A nervous quivering began deep in her body and moved with a purpose to the surface of her skin. She reached out to grab the bedpost in an effort to steady herself, but her knees gave way and she slipped to the floor. Too weak to move, she lay there as a great wave of grief overwhelmed her. And then she wept in earnest, wrenching sobs of total despair.
Midnight came and went before she found the strength to leave for home.
*****
Charlotte Richards entered Catherine’s bedchamber, her manner brisk. “You haven’t been seen on the town in two days, and I’m here to see why you’ve been hiding.” She stopped abruptly as she caught sight of her friend’s face. “My dear, are you quite all right? You look terrible.”
Catherine’s eyes were nearly swollen shut from hours spent crying. Though rarely given to tears, she had been unable to stem the unending flow. She smiled at Charlotte sadly.
“I’m glad you’ve come, Charlotte. It gives me a chance to say good-by.”
“Good-by? What are you talking about?”
“Edgar has decided it is time for us to go home. We leave in the morning.”
“Tomorrow? But you can’t. Everybody’s coming back to town next week. There will be wonderful parties. You’ll be expected everywhere. You were quite a success, you know.”
“Be that as it may, I won’t be here.”
Lady Richards moved in a rustle of skirts to the chaise where Catherine sat, plopping down beside her friend.
“Now then, something’s wrong—confide in me,” she demanded.
Catherine shook her head. “It’s nothing, really. I have to go home and I don’t want to.”
“What of Lord Ashworth?”
Catherine’s gaze dropped to her hands resting in her lap.
“It’s over,” she stated grimly.
“What happened?”
“Edgar happened. Oh, Charlotte, please don’t make me talk about it. I cry until I think I can’t possibly produce another tear, and then I cry some more. It’s been the most horrible two days of my life.”
“You poor dear.” Charlotte patted Catherine’s hand. “You really cared for Adam, didn’t you?”
“I love him and I always will.” She gulped as the tears threatened to erupt once more.
“There is no hope?” Charlotte asked.
“None, and I wouldn’t change it if I could.”
“Why not?”
“I’m married, Charlotte. There is no future for Lord Ashworth and me. He needs to forget and move on with his life.”
Lady Richards nodded at this obvious truth. “I will miss you. I’ve come to think of you as my very best friend,” she said, her expression full of regret. “Do you think you will ever come back?”
“I have no way of knowing. Maybe as a widow.” Catherine shrugged.
“Now there’s something to hope for,” Charlotte muttered.
The baroness gave her first genuine smile in two days. “Oh, Charlotte, I’m going to miss you, also.”
The two women sat in companionable silence for quite some time, enjoying their final moments together. When Lady Richards departed at last, Catherine could not remember ever having felt more alone.
*****
CHAPTER 10
“Hello, little one. How are you today?”
Catherine placed her hand on her swollen belly with something akin to reverence. She watched in fascination as a tiny unseen limb moved under the surface of her stomach, creating a rolling lump that was visible even through her gown. Smiling, she ran her fingers over the movement in unspoken communication with her sweet babe.
She closed her eyes and sighed. She was weary, so weary. Spring had arrived and not a moment too soon. Catherine had endured the bleakest winter she could remember. The castle, never warm, seemed frozen, the stone walls harboring the damp cold like an enormous block of ice. The chill had seeped into her very bones, and Catherine had feared she would never thaw.
With the spring had come the impending birth of her child and with it all the uncertainty and burgeoning hope that momentous event entailed. She was frightened, and yet her joy could not be contained. It seemed appropriate that the awakening of new life in the fertile earth should herald the new life she would soon bring forth into the world.
Her pregnancy had not been a difficult one, although she had now reached the time when she felt physically uncomfortable. Her feet were puffy and her middle had grown to colossal proportions.
The baron had been oddly indulgent these last months, going out of his way to make her more comfortable. Sometimes it meant avoiding her altogether, which he seemed to understand instinctively. He kept a watchful eye on her, though, and she was wise enough to understand the priceless cargo she carried motivated him. His solicitous conduct told her more than words ever could how important this child was to him.
She had taken over the parlor in recent weeks with Edgar’s blessing, it being the warmest room in the house. He said navigating the stairs more than absolutely necessary posed a risk. “After all, a woman increasing is not as certain on her feet,” he insisted. And so she would come downstairs in the morning with Edna’s help and not return to her chamber before she retired for the evening.
She liked the arrangement, and for the first time since she wed the baron she almost felt at home. Even Willy did not dare upset her, apparently choosing to follow his master’s lead—or orders. She had a glimpse of what life with Edgar would have been had he been more stable. It would never have been a passionate union but it could have been companionable.
All and all, Catherine would have been content with her lot if she could forget the earl. It was impossible, and the harder she tried the more difficult it became.
She loved him and her heart hurt in a way she could not have imagined possible. Coupled with that pain was an overriding guilt she could not put aside. He believed she had deceived him. Even though she was innocent, he would never be aware of it, and that was the most difficult thing of all. She could come to grips with not seeing him again, but knowing he would always despise her was a crushing blow.
