The Loving Seasons

by Laura Matthews

  Emma and Anne were as aware of what she left unspoken as what she said. They remembered her hesitant question: “What if someone didn’t want to take what you gave?” Miss Clements had smiled sadly and said, “Then you would probably be giving to the wrong person.” Was dear Maggie giving her time, attention, and thoughtfulness to the wrong man? How unfair that she, the kindest and gentlest of the three of them, should have her lovely gifts wasted on a man of Greenwood’s unappreciating temperament! Their hearts ached for her.

  In the silence that followed they heard a man’s jaunty step in the hall and the murmur of voices before the door into the drawing room opened and Greenwood himself stood surveying their tea party.

  “Oh, ho, I see the three of you are having a cozy chat. I told you there would be nothing left for you to do with all the help you had, Margaret. May I join you?”

  Did he still call her Margaret, Emma wondered in amazement. After several months of marriage one would have thought he might have addressed her as her friends did. And how dare he insinuate that they had spent the afternoon lazing about when they had spent hours arranging flowers and directing the rearrangement of the furniture? As Maggie invited him to join them, Emma rose and said, “Anne and I were just leaving. We’ll need time to dress properly for your ball. Don’t get up, Maggie love. We know our way out.”

  * * * *

  There seemed no point in discussing Maggie’s dilemma as the Barnfield carriage conveyed them to their homes. Nor did Emma feel inclined to impart any further confidences regarding Sir Nicholas. Anne was tempted to ask her for advice on how to gain the interest of a man who regarded you in a brotherly light, but she could not bring herself to speak. So they rode in silence, occasionally sharing a rather wistful smile, but mostly wrapped in their own thoughts, and they parted only to meet a few hours later headed once again for the Greenwoods’.

  The rooms were already filling when they entered to find Maggie, her pale face looking more pinched than ever, standing at her husband’s side and greeting guests with a smile they alone could tell was painfully forced. Spring flowers scented the air and added bursts of color about each room, but in time there were so many people that they could scarcely be seen. Maggie found that the smell was making her ill, along with the heat of the candles and the press of bodies. Why had he insisted that so many people be invited? They could not be at all comfortable so closely pressed together, so that when one moved one was bound to touch another.

  And her husband made a rather unnerving host. He was not used to entertaining such a large or elegant party and he tended to leave the reception area to wander off with a friend. Maggie’s nerves began to splinter as she was forced, again and again, to call: “Oh, Greenwood, here is Lord Langham,” or “My lord, your sister and Captain Morton are arrived.” Cynthia spoke to her brother, but he did not really understand the responsibilities of a host. He was accustomed to the role of guest, of enjoying himself, and presumed that one was expected to do much the same when the ton arrived at one’s home. After all, if one weren’t enjoying one’s own party, would others?

  This attitude did not meet with Lord Dunn’s approbation. As Adam attempted to walk off with Captain Midford, Dunn gave him such a freezing stare that Adam hastily returned to his post. And since Dunn managed to remain in the reception area until the dancing began, Adam did not make the faux pas again. He might, or he might not, have realized that he was supposed to open the ball with his wife. In any case Dunn reminded him, in the most casual, most offhand manner possible. Adam wished he could have the viscount thrown out.

  “The man is incorrigible,” Anne muttered to Emma as they watched this charade from the first reception room. “I don’t know how Lord Dunn can be so patient with him, or why he takes the trouble, but I’m grateful he does. Maggie looks terribly ill.”

  “No wonder. One would have to have an iron constitution to put up with Lord Greenwood’s shenanigans. Fortunately, after the ball Maggie will be able to have a complete rest. Perhaps we should urge her to go to Combe Lodge for a while.”

  “What a splendid idea! The country air would do her a world of good. I hope she won’t try to dance after this opening set.”

