by Susana Ellis
“Thank you. Could I trouble you for another blanket to preserve Miss Smith’s modesty… and perhaps some tea? Those gingerbread cakes served at the last benefit tea would be perfect, if there happen to be any on hand.”
Mrs. Heath shrugged. “Yes, madam, if that is your wish. I am sure Cook will have something to offer, even if it is only bread and butter.”
“Bread and butter will be quite acceptable. Norton will assist you, since I am aware that the institution does not have servants to spare for such occasions.”
The housekeeper nodded curtly and strode from the room, followed by Norton. Cornelia turned to the nursing mother and shook her head. “You could use a good meal, by the look of it. More than bread and butter. And a good cup of tea won’t go amiss.”
“Yer very kind, ma’am. I truly never expected such when I came ta leave my babe.” She swallowed and unconsciously hugged the tiny bundle closer.
Cornelia sat down on the settee beside her and squeezed her shoulder. She knew that mothers who were unable to care for their children brought them to the Foundling Hospital—which was in most respects an orphanage, despite the name—in hopes their children would be given a better life. But she’d never before witnessed such an event, and now that she had, she found her heart bleeding for the poor woman’s predicament.
“I am sorry.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Miss Smith’s chin trembled. “She deserves better ‘n I kin give ‘er.”
Norton returned with another blanket and Cornelia arranged it discreetly over the young woman’s torso. “She will be well cared for here, if that is any comfort to you.”
But she won’t have the mother who loved her enough to seek a better life for her, despite the pain it cost to give her up
her eyes and swallowed hard. When the babe began to fuss, she was all mother again, removing the blanket so that she could transfer the babe to the other breast. Cornelia’s heart ached at the sight of the tiny little mouth rooting around for nourishment. Replacing the blanket, she sighed. If this were her daughter—hers and Preston’s—she’d fight to the death to keep her.
For the first time, Cornelia believed she could understand her mother’s motivations in deciding to keep a child conceived in rape. Because she could have given up the child had she found herself unable to love a child whose very presence was a reminder of that horrible day. Her father—the admiral—could have dispatched the babe here, along with a sizable donation, or more likely, paid to send her to be raised in the country. She found it difficult to imagine what her life would have been like.
At fourteen, the Foundling Hospital sent girls out to be servants or apprentices. She might have been a baker’s assistant or a seamstress, more likely a parlor maid. If she were very fortunate, she might become an abigail, like Norton. Most likely, she would never have learned to read—the Foundling Hospital had only recently begun offering a basic education to the children beyond religious instruction and practical skills—and she would have had few marriage choices. Choices, in fact, would be almost non-existent.
But her mother and father had chosen to keep her and love her and, as a result, she’d enjoyed a privileged upbringing.
When Norton returned with the tea tray, Cornelia studied her in a new light. She knew little about the woman who had been her personal maid since the age of fifteen, when her mother decided it was time for her to learn to be a lady instead of a young hoyden. Amelia Norton’s father was a blacksmith in the village near the Hardcastle’s Sussex estate. She’d worked her way up through the household ranks until Léonie had deemed her worthy of training to become an abigail. Middle-aged, with graying hair, she was good-natured, obedient, and hard-working. She seemed content enough. Would Cornelia have been as content in her circumstances?
Having finished feeding the babe, Miss Smith reluctantly handed her over to Norton while Cornelia helped her rearrange her clothing. Aside from baby noises and an occasional belch, silence reigned for a few minutes. Miss Smith quickly devoured two slices of bread and butter with her tea. Cornelia thought she must be half-starved. If this were her house, she’d order a great deal more food, but she’d probably imposed on the institution as much as she dared.
“Where will you go?” Cornelia asked.
Miss Smith choked on her tea.
“Do you have a home?”
Miss Smith sagged back into her chair. “Please, ma’am.”
Cornelia took her hand and squeezed it. “I’d like to help you, if I can.”
The young woman grabbed her arm with both hands. “All I ask is that ye see that the babe is raised good, respectable-like. Not like me. I will rest easy iffen I know she’s well.”
