Hero's Redemption

by Georgie Lee

  Devon stood by her side, slipping his hand into hers and squeezing it.

  “This has been quite a night,” she sighed, fatigue heavy in her words and the dark circles under her eyes.

  “Indeed, it has.”

  Her hand tightened on his before she released it to pour a good measure of the mixture into a cup. Ronald held the baby while Cathleen handed Elizabeth the tea.

  “Thank you, Cathleen. For everything.”

  “It’s the least I could do.”

  “Now, you must all leave so they can rest.” The midwife shooed them out of the room, except for Ronald who refused to leave, sitting beside his wife to watch her nurse their child.

  Devon guided Cathleen into the hallway then pulled her into a comforting embrace. She clung to him, her body trembling with the fear he knew she’d kept at bay during Elizabeth’s ordeal.

  “You were wonderful in there,” he whispered, caressing her hair until the trembling passed and she leaned heavily against him. He’d never known someone this generous, so eager to help others.

  “I’ve never done that before,” she admitted. “What if something had gone wrong?”

  “But it didn’t.” He kissed the top of her head. “You were very brave.”

  “I didn’t feel it.”

  He tilted her head up with the tips of his fingers. “Being brave means taking charge and doing what you need to do, even when you’re scared.”

  “Thank you.” She offered him a tired smile and it radiated through his chest more powerfully than the deep thunder rolling over the manor. No one had ever been more precious to him as she was at this moment. As he studied her sweet face, her hair falling over her shoulders, she seemed vulnerable and strong all at the same time. Pushing back a stray curl, he pressed his forehead against hers. He didn’t deserve a woman like her, one who rushed to help, who asked nothing of him but gave everything. He would earn the right to deserve her and the tender feeling building deep inside him, even if he couldn’t yet give it words.

  Chapter Eight

  Cathleen walked down the hallway, covering a yawn with her hand. After the stress of last night, she’d slept very late, awakening to find Devon gone and the curtains still drawn. A note on the pillow in Devon’s strong hand had encouraged her to rest, and she’d fallen back to sleep for some time until her grumbling stomach drove her from bed. Despite the extra sleep, she felt the exhaustion in her back and rubbed her shoulders, trying to dispel it.

  Moving past Elizabeth’s room, she heard the child’s wail and paused, tempted to visit the new mother and baby, but she kept walking. She wasn’t ready, not yet. Last night, when she’d cradled the newborn, taking in the narrow blue eyes unfocused and sleepy, the old familiar melancholy mixed with her excitement. She’d stood in so many cottages with Madame Rochard at other blessed moments, lovingly tending the little arrival while her heart twisted with the curse of her barrenness. None of Madame Rochard’s tonics or suggestions ever helped her conceive. Then it was too late.

  A maid carrying a tray of food came up the stairs, dipping a curtsey to Cathleen before she passed. Cathleen gripped the polished banister and descended the stairs, trying to shake off the bitter regrets. Dwelling on old disappointment would do no good, even if worry gnawed harder at her stomach than hunger. She hadn’t told Devon of her inability to bear children. Hopefully, one of Madame Rochard’s special tea recipes would work and he’d never have to suffer the disappointment she and Thomas had known.

  Near the dining room, the scent of eggs and ham filled the air, beckoning her forward, but voices spilling into the hallway stopped her fast. Without thinking, she stepped to the side of the open door and out of sight of the two people inside.

  “I still don’t understand your sudden desire to marry but I agree with Elizabeth—Cathleen’s changed you for the better,” Lady Malton said in her clipped tone.

  “Am I to assume you now approve of my marriage?” Devon asked in a flat voice edged with exasperation.

  “I haven’t decided yet, but if it means there’ll be no more talk of what that poor man did for you in France, I’ll certainly be happy.”

  Cathleen clenched her fists and nearly marched in to confront the unfeeling woman, but held back. She was Devon’s mother and Cathleen had to remain cordial and allow Devon to deal with her as he saw fit.