  Apparently Lord Dunn had the same idea, for he solicited Maggie’s hand after the opening set and took her away from the dance floor to stand quietly where she could greet latecomers and speed departing guests. The trickle of departures could not compete with the stream of arrivals, however, and the rooms became more crowded with each passing hour. Emma found her attention wandering from her partners to where Maggie stood, sometimes with Dunn and sometimes with a gentleman he provided for her companionship. Because Dunn was often with her, Emma did not approach her until she saw Maggie double over. To her partner’s surprise, she left him standing on the dance floor with only the briefest of excuses, and hastened through the mass of people standing on the fringes. She reached Maggie just as Dunn did.

  “Show me where her room is,” he ordered as he scooped Maggie up in his arms and started toward the stairs.

  She nodded, frightened by Maggie’s apparent unconsciousness, and scurried before him. As she reached the stairs, she stopped a passing footman and said, “Tell Lord Greenwood that his wife is indisposed and he should come immediately to her room. Please make no commotion about it. Oh, and send Mrs. Phipps to us.”

  And then she ran up the stairs, nearly tripping in her flight, and only glancing quickly behind her to make sure that Dunn followed. The upper hallway was bright with candles in every sconce, their flames lighting the portraits that Maggie had caused to be hung there. Generations of Greenwoods impassively viewed the hurried procession down the hall to where Emma flung open Maggie’s door, only to find a young couple in each other’s arms there.

  “Get out ... quickly,” she demanded, not pausing to see that they did but going directly to the bed and throwing back the bedclothes.

  Faces red with embarrassment, the couple (neither of whom Emma could remember afterward) allowed Dunn to carry his burden through the door before they fled. As Dunn lowered Maggie onto the bed, Emma dipped a handkerchief in the ewer of water, wrung it out, and placed it on Maggie’s forehead.

  Anne appeared in the doorway. “What’s happened?”

  Dunn had stepped back and turned to answer. “Lady Greenwood collapsed from the heat.”

  “Oh, Lord, it’s worse than that,” Emma whispered, her voice catching. “I think… Oh, Anne, I think she’s losing her baby. Help me. Lord Dunn, please see that her doctor is summoned straight away.”

  “Can you manage?”

  “We shall have to. Mrs. Phipps will know who he is. Please hurry.”

  The viscount gave a cursory nod and turned on his heels. As she turned back to Maggie, Emma could hear his voice in the hallway speaking to Mrs. Phipps. Maggie’s eyes flickered open, wide and frightened. “I…I feel terrible, Emma. I can’t possibly go back down to the guests.”

  “Hush, love. Of course you can’t. Don’t alarm yourself about it. I’m sure everything is well in hand and Lord Greenwood will be with you shortly.” Emma continued to bathe her forehead with water. “Anne is here, too, and your doctor has been sent for.”

  Maggie looked from one to the other of them in confusion. Their sad, worried countenances brought the dawn of understanding. “The…baby?”

  Before either could answer her, Mrs. Phipps bustled into the room, her round form exuding confidence and concern. “There now, what’s this I hear of your indisposition, my lady? Dr. Botley should be along in no time for Lord Dunn has gone himself. Will you trust yourself to my care so your friends can be seeing to your guests?”

  “Oh, yes, if they would,” Maggie whispered, attempting a faint smile at them. “If you shouldn’t mind, Emma. It would set my mind at ease.”

  Exchanging a helpless glance, the two nodded. “Certainly we will,” Anne assured her stoutly. “Just send for us if you need anything.”

  In the hall they encountered Lord Greenwood, b
elatedly making his way to his wife’s chamber, his brow puckered slightly, but whether in irritation or alarm they could not distinguish in the candlelight. He paused as they approached, asking, “Is Margaret better then? If she’s resting, perhaps she won’t want me to intrude.”

  “Mrs. Phipps is with her, Lord Greenwood, but I think you’d best go in,” Anne replied. “Emma and I will be downstairs to see to your guests and Lord Dunn has gone for Dr. Botley.”

  “Dr. Botley? Whatever for? I thought…” He left the sentence unfinished as a pained cry was heard from the room. Without bothering to excuse himself, he bolted toward the door, opened it and went in, closing it softly behind him.

