  “Looking for a way out of Spencer’s grasp.”

  “Tom… in Richard’s grasp? But why? That would be disastrous!”

  Hawthorne held up his hands in a calming gesture. “I can only counsel you to be patient and to remember that in life there is always more than meets the eye.”

  *

  Margaret was still mulling over Hawthorne’s words the next day when Geoffrey said, “I’m afraid I shall be required to attend the duke’s funeral at Saint Paul’s.”

  Margaret, Tom, and Geoffrey were seated together in Lizzie’s room, keeping her company for the afternoon. Geoffrey had made his announcement with an air of chagrin, prompting Lizzie to respond, “Why do you look so glum? It’s an honor to go, surely?”

  “Yes, but I must leave very early in the morning and be gone for most of the day. I hate to be gone from you for so long.”

  Lizzie gazed at him tenderly. “You needn’t be concerned on my account. I shall be fine.”

  He did not look convinced. “I must also tell you that James will be escorting Lady Thornborough to the Beauchamps’ home to watch the procession from their parlor windows. That will leave you with no one for company, I’m afraid.”

  “I’ll be here,” Tom put in. “And so will Margaret.”

  Lizzie looked at him in surprise. “Don’t you two wish to see the procession? I have heard it’s going to be very grand. There will be ten thousand people in the procession alone, and a million people coming out to watch it. The Times says there has never been anything like it.”

  “I have great respect for the old gentleman, to be sure. But he will have plenty of people watching out for him today.” Tom reached out and took hold of his sister’s hand. “You, dear Lizzie, are far more important to us.” With his free arm he grasped Margaret around the waist. “Isn’t that right, Margaret?”

  On the surface, this display signaled that they were all one happy family. It was true that Margaret was growing fond of her sister-in-law. But at the moment, Margaret could only see hypocrisy in Tom’s actions. How was Margaret truly a part of this family if they were keeping secrets from her?

  Chapter 29

  It rained steadily through the night, and an icy wind howled around the chimneys and found its way through tiny cracks edging the windows. Tom lay awake, staring at the ceiling, as he had done night after night for weeks. His worries for his sister’s health were mounting, and so was the ache in his heart over all that was dividing him from the woman lying next to him.

  Margaret had been acting cold and distant ever since she had walked in on his conversation with Geoffrey and Lady Thornborough. How much, if anything, had she overheard? Tom tried to tell himself that Margaret would surely have confronted him directly if she’d heard them talking about Spencer. He might even have preferred her to do so; at least that way he would know what she was thinking. But her reticence was harder to decipher. It placed Tom in a difficult position. He could not bring up the subject himself without the risk of admitting that he was keeping things from her.

  Margaret lay unmoving, her eyes closed, and yet Tom sensed she was awake. She did not have the deep, regular breathing of one who is sleeping. She turned her back toward him, indicating she had no desire to talk. Perhaps that was just as well. Tom wanted desperately to bare his soul to her, but he could not do it yet. He must have patience. Once Lizzie had gotten through childbirth and was fully recovered, Tom would be free to explain everything and somehow find a way to break through Margaret’s wall of doubt and suspicion.

  So much hinged also on finding a way to end these dealings with Spencer. His demands had mounted, as Tom had suspected they would. Now he was making it clear that he was after Moreton Hall itself. Tom had been able to do little besides make up excuses and drag his feet while Inspector Field tried to find a way to give them the upper hand. So far, all had been unsuccessful. There seemed no way to prevent the day coming when Tom must either allow his sister’s reputation to be ruined or gain the undying hatred of his wife. Perhaps he already had the latter.

  It broke his heart, day after day, to keep these secrets. He was paying dearly for it, having a wife who was so tantalizingly near and yet entirely inaccessible. He stifled a groan, feeling the surge of unrequited longing. No wonder he was unable to sleep.

  He lay pondering these things until daybreak. Then he slipped quietly out of the bed, dressed quickly, and left the room. As he came down the stairs, he was surprised to see Geoffrey already in the front hall putting on his coat.

  “I’m glad you’re up,” Geoffrey said. “I was hoping to see you before I left.”

  “Are you really leaving so early? I thought the service didn’t begin until eleven.”

  Geoffrey nodded as he finished buttoning his coat. “With these crowds, getting to Saint Paul’s may take hours. The muddy streets will not help matters.” He paused before reaching for his hat and gloves. “Take good care of Lizzie today, Tom.”

  “I should
think that would go without saying.”