  “Your understanding is too touching,” Devon sarcastically replied.

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must return to Elizabeth. The midwife is capable but hardly a suitable nurse.”

  A chair squeaked over the wood floor, accompanied by the scratching of dogs’ toenails. Cathleen looked around for a place to hide, then stopped. She had no reason to fear the dowager countess. Standing up straight, she stepped into the doorway just as Lady Malton reached it. The dowager halted with a startled gasp, her pack of dogs swirling around her feet while her pinched eyes traveled up and down Cathleen.

  “Do not let him prattle on about France,” Lady Malton instructed, her icy demeanor warming slightly. “It will do neither of you any good.”

  Having dispensed her hard advice, she swept past Cathleen and up the stairs, her canine entourage trotting obediently behind her.

  Cathleen continued into the dining room, meeting her husband’s tight lips with a smile. “With such motherly affection, it’s a wonder you turned out so well.”

  “She was not so hard before my father died.”

  “I see.” Cathleen selected a plate from the sideboard and helped herself to some toast and eggs, her anger at the dowager’s demeanor easing. “When did she arrive?”

  “Early this morning. I sent for her last night when I sent for the doctor. Despite her questionable maternal instincts where I’m concerned, she dotes on Elizabeth. And it gives her great pleasure to terrorize the midwife and blame me for bringing Elizabeth here at such a time. She’s even ordered Dr. Manning to remain in case bed fever sets in.”

  “Is Elizabeth in danger?” Cathleen froze at the table, leaving the footman waiting behind her with the chair pulled out.

  Devon shook his head. “No. Mother insists on the doctor as a precaution.”

  “Thank goodness,” Cathleen breathed, dropping into the chair.

  “In fact, both the midwife and doctor say she and the baby are fine.” Devon reached over, covering her hand with his and squeezing it. “Thanks to you.”

  “It was my pleasure to help.”

  He leaned in close. “Someday, that will be us.”

  She slowly withdrew her hand, pushing the eggs around her plate with the fork, her appetite gone. She snatched up her toast and began buttering it, scraping so hard with the knife, a hail of crumbs littered the plate.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  She dropped the knife and bread. “I can’t bear children.”

  He sat back, straightening the fork next to his plate. “You know this for a fact?”

  She shook her head, not wanting to have this conversation at the breakfast table, especially after such a long night. But with him watching her, waiting for an answer, there was no avoiding it. “Thomas and I were married for five years and there never were any. Though after the first few weeks of our marriage, we saw each other so infrequently...” Her voice trailed off.

  “I’m sorry.” He stared at her plate and the toast pieces littering the white surface.

  “You’d never mentioned children. I assumed, like so many, illness or some other tragedy had befallen you.”

  “You have no reason to be sorry. I should have told you before, but everything happened so fast,” she continued, afraid to look at him, to see the hate or disappointment marring his face at the realization that all hope for an heir was gone. Despite knowing him for only a few days, she’d let him into her heart and allowed herself to picture their future togethe
r. The idea it might prove to be nothing more than an illusion frightened her.

  The clock on the mantle ticked loudly and she wiggled the ring on her finger, waiting through the agonizing silence until he spoke.

  “There’s still hope. Perhaps it was only the brief time you had with your husband that prevented children.” He leaned into her, dropping a light kiss on her lips.

  “Perhaps.” She laid her hand on his smooth cheek. A small hope flickered in her heart and she tended it cautiously, afraid to let it spark into a brighter flame. Devon was right. Though she’d loved Thomas and wanted a child, there had never been enough nights together.

  Devon rose, drawing her to her feet. “We’ll simply have to try more often.”

  “Now?” she exclaimed.

  “Eager, are we?” He kissed her again with a passion she felt in her toes, leaving her slightly dizzy when he straightened. “We will, and soon, but first I have a present for you, to thank you for last night.”

