My Enemy, My Heart (The Ashford Chronicles)

by Laurie Alice Eakes

  “There are a number of reasons why that might not be a worthless idea.” Tyne rose and squeezed Kieran’s shoulder. “But I would rather think about having a healthy grandchild in another seven or eight months.”

  Kieran’s head shot up. Although he knew if he stood he would be at least as tall as his father, he felt young again, smaller, looking up at someone he had once considered all wise and powerful and good instead of just all powerful. “You do not mind about the baby then? Even though Deirdre is an American?”

  “How can I mind?” Tyne smiled. “I have three beautiful children from an American lady.”

  Kieran coughed, then laughed. “Yes, well, the girls are diamonds of the first water, are they not? Juliet needs to learn to curb her tongue, but she will by the time she is old enough for a Season. And why Chloe has not taken yet just shows how stupid most of us ton bachelors are.”

  “Chloe is a bit bossy. She will run her husband ragged, and he will love every minute of it.” Tyne retrieved his paper and brandy. “I believe I will turn in. We may have a long day tomorrow if we push through to London.” He went to the door of the private parlor. “Just remember, Kieran, I said three beautiful children.”

  Kieran remembered. He simply did not know how to respond to that kind of compliment, to any kind of compliment from his father. He had thought Tyne considered him nothing more than a sluggard, a scoundrel, a blot on the family honor.

  Kieran touched his ear. He would never be beautiful with that mangled appendage showing, and his hair was going to look ridiculous in London. Yet Tyne had indeed said “three beautiful children.” That made Kieran feel a warmth toward his father that had died—when? After he had been sent down from Eton at eight, shortly after arriving at that august institution, for . . . for . . . oh yes. Writing a naughty poem, the meaning of which he had not wholly understood, and posting it on the back of some duke’s son. Of course, the back of his cousin Dante, speaking of wastrel sons. Kieran had sworn he did not know that the poem meant what the headmaster told him it did, but he was caned anyway because no one believed in his innocence. When he got home, Tyne had been distracted, paid little attention to Kieran’s protestation of unjust treatment, and sent him to the stable to spend his extra holiday mucking out stalls.

  Juliet was born that week.

  Now Kieran understood why his father had been distracted and simply wanted Kieran out of the way. It was not because he did not care; it was because he had indeed been full of apprehension for his wife.

  And Tyne wanted Deirdre’s baby to be born. That placed even more burden on Kieran to make certain Deirdre did nothing risky to her health, the baby’s safety, the family’s future.

  “Non, non,” cried Madame, the dressmaker, who was about as French as Dolley Madison. “There is nothing wrong with my sewing. Her ladyship insisted I leave fabric for the expansion.” She shot her hands out from her bosom. “You must not yank it on so. Pull the garments on slowly so the seams lie flat.”

  After three days of fittings, Deirdre thought she was going to indulge in either a ladylike fit of hysterics or an unladylike fit of raucous cursing. And if her bosom expanded to the proportions Madame indicated, she would never get close enough to Kieran to strangle him.

  “Why can’t you sew the extra fabric flat?” she asked.

  Madame’s hands shot into the air. “Oh, you colonials are so ignorant of the fashions. The stitching would show.”

  “Better than me squirming about and itching because I’m being tickled.” Deirdre yanked the offending garment over her head.

  “Ah, les mesdames enceintes, they are so much trouble. But I will make right for the oh-so-kind Lady Tyne.”

  “Not like the oh-so-unkind Lady Ripon,” Deirdre muttered.

  That was just weird, the use of her title. When people heard Lady Ripon, though, they began to bow and scrape. She wanted to laugh.

  She never would have married Kieran if she’d known about it.

  That and a few dozen other items like the fact that he possessed more loyalty to his family than to her. The problem with that was she couldn’t blame him. They were kind and warm and so popular among people in Plymouth she couldn’t believe for a minute that they had done anything so terrible that one slip-up from her would send them to prison.