“Of course. I shall take a personal interest in her. But Miss Smith—”
Miss Smith shook her head. “No. It’s too late fer me. I know ye mean well, but it won’t work. The babe. She’s the reason I am still livin’.” She pulled away and stood. “I’ll be leavin’ now, if you’ll help me dress.”
“Of course.” The young woman’s clothing was still damp, but at least the rain had stopped.
Once dressed, Miss Smith pulled out a small silver cross. “This is for Eliza, to remember me by. Will ye see that it gets put away for ‘er?”
Cornelia closed her hands over the small token, hoping against hope that Miss Smith would someday be able to reclaim her child by describing the small object that had been left with her.
Miss Smith approached the babe in Norton’s arms and kissed her on the forehead, tears streaming down her face. When she started toward the door, Cornelia stopped her.
“Miss Smith, please know that if you ever need anything…I beg you, come to me.” She pressed a card into the young woman’s hand. “If I can do anything to help you reclaim your child…I would be pleased to do so.”
Miss Smith swallowed. “I thank ye, ma’am. Truly. But she’s…better off without me.” She turned away. “Take care of ‘er.”
And then she left.
Cornelia and Norton exchanged looks. Both had tears in their eyes.
Chapter Twelve
Leicester Square
That evening
Cornelia was not herself at dinner. Preston hoped she had not taken ill. She toyed with the food on her plate, declined dessert, and responded with few words when questioned. He had news he was anxious to share, but sensed that this wasn’t the right moment. Not in the dining room with servants about. What if she did not share his enthusiasm?
As they left the dining room, she reached for his shoulder and requested to speak with him. Hope surged through him. Did she want to talk to him about whatever was bothering her? Even though he might not like what she said.
Now that he understood Cornelia’s reasons for not wishing to marry and produce children, he intended to give her as much time as she needed to reach a decision about their marriage. Meanwhile, he was determined to offer her husbandly attentions—small touches, kisses on the cheek or hand, and light touches to her waist when ushering her into the dining room or, as now, when they ascended the stairs to their private rooms.
They reached the sitting room and he opened the door for her. “I have news,” he said as she brushed past him.
She whirled, eyes wide. “Oh yes, you were to call at Whitehall today. I’m sorry—I had forgotten. Did the Home Office offer you a position?”
He opened the door to their sitting room, which separated their individual bedchambers, and waited for her to proceed.
“They did, indeed. And I was most fortunate to encounter Admiral Heaton, your father’s protégé. He gave me a list of several men he believes capable of replacing me on the sea voyage to India. I shall remain a partner in the venture, but without the obligation of traveling there myself.”
She faced him. “But Preston—are you certain you will not regret passing up this opportunity?”
He clasped her shoulders and looked directly in her eyes. “In truth, Cornelia, I would be miserable every
hour of every day I was apart from you.”
She gasped. “Oh Preston, I—”
He pressed two fingers over her lips. “Let me finish. Do you not know by now how much I love you? How much I want to be a true husband to you, to have a marriage like William and Joanna’s? But I love you too much to impose upon you.” A cold emptiness wound through his soul at the thought of losing her. He swallowed. “If you think there’s a chance you might return my regard—no, even if you do not—I would like to continue our marriage. For as long as you wish it.”
To his surprise, she smiled, tipped her head up and kissed him. Heart hammering, he pulled her close and returned the kiss in full, gratified to feel her soft tongue brushing his lips. He responded in full measure, intoxicated by the sweetness of her mouth, the dark passion in her eyes, the familiar scent of violets he would forever associate with her.
Finally, he pulled away. He needed to hear the words. “I assume this means you no longer wish to dissolve our marriage?”
She flushed. “Yes, I mean, no. I—I knew I loved you since—oh, I do not know—perhaps as far back as our honeymoon in Brighton. I mean, who wouldn’t love a man like you? The way you find beauty and joy in small things. I’m never so happy as when I’m around you.”
He wanted to spin her in a dance around the room. “Ah Cornelia, you don’t know how happy you have made me.”
