Elizabeth Meyette (14 page)

Stopping at the window, she gazed out at the stars. Silvery against the night sky, the rising moon etched shadows across the lawns of the manor. She stared down the road wondering if Andrew would return this night. The strain between them had lasted since their outing, and she was unsure how to resolve it. She knew that he was attracted to her, the truth of that resonated in her heart. Yet, he had pulled away, and she felt rejected and humiliated. Was she not pretty enough? Was she too vocal in her political views? Her father had warned her that men were often intimidated by intelligent women whose interests ranged beyond the domestic arts. She sighed. Well, if that was the case, despite her feelings for him, Andrew was not the man for her, for she craved information and knowledge about the world. The events occurring across the colonies engrossed her, and she was accustomed to discussing them with her father at supper each evening. While David initially had been very involved with Virginia’s rebellion, he seemed to be distracted of late. But their discussions were always lively and she craved more involvement herself.

She had been staring down the road for several minutes and thought she saw movement in the garden. She closed her eyes, rubbed them and peered out again. It must have been an animal moving across the yard. She moved to her dressing table and pulled the pins out of her hair letting it drop down her back to her waist. Taking the brush, she performed her nightly ritual, brushing until her hair shone in the candlelight.

Images of the outing with Andrew flooded her memory. She remembered the feel of his lips on hers, his tongue gently probing, seeking, almost asking. She smiled recalling his gentleness, his gallantry. These were the traits that had instantly attracted her to him, and she knew he would carry them into his lovemaking. She wondered what it would be like to be loved by such a caring man, and warmth seeped through her as her imagination wandered. Andrew did not reject her because of her looks or her political views, of that she was certain. He was too kind, and his love for her was evident every time their eyes met. Whatever was blocking his approaching her again needed to be faced, and she would probably have to initiate that discussion.

• • •

Silence filled the room as each grappled with Deidre’s revelation. Suddenly clear-headed, Emily strode to her and slapped her soundly across the face.

“How dare you say such a horrid thing,” she cried, her eyes stormy, her fists balled and ready to strike again. Jonathon reached out and gently pulled her back.

“Let me go, Jonathon, she has no right to accuse you of such infidelity!” She glanced up and saw David’s horrified look, and turned to Jonathon in rage.

“Jonathon, how dare you allow her to slander you like that! She surely must leave Brentwood Manor now!” Emily trembled with fury.

Jonathon’s insides curdled as he faced this dreaded moment. It was not the way he had intended to tell Emily, but there was no use in attempting to lie now. Looking at Deidre, anger flowed through him like a tempest, and a red heat seared his brain as he fought to control his emotions. Seething, he drew Emily behind him and stood directly in front of Deidre.

“You whore,” he spat. “You intend to destroy all that I love, all that is good in my life.”

Stung by his words at first, Deidre recovered and straightened, raising her chin in defiance. Triumph gleamed in her eyes.

“I bear your child, Jonathon. Did you not tell your wife about making love to me in your secret cabin?”

The British cat-o’-nine-tails that had ripped his flesh did not cause him as much pain as Deidre’s words. He felt cut through, sliced with the blade of the truth. Emily pushed him aside ready to do battle with her, but Jonathon caught her, restraining her.

“Jonathon, make her stop saying such horrid things! Make her stop!” Emily cried out.

Jonathon turned to her and watched her eyes change from stormy anger to shocked realization and finally to profound sadness.

“Emily,” he said.

“No,” she screamed. “No, no, no!” She held her hands over her ears, squeezing her eyes shut.

The color had washed from her face and he caught her as she slumped toward the floor. Gently lifting her, he buried his face in her hair whispering, “I am so sorry, my love.” He laid her on the settee and turned back to Deidre.

“Are you satisfied, you bitch?” he growled at her.

“Careful, Darling, you are speaking to the mother of your child,” she smiled.

Anger roiled within Jonathon’s gut, and he felt the blood coursing throughout his body, throbbing at his temple. Never in his life had he felt like striking a woman as he did at that moment, but Deidre would not drag him into her world of evil; she had done that to him once. He clenched and unclenched his fists feeling a need to move, to shout, to release the fury that surged within him. Pacing the length of the room, he scrubbed his fingers through his hair.