  Meanwhile, her crew was in prison, and Kieran had made getting them out more difficult. At the moment, she barely liked her ladyship for continuing to drag her about Plymouth to find shoes, hats, shawls, and gloves, of all the abominable inventions. She thought perhaps she should be wearing black to mourn her father. Gently, kindly, Kieran’s mother explained that Deirdre must not draw attention to her father’s identity with such an open display.

  “I would mourn for Papa forever,” Juliet declared. “It must hurt terribly.”

  “It does.” Deirdre’s eyes began to water. “I want to go back to sea, back home. You are all very kind, my lady, but this isn’t where I belong.”

  “We’re leaving after luncheon.” Phoebe handed Deirdre a handkerchief. “You need to start carrying these with you. And start calling me Phoebe when we are in private.”

  Deirdre wiped her eyes. “I need to stop acting like a-a”—what was the expression Chloe used?—“watering pot.”

  “It’s natural,” Phoebe assured her. “Are you hungry?”

  “Starved.”

  Juliet exclaimed in exaggerated horror. “You should never admit such a thing.”

  “Remembering all the rules is too difficult.”

  Everything seemed more difficult. She was tired most of the time and hated feeling as though she had to run to the chamber pot every quarter hour; thus, once back at Bishop’s Cove, she retreated to her bedchamber. She scarcely left for a week. The Ashford ladies left her alone most of the time. They seemed occupied with their needlework and callers. Phoebe, Deirdre learned, spent much of her time in an attic studio, painting, or out in the garden playing with the dogs.

  Her gold hidden six inches beneath her feet, Deirdre stood on the balcony, enjoying the sea-scented breeze and weak but definite sunshine, and watched Phoebe tossing a leather ball for the entertainment of six dogs not much larger than rats and looking like white dust mops.

  Chloe, who had taken to visiting Deirdre in the afternoons, joined her on the balcony. “They are all descendants of our Great-Aunt Bess’s dogs. She used to name them for Greek characters. Oedipus, Lysander, things like that. Mama has started giving them silly names like Fluffy and Snowball.”

  “She looks so young playing with them.” Deirdre leaned on the rail, wondering how long she would have the agility that had allowed her to hang upside down in the middle of the night and affix a bag of gold coins between the underside of the balcony and a beam that gave it support. “How old was she when she came here?”

  “Twenty-three, I think.” Chloe laughed as a puppy took a summersault over the ball. “It was an arranged marriage during the first war with the colonies. She and Papa knew one another for only three or four days before they got married, so none of our neighbors think it odd that Kieran married you so quickly in order to bring you here.”

  “Did Kieran come along right away? No, he couldn’t have been. He’s not old enough. And I’m probably not supposed to discuss my condition with a single lady like you.”

  “Pooh.” Chloe made a face. “I am a country girl. I likely know more about it than you do after visiting the tenants in all stages. I was there for a birth once, but Mama does not know that. We are not supposed to know about that or we will never marry and bear children because it is so awful. Labor, that is.”

  “Is it?” A frisson of fear ran down Deirdre’s spine and forward to her belly, where she swore she now felt a fullness, though that wasn’t possible; her abdomen remained flat. “I suppose I’ve seen women who are enceinte, but I’m more used to the male side of talk about—oh, dear, I’m not supposed to discuss that topic either.”

  “Actually, Mama would probably make me stay home if she kne
w what I have learned about that. And with a brother like Kieran—” Chloe bit her lip.

  “You don’t need to hide it from me. He has been quite forthcoming regarding his misbegotten past.”

  “At least he’s done that right.” Chloe pounded one fist on the railing. “He had no cause to say we can’t go to Dartmoor.”

  “He promised me I could if I married him.” Deirdre gripped the iron railing, her knuckles whitening, her mind racing as she wondered how far she could trust Chloe. “How long will he be in London?”

  “Perhaps as long as until Christmas. Papa wants to ensure I can have another Season, since last spring did not work out, as you know.”

  “Because of Kieran.”

  “Last Season, yes.”

  “Has he damaged your reputation?” Deirdre asked. “I mean, is that why you haven’t married?”