  “Of course. But I’m concerned about her. She keeps insisting that she is comfortable, but I am not so sure. The look on Martha’s face this morning told me otherwise. She didn’t even want me to enter Lizzie’s room. She claimed Lizzie was getting some much-needed rest and that I mustn’t disturb her. But I hate to leave without saying good-bye.”

  “What a man in love you are,” Tom chided. “She’ll be fine. Maggie and I will see to that.”

  His gentle ribbing gleaned a small smile from Geoffrey. He shook Tom’s hand vigorously. “Well, then, I leave it in the Lord’s hands. And yours,” he added, seeing that Tom was about to lodge another protest.

  Tom watched as Geoffrey dashed through the rain and into the waiting carriage. He wondered how far they would get before Geoffrey would be forced to complete the trip on foot. It was a miserable day, and Tom was not sorry that he had promised to remain here.

  He went to the breakfast room, but found the servants were still laying out the dishes and were not yet ready to receive him. He was considering waiting in the library, where a book might distract him from his growling stomach, when he saw Martha hurrying by. A maid followed her with a tea tray. “Martha, what news? Is Lizzie awake? Is anything wrong?”

  Martha paused only briefly. “She’s a bit uncomfortable, but it’s just gas pains, I expect. I’ve made this special herb tea for her, and soon she’ll be right as rain. If you’ll excuse me, sir.” She went up the stairs, with the maid close behind her, before Tom could ask any more questions.

  Tom followed them upstairs and watched as they disappeared into Lizzie’s room. It was all he could do to keep from busting the door down and demanding entrance. These women had continually been frustrating his efforts to see his sister. He’d seen so little of her in the past few days that he might just as well have been in Australia.

  It occurred to him that even if he could not enter her room, they might allow Margaret to do so. He went swiftly to the bedchamber, where he found Margaret seated at the vanity table and brushing her hair. She looked pale, and dark circles under her eyes showed she had been missing sleep, even as he had. He closed the door gently behind him. “Margaret, how quickly can you get dressed? I need to know what is happening with Lizzie, and the nurse refuses to let me in.”

  Margaret set down her brush and stood up. “Is something wrong?”

  “I don’t know. That’s what I need you to find out.”

  *

  Martha started up out of her chair as Margaret opened the door, and then relaxed when she saw who it was.

  Lizzie was sitting up, sipping tea. Her hands were shaking as she brought the cup to her lips. She gave Margaret a wan smile. “Good morning.”

  Margaret took the chair next to the bed. “How are you?” she asked, concerned by Lizzie’s pallor and the thin film of sweat on her forehead.

  “I have had a bit of cramping, but Martha says these herbs will help.” She took another sip of tea, but a grimace shot across her face. She set down the cup with a clatter.

  “Are you all right?” Margaret asked, now genuinely alarmed. Surely cramping could not be a good thing.

  “It’s nothing,” Lizzie insisted. “I’m afraid these herbs are somewhat bitter.” She turned to Martha. “Would you be so good as to have some toast brought up for me? That will help me get the rest of this tea down, I think.”

  Seeing Martha’s hesitant expression, Margaret said, “I’ll stay here with Lizzie.”

  “Very well,” Martha said reluctantly. “I shan’t be gone long.”

  When she was gone, Lizzie sighed deeply and said, “To tell you the truth, Margaret, I am afraid.”

  She said this so quietly that Margaret did not think she had heard correctly. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Geoffrey and Tom refuse to acknowledge that anything could go wrong. They won’t even allow me to speak of such a possibility. But you see, I’ve only ever attended one birth—that of my poor half sister, Ria. Her child was stillborn, and—” Her voice cracked. “Ria died a few months later.”

  “Surely you don’t believe the same thing will happen to you?” Margaret asked.

  Lizzie looked down at the blanket covering her large belly. “All I know,” she said, her voice trembling, “is that I have been experiencing the very same troubles Ria had. Those final days with her… they are burned into my memory forever. It’s so hard not to imagine what might happen when my time comes.” She raised large, troubled eyes to Margaret, fear plainly written across her face.

  “I have heard that all women go through trials at this time,” Margaret stammered. In truth, she had absolutely no experience with childbirth at all, but she was searching for a comforting answer. “Not all births end in… that is, most end well. Besides, you are getting the best possible medical care.”

