by Caroline Lee
Mrs. Tillworth stood again, to lead everyone in another round of applause for her children. Then she invited everyone to sing the final song together. It was Joy to the World, like it always was, and even though Reggie rarely joined in, he liked the annual tradition.
This year, however, when Zerelda started with her usual crescendo that built from the lowest notes on her piano to the highest, Annie startled him with a gasp. She grabbed his hand where it rested with the pencil against his notebook, and he liked that it was instinctive.
At his unasked question, she said aloud, “I felt that.” By that time, everyone else was singing loudly enough—some were even standing—that no one besides him heard her statement. But it touched him. Her bright eyes and smile told him that she was pleased to be able to enjoy the performance, just a bit. To be able to participate.
Slowly, not wanting to startle her, he turned his hand over, not breaking contact with her skin or dropping her gaze. The pencil ended up pressed between their palms, as he twined his fingers through hers.
She’d stopped breathing, and he watched her eyes widen and her lower lip sneak back between her teeth. And he realized that more than anything, at that moment, he wanted to taste that lip.
Maybe she saw something in his gaze, because she began to pull back. He wouldn’t let her, forcing himself to clear all thoughts of his attraction from his expression. Instead, he smiled lightly, and mouthed, “Everyone is singing ‘Joy to the World’.” He knew that he didn’t need to make any sound for her to understand, and judging from the way her shoulders relaxed and she began to breathe again, he’d set her at ease.
But he couldn’t make himself let go of her hand, and luckily, she didn’t try to pull away again. Instead, they just sat there, surrounded by his friends and family, and watched each other. He thought that he could stare into her eyes forever.
If only he hadn’t hurt her. If only she could forgive him. If only he could figure out how to help her enjoy this Christmas season.
CHAPTER FIVE
Annie was… confused. Confused by the look Reggie had given her that evening while he held her hand. Confused at the way her pulse had sped up and she’d felt hot and cold all at once. And confused by the fact that she seemed to have enjoyed every single second of it. Why would that be? Why would she enjoy being touched by a man who didn’t think very highly of her?
The other evening, on the stairs, Reggie had made no secret of the fact that he didn’t think she was good enough for his society. He’d stated that they valued perfection, and hadn’t bothered to deny that she wasn’t perfect. It had been humiliating to realize the truth, and even more humiliating to know that she was so bothered by it because she’d wanted him to think highly of her. But then tonight, seeing the way his eyes had lit up when she’d walked into the parlor—so like his reaction to her when he’d met her at the Depot—confused her. And then to have him spend every minute of the musicale beside her, and to have him understand her boredom and very sweetly try to cure it… She didn’t know what to think any more.
Anyone could see that she didn’t quite belong here. She’d spent the last two days shopping with Mrs. Carderock and Victoria, visiting an overwhelming selection of modiste and milliners’ shops. She’d even been measured for a collection of new shoes! And tonight she wore one of those creations, a gorgeous gown one talented dressmaker had altered hurriedly for her. Annie felt like a princess, with her hair done in the latest fashion and the beautiful pearl Victoria had loaned her.
But no matter how much she looked the part of a high society lady, Annie could feel their stares, and see them whispering behind their hands. No, she didn’t belong here, didn’t fit in. Wasn’t perfect enough, no matter how hard she’d tried.
So why did Reggie’s regard matter so much to her? Make her feel so light inside?
She focused on the conversation in front of her, one that Reggie had pulled her towards as soon as the last song ended and the guests started mingling with their drinks. This was his oldest brother, Bertie, with his wife and sister-in-law. The two brothers were laughing about something, and Annie was getting a slight headache, trying to follow the conversation. At least Reggie had turned towards her when he spoke, so that she could understand his half of the banter.
They were reminiscing about past Christmas musicales, and other traditions. She participated when asked a direct question, but it was exhausting, having to concentrate on every sound out of her mouth. Twice she saw Reggie repeat her words, and knew that it was because his companions hadn’t understood what she’d said. Only Serena’s teachings about being a lady kept her back straight and her chin high, in the face of that humiliation.
