Sandra Heath (15 page)

“Dr. Hartley saw me only a few days ago, and insists the original date is correct,” Charlotte replied, recalling how she herself had questioned the point. He had been so offended that she’d felt obliged to apologize.

“That fool of a doctor gives himself airs and graces, but isn’t capable of much more than prescribing laudanum. It’s his cure-all!” Nurse did not care for the doctor, and the dislike was mutual.

Henrietta smiled. “I can vouch for that, for he dosed me well and truly.”

Conversation drifted to other things, but Charlotte’s odd restlessness soon got the better of her again. She got up to wander around the room, admiring the various little ornaments that were the nurse’s pride and joy. Henrietta began to worry about her, and at last fell obliged to confide her concern to Marcus.

He was startled. “She seems all right to me,” he whispered back, watching as Nurse took down yet another porcelain Staffordshire shepherdess to show to Charlotte.

“She seems incapable of sitting still more than a minute.”

“What are you saying?”

“That I think Nurse is right. Charlotte is further than eight months. Last year I was at a house when a lady commenced her pains. She’d been behaving in exactly the same way.”

Charlotte glanced toward them. “What are you two whispering about?”

Marcus cleared his throat. “We, er, were just agreeing that it would be better to leave soon because of the snow.”

“Leave?
But we’ve only just arrived!”

“Nevertheless, the afternoons are very short, and if something were to happen, it wouldn’t do to be stranded on the moor.”

“How very disagreeably cautious you are. I vow you are becoming a second Russell.” Charlotte laughed, but then her breath caught and she put her hands to her stomach. “Oh  . . . !”

Henrietta leaped to her feet. “Charlotte?”

“It’s nothing, I’m sure.” Charlotte smiled, but then gasped again. “What a kick my little monster has today!”

Nurse ushered her back to the settle. “My dear, I don’t think the babe is just kicking. I’m afraid you won’t be driving back to the abbey just yet; indeed you won’t be leaving here until your churching in a month’s time.”

Charlotte was dismayed. “But I
must
go home!” Then she gasped as another pain gripped her.

Nurse spoke gently but firmly. “My dear, your little one is very impatient to arrive.”

“Nurse is right, Charlotte,” Henrietta said, putting a hand on her friend’s shoulder.

Charlotte winced as another pain shot through her. “Well, I— I suppose you and Marcus are to be godparents a little earlier than anticipated,” she gasped.

Henrietta and Marcus looked at each other in surprise, for they hadn’t realized they had both been asked.

Nurse spoke again to Charlotte. “You’d best come upstairs, my dear, for there’s no time to waste.”

“It—it will be all right, won’t it?” Charlotte asked, fear beginning to wash over her after the initial shock.

“Of course it will. I may be old now, but I’m still the finest midwife in all Yorkshire.”

Displaying all the usual male signs of wishing to be anywhere but where he was, Marcus got up quickly. “Er, perhaps I should bring the doctor?” he ventured.

It was the wrong thing to say. Nurse was outraged. “I will not have that peacock in my house! This is women’s work, and with Miss Henrietta’s assistance, I’m more than able to do what’s necessary.”

“Then I will at least bring Russell.”

Nurse sniffed. “Well, I suppose that must be done, but he’s not coming within an inch of the poor dear until the babe is born. The last thing any woman wants at such a time is to look at the fellow who got her in this painful state in the first place! Before you go, you can make yourself useful by undoing all locks and knots in the house,” she ordered, with scant respect for his rank. Marquess or mail coachman, members of the opposite sex were all the same to her when it came to the priorities of childbirth!

Marcus blinked. “Undo all the—? What on earth for?”

“To facilitate the birth, of course. Surely you know
that
!”

“I can’t say I do, but if that is what you wish, then of course I’ll attend to it.”

Nurse led Charlotte to the parlor door and then paused to look back at Henrietta. “Come, my dear, we’ll look after her together.”

Henrietta followed them, but with considerable trepidation, for she had never before been present at a confinement.

* * * *

The following hours were very fraught with tension, for although Charlotte’s labor was short for a first child, it did not go easily. But at last, in the early moments of the new day, when dawn was still to come and the sky was bright with stars, Charlotte’s daughter was born. She was a bonny baby with lusty lungs, and announced her arrival with yells that were clearly audible to Russell and Marcus waiting down in the parlor.