Catherine eased herself off the settee she occupied and winced as she set her feet on the floor. They always ached so when first she used them after a long rest. She hobbled to the hearth in lumbering fashion to stoke the fire. It might be spring outside, but the castle always felt chilly.
She did not feel well today. Her lower back ached, and the baby had been particularly restless the last hour or so. She pulled a rocking chair closer to the fire with the intention of sitting down but decided to walk instead. Perhaps she should exercise a bit. She had been prone to unpleasant leg cramps. Several turns around the room did not produce any relief.
“Are you unwell, my dear?” The baron had entered the room and now watched her clumsy progress as she paced the parlor.
Catherine looked up at her husband. “I’m not certain. It’s been some time since I’ve felt well, so I don’t expect that. All I can say is, I feel different somehow.”
“Should I send for the midwife?” he asked anxiously.
“Surely, it’s not time for my confinement. The doctor seemed to think it would be another two weeks.”
“Perhaps you should sit down.”
“I’m not comfortable sitting down.” Did that shrewish voice belong to her?
“Yes, well, I’m going to send for your maid.”
“Oh dear! Oh dear!” Catherine shrieked suddenly, and her eyes widened in astonishment as a gush of water sluiced down her legs, drenching her petticoats and then the carpet beneath her.
“What is it?” Her scream must have unnerved him, for he jumped like a startled cat.
“I’m not certain, but I think this is what’s called the ‘water breaking.’”
“You don’t know?”
“Why should I know?” she snapped.
“You’re a woman,” he said as if that explained everything. “I just thought you would understand what was happening.”
“W
ell, I don’t. I’ve never been at a birthing. I’ve spent my entire adult life in this damned castle. What do you think, because I’m female, I’m born with this information conveniently locked in my head for use when I need it?”
“Catherine, I have no idea.”
“I’ll tell you this much, there are supposed to be pains and I haven’t had a one.”
Strange how mentioning a circumstance can invoke that very thing, for suddenly a rather unpleasant pang gripped her middle, causing her to gasp for air.
“I guess that was not entirely unbearable,” she breathed when finally she could speak.
This last sent the baron into action. “That tears it! I’m sending for the midwife.” He raced to the door. “Willy!” he bellowed.
Immediately Willy Gant’s footsteps could be heard pounding down the hall. “My lord?” he wheezed as he rushed into the parlor.
“Lady Bourgeault’s time is upon her. Have a footman carry her upstairs. Then fetch the midwife and be quick about it.”
Willy disappeared and moments later a burly footman entered the room.
“Carry your mistress to her quarters,” Lord Bourgeault commanded.
Catherine found herself whisked up into the strong arms of the servant, and she held on for dear life as he moved swiftly to the stairs. Another contraction seized her and she moaned into the young man’s shoulder.
“My lady, I’m so sorry. Am I hurting you?”
The concern in the footman’s voice caused her eyes to sting with unshed tears. “No, no, just nature giving me a little nudge,” she said unsteadily.
They reached her apartment, and Catherine could feel the servant’s words rumble in his chest as he spoke. “Edna, lass, our lady’s pains have started. Pull back the blankets on the bed so I can make her comfortable.”
“Aye, Robby.”
Something in Edna’s tone caused the baroness to turn her head and glance at her maid. For a fleeting moment she saw a look of pure adulation on Edna’s face when she answered the footman. Catherine wished she had time to ponder this interesting turn of events, but unfortunately, she had to give her attention to more pressing matters.
Robby carefully placed his mistress on the mattress and, as he backed away, he looked into Catherine’s flustered features.
“Our prayers are with you, my lady.”
Why that small kindness should mean so much, she could not say, but as she took in the anxious expressions on her servants’ faces, she knew they cared. For a young woman who felt isolated from all affection, that caring provided a gentle balm for a lost, lonely soul.
“Edna,” Catherine said as Robby withdrew, “I’m frightened. I don’t want to do this. Do you think it’s too late to turn back?”
The maid giggled halfheartedly. “My lady, I wish I could say you have that choice, but I’m afraid you must go through with it. But don’t worry, it’s been done before. And I can promise you will think it worth while when you hold your sweet babe for the first time.”
“Have you been at a birthing before?”
“Yes, yes, of course. I’ll take good care of you, and the midwife will be here soon.”
To be sure that turned out to be the case. The midwife arrived in short order and, after an abbreviated but intense labor, almost one year to the day she first made love to a handsome earl in a secluded glen, Catherine brought his child into the world. The squalls of a healthy infant pierced the air, and a collective sigh of relief was felt throughout the castle.
“My dear, sweet lady, you were brave.” Edna squeezed the water from a damp cloth and placed it on Catherine’s forehead.
“You’re being charitable and you know it,” the baroness croaked, her voice so tired she could barely speak.
“Giving birth is quite a chore,” the maid insisted. “You should be very pleased with yourself.”
At that moment the midwife approached with the baby. “All cleaned up and ready for a mother’s arms. What a precious bundle you have, my lady.” She placed the swaddled infant across the baroness’ chest.