Why had she thought that she could handle an entire season of this? What was she trying to prove?
Just when she thought she wouldn’t be able to stand the pitying looks the other two ladies were sending her, they were interrupted by a stoic servant carrying a note on a silver tray. Reggie looked surprised when the old man offered it to him, but he took it with a “thank you.” As he read it, a frown flitted across his face, and the dark slashes of his brows pulled together.
The ladies continued to talk, leaning towards each other closely enough that Annie assumed they were whispering, but Bertie clapped his hand heartily on the younger man’s shoulder. “Bad news, is it?”
“Maybe.” Reggie’s frown grew as he met her gaze. Annie gripped her fingers together in front of her, worried by the look of concern in his eyes. “A note from the clinic. The messenger tracked me down here.” He glanced at the whispering ladies, and then flicked his eyes around the room crowded with his family and friends. When he looked back at her, the concern had changed to pity. “I have to go.”
She nodded once, because she knew that’s what he needed from her. He pitied her for her attempts to fit in with these people, and thought that she’d have no chance at all without him. And damn her, but she knew it was the truth. He was leaving—long strides taking him under the chandelier and towards the foyer—and she was left alone with these people who pitied her too.
Well, she was made of sterner stuff. She’d survive here, without him. She didn’t need his pity, or his assistance. His own brother had spent years training her how to live among hearing people, and how to interact with them. She could carry on a conversation, as long as she concentrated and the speakers were looking at her. She didn’t need him.
But she was suddenly overwhelmed with the need to tell him that she didn’t need him. Excusing herself with a small curtsey and strained smile, Annie made her way towards the hall she knew led to the washroom. But once away from the eyes of the Carderocks and the Tillworths and their friends, she turned abruptly and strode towards the front foyer, kicking her skirts out of her way and hoping that he hadn’t left yet.
Luck was on her side; he was just shrugging into his overcoat when she skidded to a stop on the slick marble. Fisting her hands by her side, she marched towards him, determined to give him a set-down—politely, of course—for thinking that he could pity her. For thinking that she needed him to survive in there.
But when she reached him; when she stood in front of him, close enough to feel his breath and smell his sandalwood scent; when she looked into his eyes… She forgot her anger.
He was… scared? Worried, and it had nothing to do with her.
Unthinking, Annie touched his sleeve. “What is it, Reggie?”
He sighed—she felt it against her cheek—and ran his hand through his hair, mussing the careful style. “One of my patients is in a bad way. This is her fifth pregnancy in a short amount of time, and I’m afraid…” He turned away slightly to pull on his gloves. They were beautiful black leather, smooth and perfect. Nothing like her brothers-in-laws’, but he pulled them on with the same jerky motions. “This one will not end well, I’m afraid. There’s been too much blood.” He wasn’t paying the same attention he usually did to his words; she couldn’t be sure that she was understanding him.
; “She is at the clinic?”
“No.” She could tell that he was anxious to go. “Their home isn’t too far away, though. I’ll take the carriage and send it back for you and my parents.” He began to turn, and then stopped long enough to meet her eyes. “I’m sorry, Annie.” That was it.
He was almost out the door when she stopped him with her words. Surprised herself, even. “Do you need help?”
She hadn’t intended it to sound like she was offering her help, but once the words were out of her mouth, she knew that she’d follow through. If he needed help. If he needed her.
Slowly, he turned, his hand still on the jamb. Was that hope in his expression? “It wouldn not be proper for you to come. Not alone with me, and not to see a birth.”
She shrugged, embarrassed that she’d suggested it and he’d turned her down. “I am not proper. I am not perfect. And I have seen many births.”
His brows shot up. “You have?” And then he smiled slightly. “Oh, you mean colts.”