Her trials over, Charlotte’s hair was brushed, and she lay back on rosemary-scented pillows. As she tenderly cradled her little girl, there was a soft glow about her that was quite the most beautiful thing Henrietta had ever seen.

Nurse clucked approvingly. “There now, my dear, wasn’t that little angel worth it all?”

Charlotte gazed at her new daughter. “Oh, yes!”

“With that fool Hartley dancing around, you’d still be only halfway through because he’d have quietened you with laudanum.”

“I hate to even think of it.”

“Well, the babe confounded male schemes, did she not?” Nurse smiled fondly at the tiny being wrapped in a dainty knitted shawl. Then she looked at Charlotte again. “You know you must not leave here for at least a month now, don’t you? This is the north of England, where old habits die hard. It would be considered an open invitation to terrible bad luck if you were to neglect the time-honored ways. You must stay inside for the cycle of the moon, and then leave only to go to church. If that is done, all will be well for you and the babe.”

Charlotte smiled. “I will do what is expected, Nurse.” She glanced at Henrietta. “Will you keep me company here? I know it’s an imposition because staying on will interfere with your plans, but you’ll still be in good time for your cousin’s wedding. Please say you will.”

“Of course I’ll stay.”

“I’m fortunate to have such a good friend.”

“I, er, don’t know what Amabel will do, however. She might leave as planned in a week’s time, or she could decide to stay on.”

“Provided she doesn’t come here to Mulbridge I really don’t mind what she does,” Charlotte replied, then looked swiftly at Nurse. “If a Mrs. Renchester comes here, please tell her I’m not well enough for visitors. I’d really rather just see Henrietta. And you, of course.”

“If that is your wish, my dear,” Nurse answered.

Charlotte’s thoughts moved on. “We’ll have to arrange the christening. Nurse, would it be possible to arrange it for the same day as my churching? Or would that be frowned upon?”

“Churchings and christening can be on the same day, my dear.”

“Excellent.”

“Now then, I have been instructing a young girl by the name of Mary Gilthwaite in all my arts, and very capable she is, too. She will be as fine a nurse to your babe as I was to His Lordship.” Not for a moment did Nurse expect this presumption to be questioned, nor was it. She patted her starched bonnet and smoothed her fresh apron. “I suppose it is time to permit His Lordship to see his new daughter,” she added, bustling out.

Footsteps soon rang on the staircase and Russell hastened in, followed by Marcus. Russell was quite overcome, with tears on his cheeks as he first kissed Charlotte’s forehead, then gazed down at his daughter.

Henrietta felt her own eyes fill with tears and withdrew from the room to the coolness of the landing, which was only lit by the faint light from the hall below. Minutes passed as she stood by a window, gazing at the dawn sky, then she heard the door open and close behind her.

It was Marcus. “How does it feel to be an apprentice midwife?” he asked, coming to stand next to her.

“Exhausting,” she admitted.

“I gather Charlotte has asked you to stay here until she’s able to return to the abbey?”

“Yes.”

“I will be staying on at the abbey. It would hardly be practical to leave, only to return within the month. However, you will have your wish.”

“Wish?”

“Not to be under the same roof as me.”

She felt suddenly awkward. “I, er, think I’ll go down and see if any of that caudle remains....”

As she turned to go, he caught her arm. “Don’t marry Sutherton, Henrietta. He’s only interested in your fortune.”

“I’m only too well aware of his reasons, sir, and do not need your advice.”

“On the contrary, I think you are very much in need of advice.”

“Your view of Lord Sutherton has already been established, Marcus, and I really don’t want to hear it again. Besides, it really isn’t any of your business.”

“It’s very much my business. You turned me down in his favor, so I think I have a right to express an opinion.”

Her eyes flashed in the shadowy light. “And why, pray, did you ask me in the first place? Let us hear the real reason, sirrah!”

“The
real
reason? What do you mean?” He looked at her in puzzlement.