Catherine gazed into the tiny, wrinkled face of her child and a sense of ecstasy burst free within her, warming her body from its very core.
“Hello, my little baron,” she whispered. “I’ve been waiting so long to make your acquaintance.” She glanced up and caught the two women exchanging a look of surprise.
“There seems to be some confusion, my lady,” Edna ventured.
“What is it? He’s all right, isn’t he? Tell me nothing’s wrong with him,” Catherine demanded anxiously.
“It’s nothing like that. It’s just, well…” Edna paused as she looked at the midwife again then continued. “The baby’s not a boy. You’ve given birth to a girl, my lady, a lovely, beautiful girl.”
Dear Lord, her deepest fear realized. All the elation of the moment vanished only to be replaced by a terrible feeling of foreboding. Not even now at the birth of her child would she be allowed to enjoy the fruits of her labor. What would Edgar say? More to the point, what would he do?
Her dismay must have been apparent, for Edna rushed to reassure her. “A girl is as fine as a boy, my lady. Don’t let anyone tell you different.”
Catherine was too exhausted and heartsick to explain to the little maid how things really stood. She had never bothered to share her husband’s preference in the matter, and now with the midwife in attendance, this did not seem to be the time. Later would be soon enough. She drew the fragile newborn to her breast and closed her drooping eyes. Within moments she fell into a dreamless sleep.
*****
Catherine came awake in the early morning. Her lids blinked open in the sun-brightened room, and she stared without recognition at the dust motes that floated on the incoming beams of daylight. She ached all over, and she groaned aloud as she gingerly shifted her battered body beneath the coverlet. Awareness came to her as she remembered the events of the day before. Her breath caught in her throat.
She abruptly sat up in the rumpled bed, alert to a plaintive mewling that came from somewhere in the room. Her gaze traveled the chamber, seeking out the faint noise, when she saw…the baron! He was occupying the rocking chair by the fireplace, and next to him in a small wooden cradle lay her child. Edgar sat very still, arms folded over his chest as though he had been waiting a long time.
With difficulty she managed not to let her agitation show. “Good morning, Edgar. What are you doing here?”
“Why, my dear, I’m getting to know my little daughter.”
His voice was devoid of emotion, however, there was no mistaking his mood. He was angry, dreadfully so.
Catherine licked her lips. Some response was required, but for her very life she could think of nothing to say.
When she did not speak, her husband continued. “You’ve failed me, Catherine. Unequivocally and without doubt you’ve let me down. I cannot verbalize the disappointment I feel at this moment.”
“You seem to be doing quite well so far, Edgar,” she said with some asperity.
He didn’t address her remark, instead saying, “Do you have any idea where this leaves us?”
“Where?”
“At the beginning—at the very bloody beginning,” he snarled. He leaned forward in the rocker. “There’s nothing for it, we’re going to have to do it all over again.”
“You can’t mean it! Lord Ashworth will never agree now that he knows what you have in mind.”
“I have no intention of allowing you within a country mile of Lord Ashworth, so don’t give it a second thought. We’ll have to find another gentleman. I doubt it will be difficult.”
“Edgar, please don’t ask this of me,” she begged him.
“What of me?” he shouted. “Do you think it has been easy for me to stand by and watch my wife lie with another man? I must have an heir and it will not end until that need is satisfied. Do I make myself clear?”
“Why can’t your brother inherit? What has he done that is so terrible you must cut him off?
”
“Let us just say,” he stated darkly, “he deserted me when I needed him most, and I will never forgive him.”
“What makes you think I will cooperate with you now when you were certain I would not do so before?”
A slow, sinister smile altered his ugly features, and the light of madness touched his gaze. His regard drifted to the fussy baby who was oblivious to the sudden danger that threatened her.
“I believe I have more leverage with you now than I did before,” he said. “Do you think I’ve the right of it?”
A stab of fright quite unlike anything she had ever experienced before pierced Catherine’s meager defenses. He had chosen her one great vulnerability. He had the right of it, yes, he did. He knew it and she knew it.
“You wouldn’t hurt a helpless child, would you Edgar?” She began to struggle from the twisted covers.
“Calm yourself, my dear. I don’t eat innocents for dinner. But there is nothing to say I won’t grow weary of her presence, for she is no use to me. She is another mouth to feed, excess baggage. Whether or not she stays with you depends entirely on how you choose to respond to my request.” He eased back in the chair and began to rock to and fro.
“What would you do?”
“It’s nothing to find a childless couple who would be pleased to raise the by-blow of an earl—for a price, of course.”
“I hate you, Edgar!”
The baron’s lip curled in disdain. “I can deal with your hate, wife. It’s your affection I wouldn’t know how to handle, so don’t fool yourself into believing it makes any difference.”
The infant, as if sensing the malevolent undercurrents that pervaded the room, began to wail pitifully. Catherine’s gaze darted to the cradle, and she watched in apprehension as two tiny fists waved spasmodically in the air. She managed to sidle off the bed, finding her feet with some difficulty. Oh my! She felt sore, especially her nether regions.
In the Garden of Temptation Page 20