  “There’s no need to thank me.”

  He laid a silencing finger on her lips. “Yes there is, but we must hurry before it rains again.”

  Leading her from the dining room, they walked out the sitting room French doors and through the garden. Overhead, small patches of blue shone through the thick, dark clouds threatening rain. Holding tight to his hand, she followed him down the path to the stables, laughing with him while they ran through the grass. A light rain began to fall and they reached the stable door, both of them breathing hard, his boots covered with grass and mud and her hem wet.

  “Close your eyes,” he commanded.

  Cathleen obeyed, wondering if he’d bought her a new saddle or riding habit. No, it couldn’t be—there hadn’t been time. Maybe the stables were meant to distract her and the gift had nothing to do with riding. She squeezed his hands in anticipation, almost ashamed of her girlish excitement. But after such a difficult night, it felt good to enjoy the lightheartedness of the moment.

  He led her deeper into the stable and the tart scent of dry hay and horses struck her. She could hear the animals moving in their stalls, and one whinnied a short distance away. Devon’s boots scraped over the wood and sand on the floor until he stopped and turned her to the side.

  “Open your eyes.”

  She found herself face to nose with the beautiful brown gelding she’d seen in the village yesterday.

  “His name is Clover. He’s yours,” Devon announced.

  “Mine? No, it’s too much.” I can’t afford him, she almost said, but those days were behind her now. The horse was hers to ride when she pleased, to be housed and fed like an animal this fine deserved, to never be sold to pay debts. She stroked his long nose, biting her bottom lip to keep the tears from falling.

  Devon placed one hand on her shoulder. “You don’t like him?”

  “I love him, thank you.” She hugged Devon close, burying her face in his neck. Please let there be a child, she silently pleaded, as his strong arms encircled her.

  “Then what’s wrong?”

  How could she tell him how much this meant? Not the horse or Malton Hall, but the sense of safety and security she felt waking up each morning in a bed of her own, with plenty to eat and someone who understood the trials she’d faced over the last two years. Stepping back, she wiped away a large tear and smiled, regaining her usual composure. “It’s not like me to be so emotional, but I’m tired from last night and the gift is so wonderful and unexpected. Where did you find time to purchase him?”

  “Mr. Matthews, besides being quite a rigorous trainer, is excellent with horses.” Devon leaned against the stall, playing with a small piece of hay while she stroked the horse’s neck, making the muscles beneath the mane twitch. “He was in the village yesterday afternoon and told me about it. While you were asleep this morning, I went to see it and knew it was perfect for you.”

  “He is.”

  She yearned to ride but the rain fell hard on the roof so they stood with the horse, chatting and enjoying the quiet of the stables and the pleasure of easy conversation. They didn’t speak of the past, or last night, or any of their old griefs. Instead they planned for the future, Devon telling her of the places they’d ride, Cathleen eager to see them and asking questions about the other Malton estates.

  By the time the rain stopped, it was too late to ride and they returned to the house to rest and prepare for the ball. The butler met them in the study with two letters on a silver platter.

  “These arrived for you, Lady Malton.”

  Cathleen paused at the sound of her new name, amazed again to hear herself addressed in such regal terms.

  “Not a note from your brother, I hope?” Devon asked, removing his damp coat.

  Cathleen shook her head, picked up the letters and examined the unfamiliar handwriting. Breaking the wax seal on the first one, she moved closer to the fire to read the contents. “No, it’s only from a London apothecary with the prices of some herbs I requested.”

  “That reminds me, I’d like you to make a liniment for my leg.” He handed his coat to the butler who laid it over his arm and left. Devon followed him to the door, locking it with one hand while the other worked loose his cravat. “Mr. Matthews believes it will help with the morning stiffness in my thigh.”

  “I’ll start on it at once.” She broke the seal on the other letter, surprised to find a response from the shop owner in Bath saying the space was still available and to write at once if she wanted to lease it. She folded the letter and tossed it into the fire, startling slightly when Devon came up from behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

  “And that one?”

