by Cheryl Bolen
“A pity,” she said playfully, continuing to stroke him.
He dove at her, and in minutes, they were spent and panting beneath the covers.
Allowing only enough time for his breath to return to normal, James bolted up. “As much as I should cherish spending the entire day in bed with you, love, I have grave duties to attend to today.”
He got up and strode to his dressing room.
She watched his supple muscles, admiring the well formed body of the man she loved, then she got up and followed him so that she, too, could get dressed. “I'll help you with your boots if you will do my buttons,” she said with a smile. “How is it that both Peggy and Mannington knew to stay away this morning?”
“No doubt it's a sixth sense servants seem to be born with.”
* * *
They went down to breakfast together. He would have to put his pleasurable thoughts behind him now for he had grim duties to perform today.
Throughout most of the breakfast they were quiet. He was amazed at how well Carlotta had come to sense his moods. Even last night, her gentleness, her loving, was the only emotion he could have stood. She had known how deeply he was hurting, and she had known how to balm him.
“What are you going to do about the mines?” she asked.
Good Lord, she had learned how to read his thoughts! Their eyes met and held in confirmation of the melding of their thoughts.
He shrugged. “What will the men do if I decide to close the mine?”
She closed her small hand over his much bigger one. “You'll think of something.”
He nodded grimly, then stood.
“I'm going with you,” she said, getting to her feet.
He knew he had to allow her this. As much as he did not want her to come. She was truly his other half now. No longer could he exclude her.
* * *
Despite that Carlotta had begged her husband not to go into the pits, he did. She had known he would. And as long as he was under, she refused to leave.
It had been late afternoon before they were able to open up the caved-in shaft and pull out the asphyxiated bodies of Douglas Covington and Matthew Linderman. Carlotta turned her head when they brought up the bodies. She wished she could have turned the heads of the women and children who had gathered around throughout the day. Especially the children.
Once she was assured her husband would not go back into the mines, she left for the Covington cottage, James insisting that young Willy accompany her.
Several women were still gathered around the grieving widow, who sat in the same place on her sopha where she had sat the night before. Only today she held her infant—Douglas's infant, too—to her breast. She looked up at Carlotta with hollow eyes, red rimmed from crying.
“Thank ye, me lady, for sending the victuals to me children,” Mrs. Covington said. “I dare say there's enough to last a month.”
“I know how difficult it will be for you to cook, with your grief being so great,” Carlotta said.
Tears sprang to Mrs. Covington's eyes, and she nodded.
“I've come to see if there's anything else I can do for you,” Carlotta said.
“I want me Dooglas's body here.”
Carlotta's heart tripped. “They're bringing it now.”
Mrs. Covington buried her face in her hands and began to weep.
Carlotta stayed until a half dozen miners, accompanied by her own husband, brought in Douglas Covington's body. The other wives promptly got up to clean the dead man and prepare his body. Carlotta wished to keep the children from beholding so grim a business. She leapt to her feet and announced, “Children, please to join me outside,” she said, her glance sweeping to each and every one of the blond youths.
They dare not disobey the Countess of Rutledge. Eight children filed from the house. Outside, she gathered them around her. “I thought it fitting that we come outside where we're closest to the Almighty. I wish to offer a prayer for your dear father.”
All except the very youngest bowed their head, tears gathering in the corners of their eyes.
“Lord our God, king of heaven, please accept into your kingdom today Douglas Covington, a fine and good man, a good Christian who lived his life by loving those he valued the most, his dear wife of twelve years, his seven strong sons and his two beautiful daughters.
“Dear Lord, give Douglas's loved ones the strength to carry on without their beloved husband and father. Give them the assurance their loved one has found his place with You in heaven.”
When she finished, she looked up at them. There was not a dry eye.
“I don't mean to make you sad,” she said softly. “I want you to rejoice that your father has found his place beside his Lord in heaven. He has been reunited with his little lost Mary. He's free of coal dust and long hours of hard labor. He can rest at last.”
She looked up to see that the eldest boy's lip curled into a crooked smile, though his eyes were still moist.
“Now,” Carlotta said, “I want each of you to think of a special thing about your father. Something he did which was special to you. My son Stevie and his nurse will come here with paper and pen to write down your remembrances and put them in a book. A book just for memories of your Papa. And one day each of you will learn to read that book.” She paused. “And I think your father would have been very happy to know his children had learned to read.”
By now they had stopped crying. All of them. She could almost see the thoughts churning through their little brains. “Now go sit by the brook and think of a story about your Papa. The brook is an appropriate place to remember him. Running water is a sign of life. You're to remember your father's life.”
* * *
As Carlotta and her husband returned to Yarmouth, he said, “I've got to close the mines.”
She nodded. “You'll be losing your major source of income, too.”
He whirled at her. “That matters to you?”
She shook her head. “Not at all. I believe I could be happy with you in a cottage no bigger than the Covington's.”