“Not only colts. I know children—” One niece or nephew on the way, “—and we do not have many doctors in Cheyenne.” It wasn’t a lie; while she hadn’t been allowed to help with Pete’s birth, she’d been there for Noah and Rose’s and even Mae, Jeanie and Ian’s. And yes, the colts. The baby horses were hers, and of course she was there for their births. Spring was always a busy time for her.
His eyes narrowed thoughtfully at her, and she tried to look confident. It was almost a minute before he finally looked away, and ran his gloved hand through his hair. “You would be willing to help?”
Would she? Would she be willing to head into the night with him, to help a woman she’d never met with a hard birth? Would she be willing to turn her back on the society that laughed and chatted and celebrated behind those doors, not caring about a woman who might not live the night? Who might leave behind a family at Christmastime?
Put like that, it was hardly a choice at all. “Of course.”
And before she knew it, she was bundled into her cloak—another loan from Victoria—and sitting beside him in his carriage as it rumbled through the dark. There wasn’t enough light to see him speak, but she was content, for now, to share his warmth. He’d put his arm across the back of the seat behind her, and she didn’t mind pretending that he’d done it to keep her close. It was a nice fantasy.
In not long at all, the carriage slowed, and then he helped her down in front of a modest townhome. This family was not wealthy, but they were not poor either. And if she were able to ensure it, they would still be whole tomorrow.
Inside, they were met by a harried-looking young man who took their wraps and pushed them towards a woman of later years holding a child who looked about two. He—Annie could see it was a boy when he lifted his head off the woman’s shoulder—sucked his thumb and seemed uninterested in the conversation Reggie was trying to hold with his carrier. The older woman nodded repeatedly, and then called up the stairs.
Soon, a man came stomping down them, cradling a baby in the crook of one large forearm. He was huge—almost as big as Ash—and looked completely uncomfortable with his delicate charge. What’s more, the infant didn’t look pleased either, judging from its red expression and wide mouth. The father winced and shifted his hold on the youngster, trying to speak with Reggie, and Annie clicked her tongue in exasperation.
Without waiting for permission, she reached over and picked up the baby. She could feel its anger and frustration, but it stopped fussing when she held it upright. Ignoring its father’s surprised glare, Annie turned her back on the little group and began to pace, humming under her breath at the little one. She wasn’t sure if it was the noise—surely, assuming it could hear, it knew there was something different about her voice—or the way she made sure to stare into the wide brown eyes… but either way, the baby shoved one fist into its mouth and began to suck. It wasn’t happy, but it was quiet.
Annie halted her pacing to glance at Reggie then, and was surprised to find him watching her. When he noticed, he smiled slightly, and nodded appreciatively, and she wasn’t prepared for the tingle of tenderness that swept through her at his approval.
The baby began to fuss again, and she bounced a little, patting its bottom in a smooth motion she’d learned long ago. When the woman passed the older child to the father and reached out for the youngest one, Annie was almost a little sorry to say goodbye. But Reggie was waiting; he picked up the little black bag he’d brought from the carriage and held out his hand to her.
Unthinkingly, she slipped her fingers through his, and he led her up the stairs. She tried not to think how out of place they must look, dressed in their Christmas finery, among this working-class household. But no matter; she felt more at ease here, more at home, than she did in the Carderocks’ mansion.
At the top of the stairs, Reggie glanced back down and then turned to the left. Before they got to the large door at the end of the corridor, he put down the bag again, took off his jacket, and pulled out two long white aprons. He waited to make sure that she knew how to tie hers on—like she’d forgotten, after only a few days in luxury!—and then hurried to pull his over his shirtsleeves. While she waited nervously, Annie pulled her gloves off and slipped them into one of the wide pockets on the apron. If possible, she’d like to return them to Victoria in good condition.
She glanced up at him then. In the bright electric lights of the hallway, his chocolate eyes were veiled, and his hair mussed. He looked wonderfully imperfect. Like a completely touchable prince. He took a deep breath when he faced her, and she thought she could watch his shoulders stretch beneath the fabric all night.
