A Baron for Becky (27 page)

Becky resisted
only the duchess’s last change.

“Did you intend
to hire a wet nurse?” Her Grace asked.

Becky paused
before she answered, as if she had to come a great distance to hear
the question. “No,” Hugh answered for her. “She said she would feed
our baby herself.”

The duchess
narrowed her eyes, thinking, then nodded decisively. “It has been
not quite two months, and you have fed before.”

Becky shook her
head. The duchess said nothing more then, but must have spoken to
Becky later. Hugh came back from signing correspondence to find the
duchess watching benignly, and the wet nurse anxiously, as Belle
suckled at Becky’s breast.

At first, Belle
was as angry at the change as Becky, but the duchess persisted, and
Belle was put to each of Becky’s breasts every two or three hours
for four days.

“It is no use,”
Becky said. “I have no milk.”

But that very
afternoon, a delighted Belle came away too replete to suckle from
her wet nurse, and an equally delighted duchess reported
success.

Becky marked time by
Before the Day Aldridge Came, and After. Before, she had been shut
off from the world by thick, wavy glass. She could barely see or
hear without diligent concentration. And she was too tired to
concentrate. So very, very tired.

When she
recognised Aldridge, the glass was suddenly much thinner, and the
glare of the real world almost destroyed her. She remembered little
of the encounter, just terror at the thought of being expelled from
her home, then Hugh holding her and saying he loved her. She wanted
to tell him that she loved him, but she couldn’t make her lips
move. She couldn’t remember how talking worked.

After The Day,
the duchess and Hugh wouldn’t let her stay behind the glass. One of
them was always there, making her do things. Coaxing her, scolding
her, tempting her. Bit by bit, the glass faded, until she could see
and hear clearly, though always at one remove.

Aunt
Eleanor—that was what Becky was to call her—Aunt Eleanor made her
feed the little girl. It was her primary job. The little girl was
very pretty, and everyone loved her. Becky thought she should love
her too, but she could not summon more than a remote interest.

Love sat
somewhere on the other side of the glass. Far away, where she could
not touch it. She had loved once. Sarah. Hugh. Aldridge. Sophie.
Emma. The love was still there, but she couldn’t reach it.

Soon it would
be spring. She would need to plan her gardens. She had promised
Hugh roses, and they had been planted in October before she became
ill, but other plantings would be needed when the ground warmed a
little.

It worried her
that Aldridge was still here. Was he waiting for her to fail, so he
could take her away? But Hugh said he was waiting for his mother.
Hugh said Aldridge was helping him, and that he would go when Her
Grace left.

Becky hoped it
would be a long time till Her Grace left, because after she went,
Becky would be alone with Hugh, and she was so afraid of
disappointing him.

Finally, before
Becky felt ready, the duchess said they would soon have to move on
to the next house in the endless round of Haverford duchy
properties. Two days later, Becky stood on the steps with Hugh and
the girls, saying goodbye.

Cousin
Agatha—if she had another name, Becky hadn’t heard it—presented a
pale cheek for a kiss. The duchess enfolded Becky in a perfumed
embrace and then kissed Hugh and told him to carry on with what he
was doing.

Aldridge was
the last.

He had been
saying goodbye to the children. Now, he came and clasped Hugh’s
hand and shoulder. “Don’t forget, Overton, I’ve promised you a
broken neck if you mistreat her.”

“And I, you, if
you tease her,” Hugh grumbled back. But both men were grinning, so
it was just some silly male ritual.

Then Aldridge
came to kiss her, and she was grateful for the glass, thin though
it now was, because she didn’t flinch when he hugged her and
pressed a kiss to her cheek. “For you are as close to me as a
brother, Overton,” he told Hugh fiercely, “which makes Becky my
sister.”

She managed not
to shake, and even to smile, as they entered the carriages, now
converted for the thaw by the addition of wheels that had,
apparently, travelled in one of the baggage carriages. Hugh must
have sensed something, because he squeezed her hand and whispered
he was proud of her.

And then they
were gone, five splendid carriages in a line down the drive. And
she and her family had the house to themselves again.

Little changed,
except Hugh had to take up the estate and mill business Aldridge
had been doing for him. He liked to have her near, and she would
recline on the couch in his study while he worked, and feed the
baby, or sew, or read. Sometimes, he discussed his problems with
her.

She struggled
to believe in the love he professed. How could he love her, when he
knew where she had come from? But he continued to reassure her, not
just in words, but in his care for her, in the way he organised the
household around her weaknesses, rode through the snow to the
village to bring her treats, sang and read aloud to keep her
entertained. And with every loving word and gesture, the glass
between her and the world grew thinner and thinner.