Her gaze was scornful. “How well you ape innocence, my lord. One could almost be taken in by your performance as Sir Galahad reborn! But we both know that you aren’t Sir Galahad, don’t we? You are the vilest yet of all the Fitzpaines, and I despise everything about you!”

“Damn you for that, madam!” he breathed.

“And damn you too, sirrah.” she replied softly, but with immeasurable feeling.

Suddenly he pushed her against the wall and held her there. “You would try even Sir Galahad’s patience, Henrietta Courtenay! So I am the vilest yet of all the Fitzpaines, am I?”

“Yes!” she retorted, but her heart was pounding and his touch seared her.

“Then a kiss—for old time’s sake—would be meaningless?”

“Totally meaningless.”

“Let us test the truth of that.”

“No!”

“Oh, yes, madam,” he whispered, and bent his head to put his lips to hers.

He pressed her to the wall, his body to hers, and his lips were ruthless. It was a kiss that tore her heart with its wild passion. There was nothing of the drawing room about him now. Instead he was the savage Viking, raiding her soul as well as her flesh.

His hands moved over her, caressing the remembered contours of her waist and breasts. She felt the tip of his tongue against hers; the sensation was arousing for them both. His maleness strained toward her, hard and urgent, and she wanted to remain indifferent, but the blood was coursing through her veins. A treacherous warmth beguiled her. She hated him,
hated
him! But she wanted him too....

Her arms slid unwillingly around him, and she began to return the kiss as hungrily as it was given. Desire swept her up in its net, and she sank against him, her lips as imperative as his own. It was a release of emotion such as she had never known before. Everything about him was vital to her very existence— his touch, his taste, his breath ...

But at the very moment she acknowledged the truth in her heart and body, he drew scornfully away. His eyes were cold in the darkness as he took her chin roughly between his fingers. “Meaningless? I fancy not!” he breathed, then released her and walked away. His shadow leaped against the wall as he descended the stairs, then his boots rang in the hall before the parlor door closed behind him, and there was silence.

The spell shattered, and the heat on her skin chilled to ice. She had been made a fool of again. She closed her eyes as tears welled. “Oh, Henrietta Courtenay, will you
never
learn where he is concerned . . . ?” she whispered.

The past swam bitterly before her. It was London, and she was running tearfully down the garden in the rain. As she reached the summerhouse where she’d known such joy in Marcus’ arms, George’s words still rang in her head. “I vow I find this task most distressing, Miss Courtenay, but there is no easy way of telling you. I feel you should know that the Marquess of Rothwell has a wager upon your surrender. It is in the betting book at White’s.”
In the betting book at White’s... in the betting book at White’s ...

Chapter Sixteen

It was February 11, the day of Charlotte’s churching and Eleanor’s christening, for such the baby was to be named. Henrietta’s prolonged stay in Yorkshire was almost at an end, and the next day she and Amabel were due to set off on their long journey south to London. But a question mark now hung over their departure, because the past weeks had seen very heavy snow across the entire kingdom. Many country roads were impassable, and Mulbridge hamlet would have been completely cut off had not the local men labored hard and long to clear a way so that the celebration of Eleanor’s birth could proceed as planned. Now the carriage had arrived from the abbey and waited at Nurse’s gate.

Henrietta tried not to think of Marcus. On several occasions over the past month he’d endeavored to speak to her, but she’d successfully managed to avoid him. She wouldn’t be able to avoid him today, however, for they would be together at the church and again at the abbey. Oh, how she prayed the roads would be pronounced fit for the journey south, because she didn’t think she could endure being close to him again for very long. She was dressed in a sapphire-blue woolen gown and a matching pelisse trimmed with gray fur. There was a gray fur hat on her dark hair, and she looked very stylish indeed. Stylish was the last thing she felt however, for that morning at Nurse’s breakfast table something happened that had stabbed her like a dagger.

Russell had arrived in the carriage and joined the others in the cramped little dining room. “Isn’t anyone going to ask me why Marcus and Amabel are driving to the church from the abbey, instead of leaving from here with us? After all, he
is
one of the godfathers,” he said suddenly.

Charlotte glanced across at him. She was rocking the Mulborough family cradle, which had been transported from the abbey. She wore peach velvet, and was aglow with health and vitality. “Well, no doubt you are going to tell us.”