  Anne paled at the cry. “Perhaps we should…”

  “No,” Emma said gently. “We would be in the way. Come, we’ll be of more use downstairs.”

  Adam was appalled by the sight before him. Mrs. Phipps and Maggie were unaware that he had entered, and he saw his wife clinging to the housekeeper’s arm as Mrs. Phipps crooned to her and attempted to work the beautiful ball gown up above her waist. A plain cotton nightdress lay waiting on the covers, but Maggie was too racked by pain to assist in the undressing. Resisting a craven impulse to desert the room, Adam moved forward and silently lifted Maggie as Mrs. Phipps methodically inched the stained gown over her head. It was the closest he had come in his entire life to fainting.

  “Now, my lord, if you will just hold her while I slip on the nightdress,” Mrs. Phipps instructed in a matter-of-fact voice, busying herself with towels and cloths as she spoke. "You'll be more comfortable, my dear,” she told Maggie with a motherly smile.

  Her kindness was lost on her mistress, who was regarding her husband with horror-stricken eyes. “No, you mustn’t… I can manage to sit, I’m sure. Oh, Greenwood, your coat sleeve is soiled!” And she burst into tears.

  “Hush, hush!” he said gruffly, stroking back her hair. “I have dozen of coats. Come, put your arms through the sleeves like a good girl. Now let me settle you properly.” When she was at length disposed easily on the bed and Mrs. Phipps had discreetly picked up the ball gown and taken herself into the dressing room, he sat down beside her, taking her hand in his. “Can I get you something? A glass of wine, perhaps?”

  “Thank you, no.” She bit her lip to stem the tide of yet another wave of tears. “I’m so sorry, Greenwood, but I think I’ve lost the baby.”

  “Yes, well, it’s not your fault, Margaret. I suppose the ball was too much for you after all,” he murmured contritely, giving her hand an awkward pat.

  “Oh, no! It wasn’t that! I’ve had so much help. Ordinarily I’m quite strong. I can’t think why this should have happened.” Now a tear did escape her eye and her lips quivered uncontrollably. “I hope… I hope it doesn’t mean I am unable to give you children!”

  “I’m sure it doesn’t! Pray don’t give way to such thoughts, my dear. Is the pain very bad? Shall I have Mrs. Phipps give you a few drops of laudanum?”

  “I would prefer to have my wits about me when the doctor comes. Hadn’t you best go down to our guests, Greenwood?”

  Adam had nearly forgotten that there was a party in progress, though the strains of music filtered through to her chamber. Because he couldn’t think of anything more to say to her, he was tempted to leave her to Mrs. Phipps’s more able ministrations, but her pale face held him mesmerized. He had always thought her looks only passable, and her ethereal beauty at the moment frightened him. Was she going to die? Was that why there was this special aura about her? Lord, she was only a child!

  Her fingers gripped his hand as the pain contorted her body. Women did die in childbirth, and presumably they could die during a miscarriage. He observed the fear in her eyes and wondered if the thought had occurred to her as well.

  “I’m going to stay with you until the doctor comes,” he told her firmly. “Just rest and I will be here.”

  Maggie closed her eyes, a faint smile on her pale lips. “I’m glad you’re going to stay.”

  Though he found it difficult to credit, Adam realized it was the first time she had acknowledged a desire for his presence. Was it only her illness, or was she coming to accept him? It was comforting for him to know that his being with her helped her to bear the pain. He didn’t often feel of use to her, and her need gave him a unique feeling of strength.

  He wouldn’t let her die. She was his wife and he would see that she had the best care he could get for her. Surely her gentleness, her goodness, were not going to be snuffed out like some guttering candle. Adam had come to depend upon those essential qualities. Not once did it occur to him that he had not wanted to marry her, that if she died he would be free again. Margaret had become a part of his life, and he intended to have her remain there.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I know you would like to be the one to go, dear Anne,” Emma assured her as she nodded her satisfaction at the gown her abigail was holding up for her inspection, “but really only one of us can go, and you have your family to consider. The season isn’t over yet and your mama has two more entertainments planned at which you really should be present. Aunt Amelia will go on just as well without me—probably better. I have the nagging feeling that I am cramping her style.”