Until one day,
when the little girl was feeding. The wet nurse was long gone, no
longer needed. A nursemaid brought the baby to her at mealtimes,
and the baby liked her meals complete and often. Today, though, she
was almost full, and was playing with the nipple instead of
feeding.

Becky removed
it from the little girl’s mouth, and then bumped it against her
cheek to encourage her to take it properly.

A gurgle of
laughter, and just like that, the glass thinned almost to
nothing.

“Belle,” she
cooed. Such a good name for a beautiful little girl. Belle gurgled
again, her lips spread into the most delightful grin. “Belle,
Belle, Belle.” With each repeat, Becky bumped Belle’s cheek, and
Belle gurgled. “Look, Hugh, Belle is laughing.”

A sound alerted
her. He was kneeling a few feet away, tears running down his
cheeks. “Hugh? Hugh, my love, what is the matter? What is
wrong?”

“You have never
called her by her name before.” He scooted closer, putting
protective gentle arms around them both. “You have never called me
your love before, either.”

She ducked her
head, suddenly shy. “I love you, Hugh. I have loved you for a long
time now.”

“I love you,
Becky. I think I have loved you since the day we met.” He lifted
her chin, and touched her lips with his, pulling her closer, until
they clung together and the baby between them protested.

“I was afraid I
had lost you,” she told him. “You didn’t want me anymore. You
wouldn’t make love to me. You moved to another room. I was so
afraid, so lonely.”

“I was afraid I
had lost you, Becky. After all you had been through, I was afraid I
was just another man who had taken away your freedom. I couldn’t
bear to come to you, in case you rejected me, or—worse—pretended to
want me, but hated me in your heart.”

“No. Oh, no, my
love. Hush, little Belle, I didn’t mean to crush you. Here, kiss
her, Hugh.”

He kissed his
little girl, then his big girl, and made them both giggle.

“It was
different with you, Hugh. You promised to love, honour, and cherish
me, to worship me with your body. We were not... You did not use
me. You never used me. You completed me. We did not couple, we
united. We became one.”

He kissed her
again at that, and Belle wriggled and squealed. “Has she finished
her meal?”

Becky nodded,
knowing what he was saying. Belle would yell the house down if she
was still hungry, and the nursemaid would bring her back, and Becky
didn’t have to look at Hugh’s fall to know what he was hungry for.
The glint in his eyes spoke for him, and besides, she was hungry,
too.

Hugh took Belle
from her, opened the door where the nursemaid waited, handed the
baby over with a final kiss, and carefully locked the door.

Then he turned
back. “We became one,” he agreed. “It is different, is it not? One
flesh. Not just two people after pleasure, but pleasure that takes
us beyond ourselves into... I don’t know how to describe it.”

She shook her
head. She didn’t have the words either, and then suddenly she did.
“I have never been united with anyone before you, and you have
never been united with anyone before me.”

Hugh agreed.
“We complete one another.” He dropped his voice to that low,
melodious tone that vibrated through her pelvis to her most
intimate places. “At this moment, I would very much like to unite
with you, Rebecca, Baroness Overton.”

And Baroness
Overton welcomed her baron home, as the last of the glass between
her and the world disappeared entirely.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Lancashire

If Becky had been asked
to pick her favourite times, she would have been hard pressed to
choose, but this would be on the list: lying in her husband’s arms
after their passion was spent, not sleeping, not talking, just
being.

She smiled
against Hugh’s chest. Their neighbours would be shocked that they
came straight up to their bedchamber after breaking their fast,
that ‘going for a sleep after Church’ rarely involved sleep, even
if the children believed the comfortable lie.

Given that a
Sunday afternoon in bed had been the Overtons’ habit for close to
three years, the neighbours undoubtedly did know. For what the
servants knew, would sooner or later be known through the
village.

“Becky, I’ve
been thinking,” Hugh said.

“Are you sure
you have sufficient energy for that, my love?” she teased.

He dug his
fingers into her ribs, making her wriggle and squeal. “You stole it
from me, you witch, and shortly, I shall take it back, see if I
don’t.” The thigh she brushed against his groin confirmed his
energy was returning fast, and they had the whole afternoon ahead
of them. Becky smiled again.

But Hugh’s mind
wasn’t on lovemaking, whatever his body thought. “I want you to
come down to London with me, once the roads are passable. We’ll
take the girls with us, too.”

London? She
propped herself up on her elbows to reach the scar that snaked
through his hair and ended a bare inch above one eyebrow. “I
thought we agreed you would not attend Parliament this year. You
are still recovering!”

In one easy
movement he reversed their positions, tipping her and rolling with
her so she was caged by his body, his thighs enclosing hers and his
forearms holding his weight so she wasn’t crushed. “My wife tells
me I’m much improved,” and he captured her mouth in a passionate
kiss that had her lifting her hips to meet him.