by Quinn, Paula
“Are you ill, Lady Jenny?”
Had the boy not noticed her stomach? “I am…I believe…about to deliver two babies.”
His entire face seemed to grow rounder as his mouth became a huge O of horror.
“Oh, no, Lady Jenny. You mustn’t.” He looked wildly around him. For what, she couldn’t fathom. Some sort of divine intervention, perhaps.
After a moment’s indecision, he darted toward the lamp and picked it up.
“I’m ever so sorry to have broken in. I only wanted to sleep indoors a bit.” With that, he ran to the door with the ease of a young rascal in a panic to get away.
“Wait,” she called to him, and he froze. “You’re not leaving, are you?”
She tried to stand, pressing her hands onto the bench. She couldn’t seem to get moving.
The boy said nothing, just staring at her as she struggled. Finally, she gave up with a huff and settled down. Blast it all! And her own foolishness most of all!
Then a particularly hard cramp seized her, and she moaned. At the same time, she felt wetness start to trickle between her legs and feared it was not her bladder this time. Her waters had broken.
Beginning to pant with fear, Jenny tried to calm herself, closing her eyes and taking deep breaths. She’d got herself into this now-dangerous situation, and she would have to get herself out of it, too. After all, help and warmth and those she loved were only a few yards away.
Finally, she opened her eyes. It was dark, except for a little light still entering from the open door.
“Jasper,” she yelled. Probably nearly as terrified as she was, he had left her there. Dear God! “Please, come back!”
For a moment, nothing happened, and she feared he was too far away to hear her, or had heard and didn’t care. Yet in the next instant, the light grew stronger again, and he reappeared in the doorway.
“I need help,” she said at once.
“I didn’t mean to cause no trouble,” he said, shaking his head.
“You didn’t. If you leave me here, though, I don’t believe it will end well.” Tears pricked her eyes at her own words. It might not end well anyway, as these babies were early, just as the midwife had told her they might be.
Jenny sniffed. She loved her midwife, who was also the baker’s wife, and she loved their delicious clove buns. She might never have another bun. She might never see Simon and Lionel again, either. At that thought, Jenny began to cry in earnest.
“Oh, no, Lady Jenny. Do not cry,” Jasper implored. “I won’t leave you.”
A sharp pain abruptly ended her self-pitying tears in any case. Gasping with the intensity, she realized she had better attempt to retrieve some sense of her practical side.
“Can you help me stand?”
His mouth dropped open again. “I shouldn’t touch you, my lady.”
Rolling her eyes, she said, “Jasper, we are both simply flesh and blood, are we not? If you can get me up off this bench, will you help me walk back home and guide us with your lamp? There will be a hot meal for you and—” she broke off as another cramp wracked her body “—and a warm, soft bed.”
“Truly?” The boy set the lamp down again and rushed forward to grab her hand. His first yank on her arm did nothing. She outweighed him, and he was all skin and bones.
“Stop,” she commanded at his useless tugging. “Just stand close and let me hold onto your shoulder and heave myself up.”
Silently, he did as she suggested. After a minute, she was standing, leaning heavily on poor, wobbling Jasper. Fighting the desperate urge to lie down, Jenny took a step, then another, feeling the water trickle down her legs.
“Let’s go home,” she murmured through teeth clenched against the discomfort.
He set off too quickly, and she almost toppled forward.
“Slowly,” she pleaded.
He bent to retrieve the lamp at his feet, again causing her near-collapse, and then they set off at a snail’s pace. Barely out the door and crunching across the snow, Jenny couldn’t take her hands off the boy’s shoulders to raise her hood and cover her head. In any case, the snow had stopped falling, and the evening looked breathtakingly beautiful. Even the clouds had parted to allow the moonlight to shine down, making the landscape sparkle.
“Isn’t it lovely?” she whispered.
“Yes, my lady.”
After another few steps, however, she knew she was not going to make it all the way back to her own front door.
