Vows to Save Her Reputation

by Christine Merrill

  Perhaps he was convinced that he would be of no use to her, but right now she did not need her mother or her sister-in-law. She needed her husband.

  She set her paints aside and took a deep breath, waiting to see if it was followed by another pain. When none came, she stood up and set out for home.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Robert was in his study when the knock on the front door came.

  Such things were obvious in the house, which had grown quiet as a tomb, just as it used to be before Emma had come into his life. Then he had not noticed how depressing the silence was. It had not bothered him as it did now. But the single sound of a knock could bring him starting out of his chair and out into the hall to find the reason for the disturbance.

  He could hear the commotion in the hall before he arrived. The servants were in an uproar and the butler was calling for footmen to calm themselves and find the master.

  ‘Here,’ he said, as the knot of people parted to reveal his wife, sagging in the arms of his housekeeper.

  He pushed the older woman out of the way and wrapped his arms around his wife, feeling her body go rigid in his arms as a pain took her. ‘Emma,’ he said, confused.

  ‘I came home,’ she said, weaving on her feet as if she did not quite know where she was.

  ‘But how?’

  ‘I walked,’ she said, grimacing. ‘It is not far. You would have discovered it yourself if you had bothered to visit me in all this time.’ Then she slipped away from him and doubled over, her hands over her bulging abdomen.

  ‘I wanted you to be safe,’ he said. It was an inadequate excuse and a part of him no longer believed it. He had not gone to her because she made him feel too much. And when those feelings went wrong, it hurt too much to bear.

  ‘Well, I am here now,’ she said. ‘Where I belong.’

  He felt the first, traitorous palpitations of his heart. ‘You belong far away from here until after the baby is gone,’ he said. ‘I will call for the carriage.’

  At this, the housekeeper gave a huff of disapproval. ‘She is in no condition to go anywhere but her room, Sir Robert.’

  She could not stay here. Just the sight of her bulging belly brought back memories that he had spent years trying to bury. He could hear Beth’s screams echoing in his head as his heart began to race.

  When he did not respond, the housekeeper added, ‘It is her time’, with a significance that could not be ignored.

  ‘No,’ he said, as if his wishes could make any difference to the outcome. ‘She walked here from my brother’s home. Surely, if she were in labour...’

  Now, the housekeeper looked at him with exasperation, clearly tired of all men and him in particular. ‘Women in the throes of childbirth can be irrational. She wanted to be here, so she came.’

  This was the worst place for her. It had been the wrong place for her when she had fallen in that ditch, but on that day, he had brought her here without thinking twice. Why had he not been smarter from the first? But that was long ago and now it was too late to send her away.

  ‘We will make her comfortable in her room,’ the housekeeper said, holding out her arms to take his wife.

  ‘If anyone is to do that, it will be me,’ he said, reaching for her as she doubled over again. He braced her body against his and put his hands on her shoulders, rubbing slowly until he felt the muscles begin to relax. And as her breathing returned to normal, so did his.

  She looked up at him in amazed relief. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘It will not help for long, I fear,’ he said. Then, he scooped an arm beneath her knees and lifted her into his arms.

  ‘I can walk,’ she murmured, though she barely struggled in his arms.

  ‘I want to carry you,’ he replied, surprised to find it true. Now, of all times, he needed to touch her, to feel that she was real. The weight of her in his arms was calming and he felt his strength begin to return. Then he carried her up the stairs and down the hall, laying her on her own bed just as another pain struck her and curled her long frame into a ball.

  He felt the gentle touch of the housekeeper on his sleeve, trying to pull him away. ‘A lunch will be laid for you in the study.’

  Why was she trying to calm him with food? He could not possibly think to eat at a time like this. ‘That will not be necessary,’ he said, reaching to take Emma’s hand and feeling her grip tighten on his fingers until he thought she would break them.

  ‘The doctor has been summoned,’ the housekeeper replied, trying to tug him away. ‘There is nothing more for you to do except wait.’

  ‘Wait,’ he said numbly. ‘For how long?’

  ‘For as long as it takes,’ she explained, her mouth quirking in the barest of smiles. ‘But I would expect that, for a first child, it will be the better part of a full day.’

  ‘A day,’ he repeated, for suddenly he could not manage anything other than to parrot the words spoken to him.

  ‘We will come for you when the baby is born,’ she promised him.

  ‘I don’t want to leave you,’ he said, looking into the frightened eyes of his wife and raising her hand to his lips so he could kiss the knuckles.

  ‘It will be all right,’ she said in a surprisingly firm tone. ‘Everything will be fine, just as I promised. They will come for you when it is over.’

  Since he was not wanted in the birthing room, he walked to his study, numb with the weight of her words. He did not want it to be over. The time he had spent with Emma had been the most delightful months of his life. And now it might end in disaster.

  Or it might not, he reminded himself. She had never believed in the curse, the last dregs of which still clouded his common sense. Perhaps, since it was never real to her, it could not hurt her. Or perhaps his belief in disaster was strong enough for both of them. Perhaps he could bring disaster down upon them, just with his doubt.

