Sins of Omission (26 page)

June 1686

Paris, France

“You are a silly, silly girl,” Sabine said as she surveyed Frances, hands on her hips.  “Why did you not tell me right away?  I would have helped you avoid all this -– she waved her hand in the air while searching for the right word -– drama.”

“And how would you have done that?” Frances asked, irritated by Sabine’s attitude of superiority.  What right did she have to scold her like this?  She was only a maid, for God’s sake, not a member of the family.  Frances was too tired to even care.  Her world was falling apart once again, and she just couldn’t bear to deal with the consequences of her own foolishness.  If she had never succumbed to Luke’s caresses, she wouldn’t be in this predicament.  But then, she also wouldn’t know how Archie truly felt about her.  What a mess this was turning out to be.

“I have gotten with child twice,” Sabine confided in a low voice, although they were quite alone.  “I have taken care of the problem, and no one was the wiser.”

“How?” Frances asked, intrigued.  Sabine was a wealth of information when she wanted to be, so Frances swallowed her irritation and gave Sabine all her attention.

“Frances, you really are a babe in arms, you know that?”

“Yes, I suppose I am.  I know there are ways of avoiding unwanted pregnancy, but I have no idea what they are.”

“Well, you might have asked before you tumbled into bed with Luke Marsden.  Besides, considering that you are not married or even betrothed, he might have used his wits and taken care of things himself,” Sabine fumed as she paced the room.

“Is it up to the man then?” Frances asked innocently.  No wonder Archie never got anyone with child.  He clearly had more “wits” than Luke.

“For the most part, yes.  There are some decoctions women can take, but they are not always reliable.  If the man loves you, he will take measures to protect you,” Sabine droned on.  “He can greatly reduce the risk of pregnancy by pulling out just before he finishes, but most of them are too damn selfish to want to interrupt their pleasure, which brings us back to the problem at hand.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” Frances mumbled to herself, wishing she was anywhere but here, anything but pregnant.

“There are ways to get rid of an unwanted child, especially early on in the pregnancy.  How far along are you?”

“About a month,” Frances replied miserably.

“Do you want it or not?”

“I haven’t really figured that out yet.”   

“Well, do, and when you decide, let me know.”  With that, Sabine left the room, carrying a pile of dirty linens, her head held high as if she were a noble lady and not a lady’s maid.  Frances really did like her spirit and wished that she had half the fire the older girl had.

She climbed into bed and hugged her knees to her chest.  She’d told Sabine the truth; she wasn’t sure if she wanted the baby or not.  Gabriel’s death left a gaping hole in her heart, and she thought that having another baby might fill it, at least partially, but she didn’t want to have a baby by a man she didn’t love.  And she didn’t love Luke; she knew that now.  She liked him very much, but what she felt for him wasn’t love.  The idea of Luke leaving took her by surprise, but caused her no great emotional upheaval.  She said goodbye to him only a few days ago, but already he felt like a distant memory, a pleasant dream that had dissipated with the coming of dawn.  Perhaps she should feel guilty for allowing him such liberties, but after Lionel, she felt she deserved a little bit of affection.  And now that affection had led to another baby, a baby she didn’t really want.  Of course, she hadn’t wanted Lionel’s baby either, but she loved Gabriel fiercely once he was born. 

Frances closed her eyes and tried to imagine Luke’s child.  It would be a beautiful baby, of that she was sure, maybe another boy, but the imaginary child in her arms had red hair and bright blue eyes.  That was the child of her heart -– Archie’s child.  Yes, she wanted another baby, but not this one.  She wanted to marry Archie, if he’d still have her, but not while carrying another man’s child.  Archie said that he would never hold it against her, but in time he would, especially if the child were a boy and looked like Luke.  Archie was only human, after all, and a constant reminder of his wife’s liaison with another man would haunt him day and night.  Archie might have an easier time adjusting to a girl, but it’s not as if she could choose.  It was a gamble, one she wasn’t too eager to take.

Oh, what she wouldn’t give for a miscarriage.  Frances leaped off the bed as a wave of nausea assaulted her, and she retched into the chamber pot.  Her insides were churning, and so was her mind.  Frances angrily pushed the pot under the bed and crawled under the covers, pulling the blanket over her head.  There was no one in the room, but she still felt ashamed of her tears.