“Please, Jasper, help me back into the stables. I must lie down at once.”
Probably seeing his vision of food and a warm bed disappear, he hesitated. “Are you sure, Lady Jenny? It’s not far.”
“Ohh,” she moaned. When she caught her breath, she looked at the path stretching interminably before her. How could the manor have grown so distant? “Too far,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
He looked up at her stunned. “You are not to say sorry to the likes of me.”
With that, he turned her carefully and, ever so slowly, walked her back inside.
“I cannot get to the beds in the loft. There must be clean straw…,” she trailed off, feeling wretched.
“This way, Lady Jenny.” He had obviously looked around the stables before she’d surprised him, for he took her farther along the main aisle to the first stall. There was no horse inside, only a large pile of fresh straw for the morning chores.
Gratefully, she sunk into it, with Jasper’s help, onto her knees, and then she turned onto her side, not caring when the straw pressed into her cheek or poked through her cloak. So glad was she to be off her feet, it seemed like the softest down mattress.
“Thank you,” she said, before the pain gripped her again. When it subsided, she opened her eyes, half-surprised to see the boy still there.
“Where are you from?” It didn’t really matter, except it seemed an odd thing for him to show up on Christmas Eve.
“Neepsend, Lady Jenny.”
She nodded. It was a small settlement about a mile north of Sheffield, with a tendency to flood.
“No work,” he added, though, to her, he seemed awfully young to be worried about such things.
“And your parents?” she asked.
He scrunched up his face and shrugged. Jasper’s meaning was clear.
“Siblings?” she asked.
He frowned, and she wondered if he knew the word. “Any sisters or brothers?”
“No. Just me for a year, at least.”
Better he was here in the country than in London or any of the other major cities, she mused. At least he stood a chance of finding a place and making a living rather than ending up in a crowded orphanage, or worse, as a guttersnipe or pickpocket.
“You came to the right place,” she said. “Sheffield is bustling nowadays. You’ll see after Christmas.”
He nodded but looked doubtful. He probably thought he might starve to death or freeze in the meantime. She wouldn’t let that happen. He didn’t know it yet, but he’d fallen into the right pot of treacle.
“Jasper, I will help you, I promise. Go up to the main house. There is a door on the side, a servant’s door. Or maybe it’s best to go to the main door. Though I don’t know where the admiral is. Maybe he was playing chess with the footman. Who knows?”
He was staring at her as if she were quite the lunatic, and she wanted to laugh but couldn’t.
“Just try any and all doors. Knock hard until you’re let in. Ask for my husband, Lord Lindsey. Tell him where I am. I guess you will need to take the lantern,” she added, not liking the idea of being left in the dark. Without it, though, it would take Jasper longer to find help.
He nodded, his face solemn, then his eyebrows lifted. “I saw another lantern in the tack room.”
“Smart lad. Go get it.”
In a flash, he was back with a lamp, which he lit and placed beside her, for he couldn’t reach the lamp hook hanging above them.
“I think you’d best hurry now,” she said, another
flash of fear at her precarious situation racing through her. Nodding, he spared her another long look.
“Go on,” she urged, though she didn’t know if he was hesitating out of concern for her or because he was scared to go knocking at Belton Manor.
Finally, he turned and disappeared around the side of the stall where she couldn’t see him any longer. But she could hear his footfalls. Then she remembered something important.
“Jasper,” she called after him, and heard him halt.
“Yes, my lady?”
“Tell Lord Lindsey to send for the midwife. Can you remember that?”
“Yes, Lady Jenny.”
After hearing the boy’s footsteps cross the threshold, she lifted her head but could hear him no longer as the snowy ground muffled the sounds. She was alone, except for about twenty horses as her close neighbors. The one in the very next stall was moving around, and the wooden barricade beside her started to shake. After a brief moment of alarm, she realized the horse was scratching itself against the wood.