  The thought was like a canker in his heart, lodged and growing there. He must pluck it out. Just as it was not sensible to believe in Grandfather’s curse, it was not logical that he could create the disaster he most feared, just by thinking of it.

  He must change the way he was used to seeing the world and he must do so quickly, for Emma’s sake and his own. He sat down at his desk and emptied his head of disastrous imaginings, telling himself firmly that there would be nothing unusual about this birth.

  But that was easier to do, before the screaming started. He could hear Emma crying out above, the screams of pain echoing through the house. Each one was like a knife in his heart, as he compared them to those of a different woman, praying for some sign that things were going better.

  He had done this to them both with his careless willingness to succumb to carnal desire. It was too late for Beth, but Emma might survive. Yet he had already failed her. He had been willing to let her suffer alone at his brother’s home because he was too weak to go to her.

  For the first time in his life, he prayed and not in the casual way one did during the dreary Sunday sermons of the vicar. He spoke to God directly, willing to beg, willing to barter. He made so many promises that he could not remember what they were, but he would keep them all if the day ended without tragedy.

  * * *

  Lunch turned to dinner and the cries did not end. They intensified. He sent for the housekeeper, demanding news, but she had none to offer other than that things were going as well as could be expected. But what did that mean? And was it his imagination, or was there a trace of doubt on her face as she said it?

  ‘I want to see her,’ he announced.

  ‘I do not think that is wise,’ she said, shaking her head.

  ‘When you are master of this house, you can make the decisions,’ he said, forcing his fear back down into his belly. ‘There is something I must say to her.’

  ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘But I cannot promise the response you will ge
t.’

  It might not matter, since he could not guarantee that he had the strength to make it up the stairs to her. But the effort had to be made.

  He made it as far as the study door before his heart began to pound. He paused, clutching the door frame. It was bad enough to be a homebound prisoner of his own moods. He would not allow them to limit him to a single room. He closed his eyes for a moment and forced his breathing to slow, counting between inhales and exhales, until he felt less lightheaded. Then he continued down the hall to the foot of the stairs.

  Emma’s cries were louder there and, for a moment, he lost heart again, grabbing the banister and fighting down another wave of irrational panic. Then he locked his gaze on the head of the stairs and focused his mind on the happy times they’d had since he had found her.

  Tennis. Dancing. Galloping together. Making love. So many joyful times. He found a different memory for each step, until he had reached the top. Now he was in the upper hallway which seemed incredibly long. Each step was a struggle, growing even harder as he neared the woman crying out in pain. He kept going, conquering his fear until his cold hand was on the door handle of her room.

  When he opened the door his beautiful wife’s face was contorted with pain and dripping sweat. ‘What do you want?’ she snarled in a voice he had never heard before.

  For a moment, he was taken aback. He had struggled and won for a woman who clearly did not want him anywhere near. But then he remembered the illogical walk she had made and the housekeeper’s explanation for it.

  ‘Sir Robert, you should not be here.’ The same doctor who attended his first wife’s unfortunate labour was here to help Emma. And it alarmed him to notice that, just as Harris had said when they first met, the man was clearly in his cups, smelling of gin and in no condition to help a woman in need.

  ‘I will be the judge of where I should and should not be,’ he said, staring the man down until he had backed away from the door and allowed Robert into the room.

  Then he looked to the woman in the bed and focused on her strength and courage, took a deep breath and announced, ‘I needed to tell you that I love you.’

  ‘What?’ she roared.

  ‘I love you,’ he repeated, enjoying the sound of the words.

  ‘And you decide to tell me that now,’ she snapped. Then she was taken by another pain, and the last word dragged into a long, high-pitched ow...

  ‘I thought...’

  ‘You thought to tell me, before I died?’ This was followed by a mad laugh.

  ‘No,’ he insisted. ‘I should not have waited so long to say it. I should have told you before you left me. I loved you then and I love you now.’

  ‘Then tell me again, after I have your child,’ she shouted. ‘I am going to have this baby and we will both be fine,’ she added, though it ended in another wail of pain. ‘Now, get out! And take that drunken quack with you.’ Then his mild-mannered wife grabbed the water carafe from the table at bedside and pitched it at the doctor’s head.

  ‘My lady, I must insist,’ the surgeon said in a weak voice.

  Robert looked to the housekeeper for confirmation, and she whispered that the doctor was not technically needed.

  He smiled and nodded. This, at least, was something he could do to help. He looked back to his wife and assured her, ‘I will take care of it.’ He grabbed the other man’s arm and retreated to the hall. Then he paid the fellow and sent him on his way.

  When he came back, he did not bother returning to the study, for he could no longer bear waiting for word to reach him on the ground floor. Instead, he climbed the stairs again and paced the upper hall, stopping each time he passed it to lay his hand on the wood of her bedroom door, willing his strength into her.