  Anne accorded her friend’s rueful grin a careless shrug. “Lady Bradwell has never been in better spirits, my dear. In fact, I think she will miss you. Has the doctor said when Maggie will be well enough to travel?”

  “Maggie says she is ready right now, but the doctor and Greenwood insist we wait until Friday. We’ll make the journey to Bath slowly, of course, traveling only a few hours at a stretch. Do you think I shall need the gold-striped gossamer for Bath? I cannot imagine we will be going about much in company with Maggie ailing.”

  “Take at least three formal gowns.” Anne sorted through the wardrobe, holding up several dresses for inspection before choosing her favorites. “These are the most flattering to you and they should do for the warmer weather. Emma, really, won’t you miss going to Brighton with your aunt?”

  “Not at all,” Emma told her airily. “There is bound to be a crush there this summer. Sir Nicholas told me the Prince Regent intends to spend a great deal of time at the Pavilion and you know that means all the ton will be in town. I understand that even if one is invited to dine at the Pavilion, it is most uncomfortable because of the heat the Prince insists on. Bath will be a deal more to my taste.”

  Anne laughed. “Yes, for I know you are enamored of goutish old men and snippy old ladies. It’s very good of you, Emma. I know Maggie appreciates the sacrifice you’re making.”

  “Don’t make a martyr of me,” Emma protested crossly. “Truly, I’m a bit tired of town and all the gadding about. Bath will seem a regular haven after this hive of activity. It’s not as though I were missing a chance to bring some eligible young man up to scratch, as you are. No, don’t bite me. You have Langham, Brackenbury, and Sir Arthur all eating out of your hand. I shall be fortunate to escape the attentions of Stutton and Norwood. Think of the trouble I’ll be saved!”

  Since the abigail had left the room to find another valise, Anne eyed Emma seriously. “And what of Sir Nicholas?”

  “I don’t deny I shall miss his company,” Emma admitted as she set out a pair of tan chamois gloves. “But we are merely friends when all is said and done. I amuse him and he amuses me. Rather a convenient arrangement.”

  “For a flirtation. Not for a marriage.”

  “No, I suppose not.” Emma was thoughtful for a moment. “Do you think, Anne, that marriage to Sir Nicholas would be better than no marriage at all?”

  “Has he asked you?” Anne was astonished.

  “No, no. I am merely hypothesizing.”

  A dangerous sort of pastime, Anne thought, and chose her words carefully. “Being married to Sir Nicholas would not, I fear, be particularly comfortable. I cannot imagine him leading any life other than that he does now. He’s quite set in his habits, Emma. I think he would take little hee
d of a wife, if one could suppose that he would ever marry, not an altogether likely assumption. A woman has some need for her husband’s affection, not just his name. There must be interests in common and a similar view of the world. There must be an attempt by both husband and wife to make life together satisfying. I am inclined to believe that anyone who married Sir Nicholas would find herself in a position of perpetually according him his will. Can you see him giving up his chères amies, his wanderlust, his pleasure-seeking?”

  “Well, no, but I do think he would accord his wife a similar freedom, don’t you?”

  Although Anne was tempted to disagree, since in her opinion no husband should be so irresponsible, on reflection she assented, adding the proviso, “Which is only to point out that he really would not care a great deal about her, Emma, to let her go entirely her own way. And if that is the case, why should he seek a wife?”

  “Why indeed?” Emma sighed.

  Anne was tempted, for just a moment, to pose her own problem to Emma, to confess the attraction she felt for Mr. Rogers and her doubts about the wisdom of it. She decided that her position was far too tenuous to do any such thing, but her need to discuss the matter, if only in the abstract, was insistent. So she approached the matter as circumspectly as possible by remarking, “My mother says that people are prone to infatuations, such as my brother Will’s for you, but that when such euphoria is accompanied by doubts, you can tell it’s not a lasting love.”