Looking her in the eyes, he placed a hand on each of her shoulders, and she thought she might melt. Without her cloak, without his gloves, his bare fingers touched her sensitive skin, and Annie was keenly aware that no man, besides maybe Papa all those years ago, had ever touched her there.
She was distracted enough that she missed the first few things he said to her. It wasn’t until he gave her a little shake that she swallowed and focused on his lips.
“This woman is only seven months along. The babe downstairs is nine months. Do you understand?”
If she gave birth tonight, her baby wouldn’t live. He wasn’t just telling her to scare her. He was asking her if she could do this. If she could do this for him. Annie swallowed again, but this time for a completely different reason. She nodded, in dread.
Reggie stared at her for a long moment, and then nodded approvingly. When he picked up his bag and put his hand on the door knob, she watched him take a deep breath. And then they were inside, and Annie forgot to be scared.
There was a woman bustling around, and Annie hoped that she was a midwife. She was pouring off a basin of pink-tinted water when they entered; Annie let Reggie introduce them, and made her way to the bed.
The woman lying there with closed eyes wasn’t any older than Wendy, but Annie knew that she had four children already, close together. That was never good for a woman’s body, and this one hadn’t handled it well, either. Her light hair was lank and sweat-dampened, and the linens smelled of a long illness. Annie guessed that she’d been confined to the bed for a while, which wasn’t a good sign for a pregnancy only seven months along.
Tonight wasn’t going to end well.
Then the woman grimaced, and her mouth opened as if she were crying, and Annie grabbed for her hand. When the woman turned towards her, Annie forced a smile, as if nothing were amiss with this much pain and blood so early in the pregnancy.
“My name is Annie.”
If the woman noticed anything different with her speech, she didn’t comment. Instead she gripped Annie’s hand tightly and panted. Annie let her, willing her to match the same deep, slow breaths Annie took. Maybe it worked, because the woman’s grip abruptly loosened, although she didn’t release her hand. “My name is Maria.”
It wasn’t much, but it was all Annie had. All she could offer. Through the next hour, she held Maria
’s hand and clucked at her as if she were a laboring mare. The midwife thought she was touched in the head—Annie could see it in her expression. But Reggie occasionally glanced her way and smiled. It was a strained smile, and Annie knew that things weren’t going well. But at least it was a smile. For her.
He belonged here. He was in his element, comforting Maria and preparing the chamber and arguing with the midwife. This was where he belonged, what he was supposed to do with his life. He was good and noble and willing to sully his pristine tuxedo with another’s blood. He was so accepting of humanity… why couldn’t he accept her as she was? She might not be perfect, but she was good enough for Maria, at that moment.
The poor woman almost didn’t make it; she was exhausted. While Annie had never heard a woman laboring, it was obvious by the end that Maria was no longer screaming or moaning. She lay still, saving her meager energy only for the pushing when the midwife cajoled her. Annie did her best to will some of her own energy into the laboring woman, and maybe it worked.
With one last jerk that almost arched her off the bed, Maria opened her mouth on a silent scream, and Reggie—whose upper body was under the sheet laid across the woman’s distended belly—began his frantic and arcane movements.
The midwife rushed about on her own missions, and when Reggie backed out of the sheet, he caught Annie’s eye. She glanced down at Maria, but the mother’s heaving chest proved that she was still living. Annie carefully untwined her fingers from the other woman’s, and placed the lax hand on the bed over the damp sheets.
Hurrying to Reggie’s side at the foot of the bed, Annie almost wished she hadn’t. She averted her eyes from the work he was doing on Maria, but couldn’t help but study the tiny, pale body lying lifeless between her legs. Reggie jerked his chin at it, and she knew what he was asking her to do. Knew what he needed. Knew what Maria needed.
Carefully, as if afraid of waking the perfectly formed baby boy, Annie wrapped the body in the linen it was lying on. He was so small, much too small to live in the world on his own. And now he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t have the chance, and that was one of the saddest things Annie could imagine. She’d sat beside his mother, watched her bleed and cry and labor to bring him into the world, knowing all along that he was dead.