  “Last spring was not my first Season.” Chloe twisted up her face as though smelling something unpleasant. “The gentlemen were simply boring. I had offers, but none were suitable. Last Season was just the same.”

  “I don’t think I would like a London Season the way Juliet talks about it, though I did enjoy the theater the time I was able to go.”

  “The theater is grand, but I expect after the life you have led, you would hate London during the Season.” Chloe’s eyes sparkled like topaz in the sunshine. “Now tell me more about your life now that Papa is not around to stop you.”

  “Tut-tut, Chloe, you wouldn’t disobey your father, would you? Not the great Lord Tyne.”

  “Ha! Papa is a pussycat where Juliet and I are concerned, and Mama, too. And there she goes in with the dogs. She will likely be up soon. We are not having guests today, so do come down. Or better yet, come out with me when I make my rounds. Do you ride?”

  “A horse? No.”

  “Then I will have one of the grooms clean up the pony cart. We can talk with no one to overhear.”

  “I don’t know what you wish me to tell you that is so secret.”

  Chloe grinned. “We will start with a visit to Dartmoor.”

  “You’ll help me get there?” Deirdre entered her bedchamber, sank onto the chaise, and covered her face with her hands. “It’s all right. Everything upsets me these days. I miss them. They’re my family.”

  “But—”

  Phoebe walked into the bedchamber.

  “Good afternoon, Mama. Deirdre is having one of her fits.” Chloe made the tears sound like something ordinary, something to mock. “She needs a distraction with Kieran gone. So I am taking her with me on my calls this afternoon.”

  Phoebe looked concerned. “There isn’t any illness on the farms, is there?”

  “No, Mama. I would never risk her or Kieran’s heir.”

  “It might be a girl,” Deirdre said.

  “Then the fresh air will do her good.” Phoebe smoothed her hand across Deirdre’s brow. “You need other distractions, too. Do you sew, knit, paint?”

  Deidre looked at her mother-in-law and smiled. “I paint tar on deck seams. I tie the best knots a sailor ever saw. And I can sew a patch on a sail. That is the extent of my talents, unless you count my ability to bargain.”

  “Hmm, well.” Phoebe plucked at the sleeve of her pelisse. “We’ll have to teach you something.”

  “Watercolors, Deirdre?” Behind her mother, Chloe stood gripping her sides as though holding in the mirth that danced in her eyes. “But no, you should be making lace for tiny garments.”

  “Lady Chloe Ashford,” Phoebe scolded, “mockery is unkind.”

  “But amusing.” Deirdre welcomed the image of herself hooking lace like a Breton matron. “I will settle for lots of fresh air. I love fresh air, you know.”

  “Then we will plan to be gone for simply hours.” Chloe winked behind her mother’s back and darted from the room.

  “Part of the difficulty with Juliet is,” Chloe said as they tooled along in the little pony cart she drove with ease, “she is bound to run off with the first romantic stranger who comes along and think things will work out because Mama and Papa love one another so much. But that man is likely to be after her dowry. I worry about that myself. You are so fortunate that was not a concern for you.”

  Deirdre turned her face toward a distant sparkle that was the sea, straining for the hint of a sail. “I didn’t have to concern myself about it because Kieran stole it from me.”

  “Oh, of course. I am sorry. It is vulgar of me to ask, but were you rich?”

  “Not compared to the Ashfords. But, yes, I think so. You know that’s part of why Kieran went to London. He is taking my money out of Drummond’s Bank there.”

  “The rascal.”

  “So he can pay for another opera dancer or whatever they’re called?”

  “No, Kieran never went in for light skirts that I heard of. He had enough highborn ladies chasing after him. Do you want me to stop so we can go walk out onto the cliffs?”

  Deirdre barely waited for Chloe to pull up the little spotted pony along the side of the road before she climbed down and headed toward the sea with her usual stride. The folds of her purple muslin skirt hindered her so much she finally pulled it up above her half boots.

  Chloe was laughing and breathless when she caught up with her. “You must not do that. It is too unladylike even for me.”