  Gradually, the screams turned to groans. As he reached the end of the hall for what seemed like the thousandth time, all sound stopped from the room. As he rushed back to the door, the ominous silence was split by the squall of an infant.

  Now his heart was beating hard again, but as if it could not contain the joy inside it. It made him wonder why he had wasted years avoiding a thing which gave him such pleasure.

  The door opened and the housekeeper stepped in front of him as he tried to rush into the room, pressing a hand firmly to the centre of his chest as he tried to enter. ‘Mother and baby are fine. A few minutes more, and you may see them,’ she said.

  ‘Let him come,’ a voice called from the bedroom. Emma sounded strong and triumphant. And when he went to her, though she was obviously exhausted her eyes were clear and her smile the same as ever.

  And there, on the bed beside her, was a small pink miracle wrapped in flannel. ‘May I introduce you to your daughter, Sir Robert,’ his wife said with a smile.

  He stared down at the baby, all pink squirming flesh and bright eyes, and still could not imagine that it had come and that he’d had any part in the making of something—no, someone so wonderful. He held out a tentative finger, nudging the hand that was tangled in the blanket, and felt the fingers close on his in a tiny fist.

  ‘Her name is Rosamunde,’ Emma said.

  He felt his heart give another, strong answering thump to the sound of his wife’s voice, which was, if possible, even more commanding than when she had shouted at him. ‘Since you were so convinced that she would not live and could not seem to be bothered, I took the liberty of choosing names while I was at the Major’s house.’ The words gentled somewhat at the end of the sentence, but only a little.

  ‘You took a great risk in coming here,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Suppose you had been hurt on the way?’

  ‘Because I am the sort of clumsy girl that falls into ditches because she does not watch where she is going? Or was that because of the curse?’ she pressed, giving him no quarter at all in what now felt like foolishness.

  ‘You are not clumsy,’ he said. ‘In fact, you are quite graceful when you put your mind to being so. And as for the curse? I admit to being...overly cautious,’ he said. ‘But you cannot blame me at being terrified by the possibility of losing you.’ He shook free of his daughter’s grip and sat down on the edge of the bed, taking his wife’s hand. ‘What would I have done without you?’

  ‘I suspect you would have found something,’ she said, her voice gruff. ‘You still might, you know.’

  ‘Do not say that you mean to leave, now that you have come back to me,’ he said.

  ‘I will stay,’ she assured him. ‘But I cannot swear to you that I will outlive you.’

  ‘Do not speak of such a thing,’ he said, gathering up her hands and burying his face in them, kissing the palms. ‘We will both die together, many years from now, at a very old age.’

  ‘You know that, do you?’ she replied, her smile turning saucy.

  ‘I cannot imagine it any other way,’ he replied. ‘If I were to lose you now, I think I should run mad. And as you must have noticed by now, I am not far from madness already.’

  ‘As always, you are far too dramatic,’ she said with a kind smile. ‘It is because you care deeply about the people around you that you are sometimes overcome with emotion. I can hardly fault you for loving me too much.’

  ‘And since you said before that you wished to hear it again, I do love you and missed you terribly while you were gone.’

  ‘Please, tell me about it,’ she said, sagging back in the bed pillows, exhausted. ‘I have had a long day and am in the mood to be flattered by you,’ she commanded him with a confidence that she had not had when he married her, and that made him love her all the more.

  ‘I missed your beauty.’ He kissed her hands again. ‘Your wit. Your ceaseless optimism.’ He leaned closer and whispered in her ear, ‘And taking you against that tree. I most assuredly want to do that again.’

  She laughed and it was strong and healthy, and he felt the last of his fear slipping away. ‘I was the luckiest man in the wo
rld when I found you,’ he said.

  ‘It’s about time you realised that,’ she said, pulling him close for a kiss.

  * * *

  If you enjoyed this book, why not check out these other great reads by Christine Merrill

  The Brooding Duke of Danforth

  ‘Their Mistletoe Reunion’ in Snowbound Surrender

  And be sure to read her miniseries

  Those Scandalous Stricklands

  ‘Her Christmas Temptation’ in Regency

  Christmas Wishes

  A Kiss Away from Scandal

  How Not to Marry an Earl

  Keep reading for an excerpt from The Enticing of Miss Standish by Julia Justiss.

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  The Enticing of Miss Standish

  by Julia Justiss

  Chapter One

  London—summer 1834

  ‘Act as a companion?’ Sara’s aunt echoed, her horrified voice rising. ‘Do you want to send me into a decline and be the death of your poor invalid mother? Why, society would think the Standish family had become indigent, like your poor friend Miss Overton!’

  Sighing, Sara Standish gazed over at Lady Patterson, who occupied the other end of the sofa in the small back salon at Standish House where they were taking tea, Sara’s mother, as usual, being laid down upon her couch.

  Sara supposed it wasn’t worth mentioning that her friend’s sudden loss of fortune had turned out to be a blessing, since it had led her to find the man she would fall in love with and marry. ‘Assisting a marchioness by accompanying her to meetings and society events would hardly suggest a sudden lack of funds.’