A smile crept over his face. He was choked with emotion—as well as an overwhelming urge to draw her into his arms. Instead, he attempted to act casually. “We'll be fine. I have many profitable investments, and I can raise sheep and cattle on my land.”
“We'll need to provide a means of livelihood for the misplaced miners.”
He nodded.
“Please don't be angry, dearest, but I promised the Covington children they would learn to read.” She related what she had just told the youngsters.
“We can manage that, I suppose,” he said.
“James, I want to help the miners' families.”
“I can't have the Countess of Rutledge being a school master,” he said with a laugh.
“Not that,” she protested. “I have managed to hang onto some very valuable diamonds that used to be meaningful to me. Since they are no longer meaningful, I wish to sell them and use the money to establish the miners with their own stock to start sheep farming—or something that you think will be suitable to replace their lost income.”
James squeezed her hand. “I can afford to do that.”
“But I want to! Besides, you have your own income replacement to demand your money.”
He lifted her hand to kiss it. “If it will make you happy, I'll try to sell the diamonds for you.”
* * *
When Carlotta got back to Yarmouth, she raced to her chambers to fetch the diamond necklace and came back down to the library and proudly presented the necklace to James.
He looked at the distinctive necklace. He had seen it once before at Rundel & Bridges. There was only one in the kingdom made like it. Mr. Rundel himself had told James the necklace would never be duplicated. Its setting, constructed entirely of diamonds, formed a perfect square frame upon which a heart was centered.
James stiffened. The necklace had been commissioned by Gregory Blankenship for his mistress.
Chapter 27
James had gone to London a short time after ascending to the earldom. At Boodles he had met the wealthy Gregory Blankenship and had been told that women threw themselves at the handsome Blankenship's feet. For his part, James had found the man amiable and easy to admire. James thought he was a bit too free with his spending, even if he could buy half the men at Boodles. Or so the rumor mill had it.
During that stay in London, James had cause to go to Rundel & Bridges at Ludgate Hill to have some stones reset on some of the Rutledge jewels. It was while he was bringing in the jewels that he happened to run into Blankenship. Having made each other's acquaintance at their club, they nodded to one another, then James continued on to the next clerk.
'Twas Mr. Rundel himself who assisted the enormously wealthy Blankenship. When Mr. Rundel had held up the distinctive diamond necklace, James could not help but look at it. Indeed, everyone who was then in the shop gathered around the stunning necklace and made exclamations over its magnificence.
One of the customers had the ill manners to say, “How happy your wife will be to receive that!”
To which Gregory Blankenship quipped—after directing a haughty stare at the woman—”But I have no wife.”
That was when James remembered being told that Blankenship had for a mistress the most beautiful woman—a woman with eyes the color of violets.
Thinking on it now sent stabs of pain directly to his heart. His Carlotta had been Gregory Blankenship's mistress. He thought back on all the things she had told him about her failed efforts to remarry after Captain Ennis died. She had wanted to remarry and had given her heart to a man who did not offer marriage. Gregory Blankenship.
Had Carlotta been felled by a bullet, James doubted his pain could have been greater than it was at this very moment.
He didn't know which hurt the worse, the fact she had been a mistress or the fact she had loved Blankenship so greatly she could have sunk to such depths.
Unsummoned, visions of his beautiful wife in bed with the paragon, Gregory Blankenship, slammed into James. He was going to be sick.
He could not meet his wife's gaze. “Please excuse me,” he managed. “I've become ill.” He turned to return to his chambers.
“Darling, what's wrong?” she asked, setting a hand to his arm and starting after him.
Shaking his head, he shoved her away, then entered his room, slamming the door on her.
He was sick for a very long time. Even when there was nothing left in his stomach, he lay across his bed in the dark room, unable to move. A lifetime of uncommonly good luck now mattered for naught. He gave a bitter laugh. Would that he could have suffered a lifetime of strife to now enjoy marital bliss.
His life had not been without pain. Captain Ennis's death had hit him hard. He had been bereft when he had lost his dear mother. But neither of those losses could prepare him for the grief of losing his cherished wife.
For he had lost her. The beautiful widow he had fallen in love with had never existed. The loving attributes he had imbued her with were nothing but figments of his imagination. Even the passionate way she had given herself to him meant nothing now. For such amorous charms came naturally to a courtesan. And his wife had been a courtesan.
He had never felt more bereft. In the span of a single second, his life had been irrevocably altered. Instead of being possessed of a loving family and looking toward a future with a loving wife and several children, he had nothing.
For he could not accept a whore for a wife.
He could not continue living at Yarmouth with her. He must get away from her. As much as he hated her at this moment, he could not send her away. There was the lad to consider. As much as he disliked the mother, he could not penalize the child. No, James thought, he would have to leave. Nothing would change for the boy. James would still provide for them. He would just not be around.
He stood up to test his stomach and found that he could move about without ill effects. He would have to find Carlotta and tell her.
First, he told Mannington to pack all his clothing. “I go to Bath today,” he informed his valet.