She settled back down to wait, listening to her large companions as they whinnied and nickered, which she found soothing. Perhaps they were conversing about the day ahead, or maybe they were gossiping about the madwoman who was now sharing their living space.
That’s ridiculous, she thought, though they certainly weren’t all sleeping. Simon, who had a way of gentling even the wildest-seeming equine, had pointed out how their horses could even sleep standing and with their eyes open, but that they preferred to sleep during the day because of old instincts about predators at night. She had seen them laying down in the paddock, with always at least one standing guard.
Knowing some of the horses were awake made her feel as if they were protecting her, too.
Resting her head back in the straw, Jenny tried to breathe deeply as the labor gripped her body. Her skirts were damp underneath, and her body seemed to be intent on squeezing out these infants. The babies had stopped moving a few days earlier, and she figured they had run out of room. Now, apparently, they wished for more spacious quarters.
She should never have told Simon all she wanted for Christmas was the babies. They’d taken her quite literally!
“After Christmas would have done,” she muttered. “And now I am talking to myself.” She chuckled. “They’ll take me away to Bedlam. No, they won’t. You’re a countess. You can ride a horse naked down the main street and no one will gainsay you.” She thought about that. “True. I can.”
Falling silent, she acknowledged she was frightened. Even if Simon came to hold her hand and even if the midwife Emily came with her oils and what-not, birthing twins was a scary notion. Early on, Emily had said one of the babies might die before birth. Or they might come so early, they might not survive. Neither event had happened, and Jenny had become complacent about her good fortune. After all, everything had gone fairly smoothly with her carrying and birthing her first child.
Again, she thought of how much she loved Lionel, and tears filled her eyes. She wanted to hold him that very moment and press her nose against his soft skin. Her precious little boy. How she wished she could simply see her way clear to dividing her love among three and even more children in the future. But she couldn’t. Lionel was her world and had captured all of her motherly heart, as his wonderful father had taken all of her wifely passion.
Had she tempted fate with her misgivings?
Jenny was not normally superstitious, but she closed her eyes against the fear that she had brought down any ill-fortune upon her newborns by being worried and doubtful. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt her to pray. Also, she decided to pray for Maggie and her family to be safe. And she would add a prayer for Simon and Lionel if something should go wrong with the birth.
Her lower lip trembled at that thought. Everyone knew of women who’d died in childbirth and of babes who’d seemed lusty with life only to pass minutes later.
Dear God! On this wonderful night of Christmas Eve, please take care of Lionel and Simon and Maggie, John, and Rosie, and my mother and Eleanor, of course. And please help these little ones come into this world. And please let me survive to be their mother. And please look after young Jasper, who seems to need it.
As the next wave of tightening and cramping rolled through her body, Jenny decided to recite her multiplication tables. Numbers had always been her faithful friends, so definite and useful. She skipped ahead to the sixes for a little more interest.
Six times one is six.
Six times two is twelve.
Her mathematical skills as a bookkeeper had saved her family from destitution after her father’s abrupt death left them in poverty. Those same skills had brought her to Belton Manor to sort out Simon Devere’s ledgers. She smiled through her tears, recalling how she’d gone from lonely bookkeeper to beloved bride.
Her heart swelled with love for him.
Six times three is eighteen.
Six times four is twenty-four.
Jenny could barely think of the answer as her stomach muscles tensed and tightened, and inside, something shifted.
“Simon,” she yelled when the pain hit a crescendo. She’d driven him away earlier with her sharp tongue and spitefulness. What if the last look she ever saw from him was that wounded expression he’d worn? Even worse, the last thing he might remember of his beloved wife was her snapping the word, “Out!”
“I love you,” she said as the pain ebbed again. She hoped he would come soon so she could repeat those words to his face.
Chapter Three
Lord Lindsey was literally tearing his hair out. At that very moment, he held some dark brown strands between his thumb and pointer finger, just yanked from his head in frustration and fear, as he raged through the house for the umpteenth time. With him was an entire team of servants dragged from enjoying their Christmas Eve to help him search for his wife. It wasn’t as if she was currently a small presence in the manor.