  She turned in his embrace and stretched up on her toes to kiss the tip of his nose.

  “Only a note forwarded from London regarding a place for my shop in Bath. I don’t need it anymore.”

  “Indeed, you don’t.”

  * * *

  Devon tasted her moist lips as the smell of burning paper filled the room. He tried to ignore it and the suspicion sitting hard in his gut. He’d attempted to see the letter but she’d destroyed it too fast. Hopefully, it was a response to her inquiry and not some note from her brother.

  His hands tightened on her back, wrinkling the cotton beneath his fingers. Bloody hell, why can’t I trust her?

  Yesterday afternoon, he’d sat in the sitting room, close to the stairs, waiting for her to return from her ride. His irritation increased every time a maid or footman walked by, drawing him to the doorway and crushing his expectation. Fantasies of her at the Silver Swan with the Wellses, laughing and telling them his secrets and shame, had taunted him until Mr. Matthews returned from the inn. He hadn’t seen anyone who matched Lucien or Martha’s description and the publican didn’t recall a woman from the carriage staying on. The news lightened Devon’s mood but he continued to brood until the footsteps in the foyer proved to be Cathleen’s.

  He’d rushed to the door, anxious to get at the truth of the matter, but her windswept hair falling around her face, her complexion flush and eyes bright from exercise, had taken his breath away. Even under his stern look, she’d met him without shame, making all his worries seem like the paranoid fantasies of a madman.

  The smell of charred paper dissipated, leaving only her raspberry fragrance. She sighed, pressing against him, her fingers lightly brushing the back of his neck and his worries began to fade. He slid his hand along the curve of her waist, where his wedding ring caught the boning of the stays pressing through the soft dress. Desire filled him, trailed by the stronger need to be united with her heart as well as her body.

  As he lowered her gently onto the settee, she arched and curved to meet the angles of him. He fought down a creeping panic. Alone with her, he felt more vulnerable than during any battle, knowing the growing thread between them could easily snap if she learned the
truth about Hougoumont Manor. The pain of watching his friends fade away and his mother’s cutting remarks would mean nothing next to the hate he’d see in her eyes. Covering her body with his, he kissed her hard, letting the peace of her touch calm his fears. The truth would not destroy them. He wouldn’t let it.

  Chapter Nine

  Cathleen took Devon’s hand and stepped out of the carriage, hurrying up onto the first marble step to escape the mud left over from the rain. The light pink dress swirled around her like the faint music drifting out of Upland Manor. She inhaled the sharp scent of rain-soaked stone and horses, relieved to escape the confines of the carriage and the dowager’s cloying rose perfume. The ride from Malton Hall to Lady Upland’s had been made in silence, broken by short bursts of stiff small talk and the high-pitched whine of the dowager’s lap dog. Cathleen had hoped Lady Malton would remain with Elizabeth, but since the new mother and child were doing well, she’d decided to attend the ball.

  Devon handed his mother down, careful not to jostle the small spaniel tucked under her arm. Cathleen fingered the heavy pearl earrings Elizabeth had loaned her for the evening, wondering what mischief the woman intended and if tonight might be a hint of what to expect in London.

  “Shall we?” Devon offered his arm while his mother stood perched like a black crow on his other side. The only way to discover the dowager’s intentions was to go inside.

  “Yes, please.”

  The whispering began the moment they stepped into the pool of candlelight flooding through the open front doors. It followed them through the foyer and into the large ballroom at the far end. If Devon or his mother noticed, neither of them showed it and Cathleen did her best to emulate them, smiling kindly in the receiving line and ignoring the wide-eyed looks of surprise Lord and Lady Upton offered in return.

  Then Devon whispered their names to the footman.

  “The Earl and Countess of Malton and the Dowager Countess of Malton,” the footman announced.