Hugo rose early, unable to sleep after the scene with Frances the day before.  Neve was still asleep, her face shadowed in the confines of the great bed.  She looked remarkably peaceful, enjoying the well-deserved sleep of one who’s often woken during the night.  Valentine was sleeping for longer stretches now, but she still woke up for a feeding at least once a night.  Hugo gazed adoringly at the baby before pulling on his clothes and letting himself quietly out of the room.  He needed some air, and the May morning was too fine not to take advantage of.  Had he been in Surrey, he would have gone for a gallop through the countryside, but Paris was no place to go galloping.  He would have to either ride in the Jardin de Tuileries, which wasn’t open enough for what he had in mind, or go beyond city limits toward Fontainebleau.  A brisk walk would have to do.

“Where are you going, my lord?” Jem asked.  He was sitting on the bottom step, munching on a freshly baked roll smeared liberally with butter and honey.  His face was sticky, and he was licking his fingers with grim determination.  Jem was normally the happiest when he was eating, but this morning he looked forlorn and dejected, his eyes veiled with sadness.

“Why are you sitting here, Jemmy?” Hugo asked as he lowered himself next to Jem and accepted the bite of roll which Jem generously offered.

“Cook threw me out of the kitchen.  Said I’m always underfoot.  I just like watching her make things.  Is that so wrong?”

“Do you have aspirations of becoming a great chef?” Hugo asked with a chuckle.  Jemmy’s love of food could be the path to a lifelong career.

“No, I just like to watch. And eat,” Jem confided.  “And there’s other stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”  Jem offered Hugo another bite, but he politely waved the roll away, not wanting to take it away from the boy.

“No one is ever happy anymore,” Jem grumbled.  “Frances is in her room crying her eyes out; Archie looks like he’d like to punch someone, and you and Lady Everly are always busy with the baby and going off to Court.  No one wants me around,” Jem said, his eyes filling with tears.  “Where are you going anyway?” Jem asked.

“I thought I’d take a walk by the river.  I need some air, and the women in this house are driving me insane,” Hugo replied, lowering his voice to a confidential whisper.

“I know just how you feel,” Jem replied, licking the last of the honey from his fingers.  “Can I come with you?  I can use a break from the women too.”

“Of course you can.  We need man time.  Why don’t you bring some stale bread and you can feed the birds, if you like.”

“Should we invite Archie?  I think he’s borderline crazy too,” Jem offered.

“Normally, I would invite Archie, but at the moment he’s contributing to my bout of insanity, so let’s leave him at home, shall we?”

“All right,” Jem conceded.  “Can I have a cup of chocolate after our walk?  In that café I like?”

“Of course.  And a pastry. It wouldn’t be a proper walk without stopping for a treat afterward.”

“Frances will be so jealous,” Jem whispered happily, his good humor restored.

Jem bounced happily off the step and ran along to get his hat and coat by way of the kitchen.  Hugo heard Cook berating him in rapid French as he grabbed some bread for the birds and returned to the foyer ready to go.  Hugo couldn’t help feeling a twinge of sadness as he remembered that he might be parted from the boy in the coming months.  He hadn’t said anything to Jem, but eventually Nicholas would either write or come in person, at which point Jem would find out the truth.  Hugo sighed and followed Jem out the door. 

The morning was too fine to remain in low spirits.  The sun warmed their shoulders and sparkled on the water, making the Seine glow like a ribbon of silver.  Cotton-ball clouds dotted the azure sky, and the smell of the river, cut grass, and freshly baked bread permeated the air.  Several fancy carriages rolled by, taking their occupants home after a long night of debauchery, and wagons rumbled down the streets, delivering fresh milk and produce to taverns and shops. 

Before long, Hugo and Jem were watching boats on the river, feeding the ever-hungry birds, and eating hot crepes bought from an old woman who made them right on the banks of the Seine, and chatting like magpies.  Jem was happy to have Hugo’s undivided attention, something that had been in short supply over the past months.  Hugo wondered if he should tell Jemmy the truth of his paternity, but decided to wait.  Jem was so happy just being with him that he felt a piercing stab of guilt at not paying more attention to the boy.  He was just a child; he couldn’t understand the complexities of Hugo’s situation, or the all-consuming needs of a baby.  Normally, Archie stepped in when Hugo was unavailable, but Archie had his own troubles of late, if Frances’s pregnancy was anything to go by.  Decisions would need to be made, but for now, Hugo just wanted to enjoy Jem’s company.

“I’m sorry I haven’t spent more time with you, Jemmy,” Hugo said as they sat on a bench and watched the traffic on the river.  “I’ve been somewhat preoccupied.”

“That’s all right,” Jem replied, his eyes never leaving the little boat that had just appeared from behind Ile de le Cite.  “My mam was always preoccupied.  That’s just the way adults are, isn’t it?  Archie used to take me out and show me things, but now he’s preoccupied too.  I don’t ever want to fall in love, not ever,” Jem said hotly.  “It makes you all muddled and moody.”

“Is Archie in love, do you think?”