How hard could it be to find a woman as large as a carriage wheel?
Moreover, in her current state, she was prone to quick-snapping anger and irritable tirades against such things as too much sunlight in her eyes or the tartness of lemonade. She was not her normal, placid soul, and certainly not one who could be overlooked if she were seated in the corner.
Simon was desperate to lay eyes upon her. His fingers, running with dread through his hair, itched to touch her. How he loved every facet of his wife, even the currently irrational creature ready to deliver him two more delightful children. Who could blame her for her mood when she looked so uncomfortable?
Thinking she might have gone into the guest rooms to make sure all was ready for her visiting family, he headed back down the long, wide hallway to the other wing.
Simon had given up hoping she would show up in the doorway of their son’s room and come listen while he read to Lionel. The boy had fallen asleep, and Simon had nearly done the same. But it was Christmas Eve. He wanted to hold Jenny in his arms and profess his love for her, even while she was as prickly as a hedgehog.
Thus, he’d gone first into the drawing room on the upper floor, finding only his mother-in-law, Lady Anne Blackwood, sipping sherry, and his youngest sister-in-law, Eleanor, drawing intricate sketches onto each piece of wrapping paper.
They hadn’t seen her. Not worried yet, he’d dashed downstairs to the parlor where he’d left her. No Jenny. Then he’d gone to the kitchens since, lately, she was always hungry. The staff who’d been comfortably relaxing all jumped to their feet when they saw the earl in their midst. However, they hadn’t seen his wife.
Now, it had been fifteen minutes of earnest searching, with Binkley, his butler, a footman and the housekeeper, and two maids all running hither and yon, as well.
“Jenny,” Simon cried along every hallway. “Jenny, love, where are you?”
Not in the library or the upstairs small reading room, nor in his office, nor their bedchamber. Not in the water closet, where she spent an inordinate amount of time at present.
Not anywhere!
He felt like weeping. It was as though she had vanished into the air, like a sprite. A very roly-poly, plump sprite!
“Dear God, where is my wife?” he uttered aloud.
Then he heard a commotion emanating up the stairwell from the foyer. Jenny!
Racing back the way he’d come, he hurried down the main staircase to see…Maggie, the Countess of Cambrey, Jenny’s middle sister. Beside her, holding their babe, was Simon’s best friend, John Angsley, the Earl of Cambrey.
Their butler, Binkley, or the admiral, as Jenny referred to him, had beat him to the marbled entryway and was efficiently taking their guests’ outerwear.
Thank God they were safe! He hadn’t let on to Jenny how worried he’d become when they hadn’t appeared on the expected day or the day after that, either. But there they were at last, safe and sound. She would be thrilled. He couldn’t wait to tell her—if only he could find her.
Eleanor, coming from wherever she’d been hunting for her sister, made an excited sound behind him. She rushed past where he stood frozen at the bottom of the stairs, still hoping he would see Jenny hurry into view to greet her family.
The youngest Blackwood hugged her sister before proclaiming, “Jenny has vanished, just like in a Gothic novel!” Eleanor sounded less worried than Simon felt.
His heart constricted hearing her say it out loud. This could not be happening.
The girls’ mother, Lady Blackwood, appeared from the first-floor hallway, having also been looking for her eldest daughter. She swept Maggie into a warm hug before putting her arms around her son-in-law and granddaughter at the same time. When she drew back, she was holding baby Rosie in a tight grip.
“What on earth do you mean?” Maggie asked. “Vanished?”
Simon stepped forward to greet his in-laws. The countess was a dazzling beauty, flashier than her sisters, with a darker shade of brown hair than Jenny, and perfectly suited for his friend, John, who reached out to shake his hand.
“How did you lose your wife?” he asked, a half-grin upon his face before he recognized the panic in Simon’s expression. Then John’s smile disappeared. “What’s going on?”