“One thing you need to consider, Jonathon, is that if Emily bears a girl and I bear a son, my child will be heir to Brentwood Manor, so not only do I carry your child, I may carry your heir.” Deidre’s voice was soft and low as if she were speaking to a young child. She smiled and moved toward him. “This is how it was always meant to be, Jonathon.”

She reached out to him and he recoiled from her touch. Sorrow and shame etched his face in deep lines and dulled his eyes. Wiping his hand across his face, he looked from David to Joanna. His sister looked at him with confusion, slightly shaking her head in disbelief. He turned back to Deidre.

“Is this what you wanted, Deidre? To destroy my life? To destroy Emily?” he asked.

“I wanted us to be together as we were meant to be, Darling,” she purred.

Fear gripped Jonathon at the incongruous sound of her voice. Surely she realized the utter havoc she had wreaked tonight, yet she seemed to live in a dream world. He looked again at David and saw concern creasing his brow as well.

David stepped towards Deidre.

“You must leave Brentwood Manor, especially now, Deidre. I will travel to Williamsburg tomorrow to make arrangements for you,” David said.

“Oh, but no, David, dear. Now more than ever I must remain at Brentwood Manor for I may carry the heir. Surely Jonathon would want the mother of his child to be taken care of properly. Is that not correct, Jonathon, darling?” Smiling, she looked at him.

Jonathon slumped into a chair. He leaned forward and held his head in his hands, his voice barely audible.

“She is right, David. My God, she is right.”

Joanna ran to her brother, kneeling beside him.

“No, Jonathon! She can be taken care of very well in Williamsburg. It would horrible if Emily were forced to see her every day. Please, Jonathon, let David make other arrangements for her,” his sister pleaded. She took his hands from his face and forced him to look at her, but he simply shook his head.

“Like it or not, Deidre is correct. She may carry the heir to Brentwood Manor. She must remain here.” He turned and looked at the woman. “But I warn you, Deidre, if you harm Emily, you will pay with your life.” His eyes bored into hers.

Joanna stood and approached the woman, still haughty, still defiant.

“God help you, Deidre, for those who play with fire often get burned.”

Emily moaned and stirred. Jonathon went to her, but Joanna pushed him aside.

“I think it is best if she does not see you at present. Allow her some time to consider all that has occurred,” she said.

Jonathon strode to Deidre, thrusting his face close to hers.

“Listen to me, you whore. I never made love to you. You know what happened in that cabin, and love had no part in it. Even your promise is obscene. You sicken me.”

Deidre shrank back, her eyes pleading, shoulders hunched forward.

“Please do not be angry with me, Jonathon. I only acted out of love for you.” Her voice was childlike, high-pitched and sing-song. Jonathon scowled at her, but unease shifted in his gut. There was a nightmarish feeling to her reaction which mingled fear with his anger.

As he turned, his eyes found Emily’s. She was now alert and sitting up. His heart melted with regret and despair as he saw the overwhelming misery in her eyes. She looked away.

“Deidre, you are to stay in the east wing of the manor. Your meals will be brought up to you, and when you venture outside, you are to avoid the terrace,” he said, his face strained. He turned and looked at her squarely in the eye. “And do not ever,
ever
go near my wife. Do you understand what I am saying?”

“Yes, Jonathon,” she replied, looking to the floor.

David approached her taking her by the elbow. “Come with me, Deidre,” he said leading her toward the parlor door. No one moved as the sound of their footsteps echoed across the marble hall and faded as they climbed the staircase.

Turning, Jonathon looked at Emily.

“Emily — ,” he began.

“No, Jonathon. Please do not speak to me. Please do not come near me, not now, not ever! How could you do this? You have destroyed our love! You bastard!” Shakily she tried to stand, teetered for a moment, and then stood erect. Nodding to Joanna, she took her arm, leaned on her, and keeping her eyes downcast, moved past him and headed toward the parlor door.