“Ach, he’s been in love with Frances for ages, simply ages.  Any fool could see that,” Jem replied matter-of-factly.

Hugo made a mental note that he was clearly a fool since he’d been oblivious to the passionate love affair brewing right before his eyes.  He supposed that he was so used to Archie’s lone-wolf ways that he never imagined him to actually fall in love with any one woman, especially a fifteen-year-old child-bride.  He supposed it was unfair to call Frances a child since she’d endured more than most grown women had in a lifetime, and deserved some happiness at last, but he hadn’t envisioned that outcome with someone like Archie. 

Perhaps Archie really did love her, but would he be able to finally settle down and be with one woman?  Archie liked his sport, and was never short of female companionship.  Would Frances be enough for him?  Would he be enough for her?  She needed someone with infinite patience, someone who treated her with kindness and understanding.  Archie was a good man, but he could be rough around the edges, and less than patient.  He’d also been scarred by the loss of his nieces, nephew, and brother-in-law, who all died the same week and sent his sister into a downward spiral, which ended with her taking the veil and shutting herself away from the outside world. 

Would he be capable of loving Frances in the way she needed to be loved, or would he keep her and their child at arm’s-length for fear of losing them?  Hugo should know the answers to all these questions, but he didn’t.  He’d neglected everyone in his quest for recognition and financial independence, and would have to pay greater attention to the women in his life, particularly Valentine.  He wanted to be the kind of father he’d seen in the twenty-first century; a father who was involved with his child in a real and hands-on way, not one who saw his offspring for an hour a day and had no idea what they were thinking or feeling.  Valentine was, of course, too young for conversation, but he did talk to her when no one was around, or in the middle of the night when Neve was asleep. 

Hugo felt silly talking to the baby when someone was in the room, but when they were alone together, he poured his heart out to her.  Valentine stared at him with those round, brown eyes as if she understood every word.  Perhaps she did.  Neve said that babies understood a lot more than people gave them credit for, and even if she didn’t understand the words, she instinctively understood the tone.  Neve had even suggested that it was time to start reading to her, which was something Hugo felt more comfortable with.  He liked holding the baby in the crook of his arm while he read poetry to her, and watched her lashes begin to flutter as she fell asleep in his arms.  His daughter was obviously not ready for such romantic sentiments, but he liked the feeling of bonding those quiet moments gave him, and looked forward to them every day.

“Time to go back, I think,” Hugo said as he rose from the bench and stretched his back.  “Lady Everly will wonder what’s become of us, and I’m still hungry, truth be told.  I can use a good breakfast.”

“No, she won’t.  She’s too busy with the baby,” Jem replied angrily, making Hugo smile.  “But I suppose a second breakfast would be nice,” he conceded as he jumped off the bench.

Hugo began walking along the river with Jem trailing behind him reluctantly, not quite ready to go home.  Hugo couldn’t help wondering what his life would be like if Nick came to get him.  Would Nick be a loving father, or would he take in Jem simply because he needed an heir?  His wife wouldn’t be too pleased, or would she?  Taking in a child who had been conceived years before would probably be less painful than watching her husband fall in love with someone new and father a child she could never give him.  Perhaps she would take to Jem.  He was such a sweet, animated boy. 

Hugo suddenly realized that Jem was no longer walking next to him.  He’d probably been distracted by another boat, or a nice pair of chestnut horses drawing a carriage.  Having spent time with Archie, Jem had a real appreciation for good horseflesh, and never failed to stop when he saw a beautiful horse.  Hugo began to turn around when he heard Jem’s terrified shout, and saw him hurl himself at a man who was pointing a gun straight at Hugo’s chest.  The man looked like an ex-soldier, but judging by his disheveled dress and greasy hair had been out of the army for some time.  The shot was deafening when it rang out, everything seemingly taking place in slow motion as Jem tackled the man, who tossed him off, and took off at a run.

Hugo felt a terrible burning sensation in his chest.  It was as if a hot poker had been thrust through his flesh, searing everything in its path, the pain all-consuming as it spread toward the heart.  Hugo looked down, his mind still refusing to comprehend what his body already knew. A large bloodstain bloomed just over his heart.  He felt an overwhelming dizziness, as if life were draining out of him as he sank to his knees, his eyes still focused on Jem.  The boy seemed to be screaming, but Hugo couldn’t hear a thing.  His ears were ringing, and his blood roared in his veins as it whooshed through his body.  He hit the ground hard, falling on his side.  The pain exploded like a firework, taking his breath away and blinding him with its intensity.  Hugo tried to hold on, but it was too strong for him, too powerful.  He saw Jem running toward him as he lost consciousness.