  This last remark had the opposite effect from what Margaret intended. Lizzie’s expression grew even more distressed. “Dr. Layton is giving me the very same instructions that the physician in Bathurst gave to Ria—but she died! Don’t you see? Either they are wrong, or else there is nothing they can do!” She began to sob, clutching the blanket as though for dear life. She must have been holding these fears for quite a long time, desperate to unburden herself. “It’s not only fears for myself,” she choked out. “It’s Geoffrey. And our child—”

  Margaret perched on the edge of the bed and placed an arm around Lizzie’s shoulders. “Everything will be fine,” she soothed. “You’ll see.” She continued offering such words until finally, after several long minutes, Lizzie’s cries subsided, and her shoulders no longer shook.

  Lizzie wiped her eyes and gave another rattling sort of sigh. “I’m glad that Tom is settled, at any rate. That way, I know that he has someone, just in case something should happen to me.”

  “Nonsense,” Margaret said, with more conviction than she felt. Lizzie’s fears were beginning to settle onto her as well. “Nothing will happen to you. For one thing, you know that Geoffrey would never allow it.”

  Lizzie sniffled and tried to smile. “Geoffrey has been petitioning the Lord quite vigorously on my behalf. He says the Bible instructs us to pray without ceasing. Do you pray, Margaret?”

  Prayer might not have been Margaret’s solution, but she was not surprised to hear that Geoffrey would take this approach. “Tom quotes that verse, too, and I think he does quite enough praying for us both.”

  “He didn’t used to be that way, you know,” Lizzie said. “He never was religious. He used to positively rail at God. Especially after—” She broke off as the door opened and Martha entered with the toast. “Well, I’m sure he’s told you all about it,” she finished quietly.

  In fact, Margaret did not know. Tom had never completely shared his past with her, and Margaret had many questions. However, with Lizzie in such a fragile state, now was not the time to ask.

  Lizzie took a few bites of toast, then drank some more tea. She seemed calmer now. Margaret was beginning to breathe easier herself, when suddenly Lizzie cried out, spilling the tea as she dropped the cup and clutched at her stomach. This time she fairly screamed in agony.

  “What’s happening?” Margaret shrieked as Martha raced over to the bed and began to pull back the blankets.

  “Merciful heavens,” Martha said. “She’s going into labor.”

  “No,” Lizzie protested. “I can’t be. The baby’s not due—aah!” She screamed again, and this time the bedroom door opened and Tom said, “What’s going on?”

  “Mr. Poole, don’t come in, I beg you,” Martha said. “It wouldn’t be proper.”

  “Proper be damned,” Tom said, rushing to his sister’s side as Martha hastily replaced the blankets. Lizzie moaned again, grabbing his arm and looking at him with terrified eyes.

  “Martha says I am going into labor,” she gasped. “But that can’t be. It’s not due for weeks yet.”

  “A baby comes when it decides it’s ready,” Martha said, “not when we thin
k it will. Mr. Poole, will you go and fetch the doctor?”

  Tom didn’t answer, and Margaret could see his desire to stay with Lizzie was warring with the need to get help. “We could send a servant,” Margaret offered. She was as eager as Lizzie was for Tom’s presence. She did not want to be left to care for Lizzie without his support.

  But Tom shook his head. “Getting the doctor will be difficult. The roads are nearly impassable due to the crowds. I can’t trust anyone else to go.” He took both of Lizzie’s hands and looked at her earnestly. “Lizzie, I’m going for Dr. Layton. You must be brave. Margaret and Martha will be here to look after you.”

  Lizzie nodded, trying to stifle another cry as a spasm of pain hit her again.

  “Don’t you worry, sir,” Martha said. “We’ll keep her comfortable until the doctor comes.”

  “Thank you,” Tom said. “I know I can count on you both.”

  Margaret knew this was her cue to nod and give a reassuring smile. In the end, it didn’t matter that she could not, for without even glancing in her direction, Tom turned and hurried from the room.

  Chapter 30

  The rain was tapering off, but the streets were thick with icy mud. It was slow going. The Somerville house was located north of the route planned for the funeral procession, and the doctor’s house was even farther north. This meant that Tom was traveling against the crowd of people who were walking south to find a view along the route.

  The procession had already begun its long crawl from Buckingham Palace to Saint Paul’s Cathedral. The beating of drums and the music of the death march was carried along on the biting wind, drawing late-arriving spectators to the sound. Tom’s cab kept pressing north. It was only as they drew near the doctor’s home that Tom allowed himself to even consider the possibility that Dr. Layton might not be there. He might be watching the procession or on his way to attend the service at Saint Paul’s.