  Deirdre gripped her straw bonnet to keep it from flying away on the stiff breeze blowing off the Channel. “Until these past two weeks, I haven’t had a dress on in years, not since we went to the theater in London. Well, except for my wedding. I can’t walk in them and—oh, isn’t she beautiful?”

  “She” referred to a frigate in full sail heading toward Plymouth or even beyond the Isles of Scilly to the open sea. She rode at the head of a convoy of merchantmen with smaller naval vessels holding the flanks like collies beside a herd of sheep.

  “And the formation. What seamanship.” She blinked her eyes. “This war has got to end soon. We can’t possibly fight that kind of might and preserve our nation as it is. Chloe, there are nearly as many ships guarding that convoy as we have in our entire navy.”

  Chloe touched her arm. “You do not agree with the war?”

  “Of course not. I am a merchant’s daughter. We didn’t even know we were at war when we were captured. But that doesn’t mean I want us to be British colonies again. Virginia has been the home of my ancestors for nearly a hundred years. We were nearly home. Another week.” She faced Chloe. “I say home, but it wasn’t really. We usually stayed at a boardinghouse in Alexandria when we were in harbor. My real home was out there.” She gestured to the sea. “The men I sailed with were my family, the schooner was my true inheritance. Now I’ve lost all of it. And for what?”

  Chloe drew her eyebrows together. “You do not believe marrying my brother was right?”

  “It is—” Deirdre chose her words with care. “Convenient. He gives himself respectability, and I have a safe haven.”

  More like a luxurious prison.

  Deirdre touched the black fur trimming the stand-up collar of her cloak, the opulence of the woolen garment itself. “This isn’t even a percentage of what luxuries I have, while my crew is starving and cold up there on the moor.”

  Chloe slipped her arm through Deirdre’s and began walking back to the cart. “We can get food and blankets and things to them. I know some ladies at the church have been collecting things for the French prisoners since the prison was built three years ago and taking them up to the moor. We can do it, too.”

  “But how, when Kieran has ensured no one will take me?”

  “Kieran does not need to know.” Chloe looked grim.

  “And your parents?”

  “Neither do they.”

  “How? If I am supposed to disguise the fact that I am an American, I can scarcely walk into the prison and announce I am Lady Ripon. Even if we made up names, we would be recognized.”

  “We shall work on that. For now, let us start the first step and get on with these calls
. We can talk about this more later.”

  They got on with the calls. Deirdre appreciated the fresh air more than she did meeting a score or more of strangers, who stared at her, cast knowing glances at her middle despite its narrow proportions, and winked. They would be counting backward from the birth to the wedding. If it didn’t add up to nine, Kieran would have added to his scandals. They all loved Chloe with her packets of tea for the women, sweets for the children, and tobacco for the men too old to be working.

  “Some physicians disapprove of the stuff,” Chloe told Deirdre on their way back to the house. “But why deprive them of a pipe on their stoop in their old age? They do not have much else to do. Tomorrow I will take you to meet Sally’s mother. She is the local midwife and will tell you anything about childbearing you are too shy to ask Mama.”

  Between the fresh air and the exertion of talking with strangers, Deirdre slept long and deep after returning to Bishops Cove. She woke to firelight and the silence she doubted she could ever get used to—silence and aloneness and wondering if Kieran were spending his evenings, his nights alone.

  She didn’t need to be alone. A note propped up on a book beside the bed informed her that she could find the Ashford ladies in the gold salon and that she could have her supper any time she liked. She simply needed to ring for assistance dressing.

  Assistance dressing indeed. Who invented clothing a woman couldn’t don herself?

  She wrapped herself in a dressing gown and traversed the corridor until she found a footman to send for Sally. Instead of the maid, Chloe slipped into the room, carrying a tray. “I was waiting up for you.”

  “You shouldn’t have done that. I didn’t realize it was so late.”

  “I was going to wait up anyway.”

  “Why?”

  “Eat this lot, and I will tell you.”

  Obediently, Deidre sipped the tea and wolfed down bread and cheese. When she could eat no more, Chloe grabbed her hand and headed for the door.

  “I’m not dressed,” Deirdre protested.