“No, let me finish. I fell even more in love with you after seeing how quickly you dashed to your brother’s side in his time of need, your willingness to put aside your own plans and wishes to fulfill your duty to your heritage.” She grinned. “I thought I had married an irresponsible rogue who would leave me to my own pursuits. I wonder if that fellow ever existed.”
He winked. “Are you accusing me of marrying you under false pretenses?”
She shook her head. “I had secrets too, as you know.”
He pulled her against his shoulder. “I know how difficult it was for you to share them with me, my darling. But it gave me hope that you were beginning to overcome the shame that’s followed you for so long.”
She began to cry into his waistcoat. He led her to a settee and hugged her with one arm while he clasped her hand with the other.
“Have you begun to overcome the shame, my dear?”
She took a deep breath and straightened. “I think so. I hope so. Preston, I want to tell you what happened at the Foundling Hospital today.”
* * *
Cornelia held back tears as she concluded her tale about Miss Smith and Eliza. “She was heartbroken to leave her child, but she could not see any other way. She wants the babe to have a better life than she had.” Cornelia swallowed. “Oh Preston, I do not think I could ever be so unselfish.”
His eyes widened. “Does this mean…?”
Her heart hammered against her chest. “I want a baby. I want your baby. The child will be beautiful because we will love it to distraction. That is all that matters, isn’t it?”
The heat in his eyes sent a wave of pleasure through her.
He rose and picked her up in his arms as though she were lightweight.
“Preston? What are you doing? You will injure yourself.”
Ignoring her, he carried her to his bedchamber door.
“I suppose you want me to open it?” she asked.
He grunted.
Her head whirled. Good gracious! How did the room get so hot? She opened the door.
He crossed to the bed and deposited her onto the mattress.
“Preston?”
She watched in fascinated interest as he untied his cravat and tossed it on the floor. Next, he unbuttoned his waistcoat, then his shirt, and began tugging at the fall of his pants. Her pulse skipped a beat. He is beautiful.
“Preston, what are you doing?”
Don’t be silly—you know what he’s doing!
She couldn’t concentrate on anything but him. He was magnificent. Cornelia gazed at his muscled chest with its scattering of dark hairs, his narrow hips, and—oh my! Was that…?
“Uh, Preston—” she said shakily.
He dropped onto the bed beside her. “It’s time to stop talking.” He eyed her lips hungrily. “This is our honeymoon. The real one. Do you not think it’s about time?”
She did.
###
Author’s Note
While the characters in this story are fictional and products of the author’s imagination, the character of Admiral Cornelius Hardcastle is loosely based on Captain Benjamin Hallowell Carew, whose ship, the Leviathan, was one of three who evacuated allied troops and French royalist refugees from the harbor in 1793, although the timing has been adjusted for the sake of the story. The rest of Admiral Hardcastle’s life is solely the invention of the author.
Other Books in the Marriage Maker Goes Undercover Collection
A Scoundrel in the Making
Her Wicked Highland Spy
My Lady of Danger
Coming Soon
The Marriage Maker and the Widows
Seduction of a Widow
Rake Ruiner
Widow’s Treasure
Marrying the Belle of Edinburgh
Other Marriage Maker Collections
The Original Marriage Maker Saga
Worth of a Lady
The Marriage Wager
A Lady by Chance
How to Catch an Heiress
Rules of Refinement Collection
One Good Gentleman
Shameless
Redemption of a Marquess
A Marriage of Necessity
Daughters of Scandal Collection
The Lady in Pearls
A Lady’s Book of Love
A Most Unusual Scandal
Brazen
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About the Author
Susana Ellis has always had stories in her head waiting to come out, especially when she learned to read and her imagination began to soar.
A former teacher, Susana lives in Toledo, Ohio, in the summer and Florida in the winter. She is a member of the Central Florida Romance Writers and the Beau Monde chapters of RWA, Maumee Valley
Romance Inc., and the (in)famous Bluestocking Belles.
Website: http://www.SusanaEllis.com
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