James found Carlotta in her study. When he flung open the door, she stood up and came forward to greet him, concern etched on her beautiful face. “Are you all right, dearest?”
As she went to secure his hands, he pushed her away and walked over to the fire, turning his back on her. “As good as can be expected.”
“Pray, love, what do you think is the matter?”
He took a deep sigh. “I find I cannot accept your diamonds.”
“Why? I told you I have no use for them. I shall never wear them as long as I live.”
At least she was over Blankenship, he thought bitterly. James finally had secured that which he thought he wanted above everything, only to learn he now wanted no part of it.
“I will not have the necklace because Gregory Blankenship bought it.” He whirled around to face her. “Bought it for his mistress.”
Her face drained of all color as she slumped into her chair, her great eyes filling with tears.
His hands coiled into fists as he glared at her. “Why did you not tell me?”
“Because you never would have married me--” She burst into tears.
“No, I wouldn't have, but I should have been told, Carlotta.”
She made no move to wipe her tears or to keep the agonizing tremble from her voice when she spoke. “I would have preferred dying over admitting the truth.”
As much as he had come to loathe her, it was difficult to stand there and watch her suffering and not move to take her within his arms. “I don't understand, Carlotta, how could you have allowed yourself . . . ?”
Her voice shook when she spoke. “My love made me a fool.” Deep sobs racked her. “I . . . I thought he w-w-w-would offer marriage.”
It was painful to hear her admit to loving Blankenship. Finally, he found his voice. “I must leave, you know,” he said simply, avoiding her gaze.
She nodded, then buried her face into her hands as her shoulders shook with sobs.
He strode across the room, let himself out, and slammed the door behind him.
* * *
Carlotta was not unprepared for her great heartache. She had never been confident her dark secret would remain hidden. Gregory, though she was certain of his discretion, was far too well known to hide an affair of such long standing from his prying friends, of which the man had far too many.
Deep within her breast, Carlotta had always known James would discover her great shame. He was bound to learn he had given his name and his title to a fallen woman.
She had always known happiness would elude her. Whenever she'd had a glimpse of it, it had been brutally snatched from her. She had been orphaned at an early age. She had become a widow when she was but nineteen. And she had loved with all her heart a man who wanted only her body.
None of those hurts, though, could compare to today's devastation, she thought as she slumped over her desk, weeping bitterly. Complete happiness had been so close—nay, she had held it in her hand. She could live a thousand lifetimes and never find James's equal. He had not only held her heart, he had possessed her soul. Just being in the same room with him could cause her eyes to tear from her boundless love. Every time he held her in his arms, something deep and profound had stirred within her.
He was the most unselfish man she had ever known. Even in his leaving, he had been unselfish. It was he who would give up the comforts of his home and servants in order for Stevie and her to keep them.
Fresh tears slid down her face.
She remembered the devastation she had felt when Gregory married. As wrenching as it had been, it diminished when compared to losing her beloved husband.
For she knew she had lost James. He was too fine a man to sully himself with a woman like her.
She remembered, too, how she had sulked and fretted and wished herself dead when she had lost Gregory. For months, she had not left her lodgings, except onc
e—to move from a grand house when her settlement from Gregory began to run out.
Her eyes swollen, her heart irreparably bruised, she rose from her desk and walked to the window. Her glance fell on the park land in front of Yarmouth and upon the broad avenue that led up to the home James loved so dearly. She watched as Jeremy brought Ebony around. Her breath caught and she cinched in her breath to keep from weeping as she saw James climb upon his mount.
Tears clouded her vision as her gaze followed James while he rode away from Yarmouth, away from the place where they had shared such total happiness. As painful as it was to watch, she refused to look away until she could no longer see him.
Great tears sliding down her face, Carlotta turned away from the window. 'Twas as if her very heart had been wrenched from her. Were it not for her son, she would wish to die. But, by God, she did have a son. A son who needed her. No longer could she allow herself to wallow in pity, to forget there were others who depended upon her.
All the goodness James had imparted to her would matter for naught is she shirked her obligations. She would not demonstrate her love for James by weeping prostrate on her bed; she could demonstrate her love for him by putting aside her own heartache and give of herself as James had so willingly given of himself to so many who needed him.
Now, though, she squared her shoulders and sat up straight in front of her desk. She refused to cripple herself over this. Not because she did not want to. Oh, she wanted to lie down and die. But she could not allow herself to. Too many people now depended upon her.
Her first concern had to be Stevie. For his sake she would be strong, even if her heart were bleeding. With James gone, there would be many other people who would look to her for counsel, and she meant to pull herself up from despair and take on all the responsibilities of the Countess of Rutledge. Despite that she was a fallen woman, she would conduct her many duties with the dignity of a countess. Her shame was behind her. Her future lay in service to others. Especially those less fortunate than she. She must do that which James would have done, that which, by his example, he had taught her to do.
By day she would provide potent leadership and administer love to Stevie and those she cared for. By night, she would allow herself to ache for her lost James.