Standing helplessly alone, Jonathon became aware of the evening sounds through the open terrace door. How could nature continue as if nothing had happened when his whole life had just crumbled before him? How could crickets sing when his wife would not look at him? Why did the stars cast light on a world gone dead? Despair filled him. How had it come to this? In his attempt to protect and save her, he had lost the love of his life. No battle he had fought, no storm he had conquered, no sorrow he had felt had ever carved him out inside as losing his beloved Emily had.

• • •

Emily lay on her back looking at the canopy above her. Her eyes traced the silken stripes that shimmered in the flickering candlelight. Shock had prevented tears from falling; she felt lifeless and empty. Her ears still rang with Deidre’s words:
I carry your child, Jonathon
. As if it were smoke that she could not grasp and keep, the meaning of those words eluded her one minute and attacked her the next. She draped an arm across her eyes attempting to block the images that swirled in her mind, but the confirmation of Deidre’s accusation in Jonathon’s eyes could not be denied. She saw his anguish, his guilt and his shame and it gripped her and tore at her heart.

How long she had waited to see her husband, to hear his voice and feel his embrace. Upon seeing him, her joy made her heart leap, and the subsequent events dashed it to the depths of despair. A moan escaped her lips, deep and feral. How could this be? How could he have made love to Deidre?

She rolled over and gripped her pillow as, at last, the tears began to flow. Sobs racked her body and she shuddered as she gasped for breath between each. The baby, who had been quiet through the evening, stirred and stretched which normally would bring a smile to Emily’s face. He began kicking and moving in protest to her quivering body, as if to announce his distress at her despair. She massaged her belly drawing strength from the life within, demanding to be noticed. But she was not the only one who felt life created by Jonathon. He had betrayed her, had given himself to another, to his former lover. Yes, Deidre had won.

She dug her fists into her eyes trying to black out the image of them lying together. Did he whisper tenderly in her ear while he embraced her? Did he have a special name reserved only for her? Did he hold Deidre after their lovemaking as he had her?

“Aaaahhhh!” she cried out unable to contain her misery any longer. “Oh, please, dear God, make this just a dream. Please take away this pain! Oh, God help me!” she cried into the pillow. Her hand touched something; she pulled it out from beneath her pillow — Jonathon’s shirt. All the nights it had brought her comfort … was he lying with Deidre while she clutched only his shirt? She hurled it across the room and broke down sobbing once more.

There was a tap at her door. She braced herself for Jonathon’s entrance.

• • •

Jonathon stared blankly into the fire. The evening could not have gone worse; his moment to tell Emily could not have been couched in crueler circumstances. How she must hate him, and he did not blame her. He had felt like striking Deidre this evening, a rage such as he had never felt before. What had become of him? What had she turned him into? A violent monster? But she had robbed him of every good and sacred thing in his life; everything she touched turned foul.

He recalled her revelation about Robert Manning’s death and how repulsed he had been. Surely he should have realized that no matter what he had done that afternoon, her intention was to harm — no, to kill Emily and their child. Recalling her strange behavior this evening, he was convinced she was going mad.

David entered the parlor and sat across from him. Leaning forward, he patted Jonathon’s shoulder and then stood.

“You need a good, stiff drink, Jonathon,” he said. “I do not think things could have been any worse than what transpired here this evening.”

Jonathon snorted. “You have read my mind, David.”

Returning with two crystal glasses, David handed one to Jonathon and held his up for a toast.

“To you, my friend, for attempting to protect your wife and child.” He clinked his glass against Jonathon’s.

Ruefully, Jonathon looked at his brother-in-law then into the brandy that he sloshed around the glass. He took a long pull of the liquid, and released breath fiery with the drink.

“I thought she would be safe, David,” he said softly.

“Who knew what Deidre was capable of, Jonathon?”

“When she came to the cabin that day, I was still weak, unable to leave the bed for any length of time. She surprised me when she arrived — I almost shot her thinking she was a British scout. Now, I wish I had.” He paused and took another drink. “She had seduction on her mind; she knew exactly what she would do … ”

“Jonathon, you do not have to tell me this. You do not have to relive it,” David said.