The Virgin Widow

by Jen YatesNZ

  God, she needed to pull herself together. She wasn’t ill. Not physically anyway. She looked down at the book on her lap and gulped back a tiny sob. She wouldn’t fool Dolly she was reading if the darned thing wasn’t even open. Turning a few pages, she rested her hand on it to keep it that way and allowed her gaze to segue back to the garden vista beyond the window. The two gardeners spent most of their days this time of year raking and burning leaves. The air was redolent with the smell of smoke.

  She’d allowed her mind to drift into wishing her emotions could be as easily disposed of, when Dolly knocked and entered.

  ‘Lady Downey to see you, my Lady,’ she said, opening the door wide to admit James’s daughter.

  ‘Abby!’

  Dolly ducked out before Jane could take her to task for ignoring her orders to inform callers she was not receiving.

  ‘Now, you’re not to box poor Dolly’s ears for letting me in, for I bullied her. She’s loyal, your maid!’

  ‘I know—and I wouldn’t box her ears!’

  ‘Of course you wouldn’t—but at least now you have a little color in your cheeks. And don’t get up!’ she commanded.

  Pulling off her gloves and bonnet and tossing them onto a side table, she crossed to kneel at Jane’s side,

  ‘What is wrong? I’ve never known you to be ill. And yet—clearly—you’re not well.’

  ‘I’m fine. There’s nothing—’

  ‘Faradiddles, Jane! You might be able to gammon poor Louise. I’ve never thought my dear sister-in-law the brightest flower in the bunch, but even she had the sense to send for me!’

  ‘Louise sent for you? She should not have done that!’

  ‘Of course she should,’ Abby countered roundly. ‘You’re our Mama—and my dearest friend. You’re always there whenever we need you. Who should take care of you, if not us?’

  Abby always teased her about being her Mama though they were the same age.

  ‘But the children. You’re so busy. Abby—’

  ‘It’s not as if I leave them often and I have staff who can handle things perfectly if I have to be elsewhere. And nothing you can say will convince me you don’t need me. Look at you! In those first weeks after Papa died you never looked remotely like this—and I know you suffered for his loss. Jane, what is wrong?’

  Jane laid her head back against the chair and closed her eyes, trying to block out Abby’s soft, loving brown eyes, so like her father’s. Closing her eyes didn’t stop the silly tears from dripping beneath her lids and rolling silently down her cheeks.

  She’d been able to deflect Holly’s questions, her teasing; been able to leave London with Holly believing she’d withstood her brother’s charms.

  But this was Abby, her step-daughter, and dearest friend from childhood. She’d been closer to Abby than she’d ever been to her sisters. Abby, who’d seen her need and engineered Jane’s marriage to her father.

  ‘Oh, Abby,’ she whispered at last. ‘I’ve made such a mess of things!’

  And with that admission she could no longer hold back the ugly, noisy sobs.

  Abby dragged up a chair, folded her arms around Jane and pulled her face into her shoulder.

  ‘Cry. Sounds like you need to.’

  ‘I don’t!’ Jane sobbed. ‘I’ve cried buckets and it doesn’t fix anything!’

  ‘Then tell me what’s wrong.’

  ‘Hades Delacourte!’ Jane blurted, so relieved to say his name.

  Abby’s eyebrows flew high and she leant back to stare at Jane, hands still clutching her shoulders.

  ‘All this—angst—is for the Great Bax? So it finally happened? You fell in love? With Lord Baxendene? He’s eminently eligible, if a little—’

  ‘Yes—with the morals of an alley cat.’

  ‘Jane!’ Abby protested. ‘Surely he’s not that bad!’

  Jane was grateful to feel temper flow through her veins again, drying the tears and warming her body. She sighed, asked Abby to ring for tea, and set about calming herself and blowing her nose.

  As soon as they were settled with their tea, Abby demanded, ‘Begin—at the beginning!’

  To her surprise, Jane felt the urge to giggle.

  ‘You sound like you did when we used to hide away under the weeping elm and tell each other our secrets!’

  Abby smiled.

  ‘And you definitely needed me here to remind you, ‘Together we are—’

  ‘Invincible!’ they finished together.

  When Abby crooked her little finger, Jane couldn’t repress an outright gurgle of laughter, crooked her own pinkie and linked it with Abby’s. As children it had been their pledge of solidarity against an all-powerful adult world.

  Pretending they were hidden deep in their sanctuary beneath the long leafy curtain of elm branches, sharing the deepest secrets of her heart, became easy.

  Abby stayed silent, her eyes occasionally widening, or sparkling, as Jane talked. Until she admitted Hades Delacourte had asked her to marry him, and she’d sent him away.

  ‘That was a month ago,’ Abby said quietly, after Jane acceded to her demand for more details. ‘I’ve never known you to let anything keep you down to this extent, Jane. Are you regretting that decision? Can’t work out how to fix it? What?’

  Jane swallowed then gripped her hands together in her lap.

  Suddenly Abby was out of her chair, kneeling before her and clasping her hands over Jane’s.

  ‘You’re pregnant!’

  Struggling for breath, Jane fought back the tears about to erupt all over again.

  ‘I—think—I was. A—a couple of weeks ago, I realized I hadn’t had my courses since before I went to The Chase, and I’d been feeling, not exactly off-color, but not exactly normal either. It was horrifying—and frightening—and the most wonderful feeling in the world. I knew I was carrying Hades’ child. I had no idea what I was going to do about it. I had all sorts of wild ideas about travelling.—France came to mind—but then I’d think, that was foolish for I was never going to give up my child, my gift from Hades.’

  ‘You didn’t think you should tell him?’

  ‘Briefly, I thought about it. Couldn’t decide. I didn’t want to trap him in a marriage—like that—’

  ‘That’s nothing to the point, Jane. He’d already asked you to marry him! You know you need to swallow your pride—’

  ‘I didn’t say I was thinking clearly about any of this,’ Jane muttered, shaking Abby’s hands to stop her tirade. ‘Anyway, nothing’s to the point now. Last week I got my courses, more painful and heavier than I’ve ever had. Dolly said that was like when her mum had a—a miscarriage. I’m—not—pregnant.’

  Dashing at the tears leaking from her eyes again, she thrust her chair back and pushed to her feet. Standing before the window, staring unseeingly out into the garden, she said, ‘I feel so—empty. So cold. I’d only just realized I was going to have a baby—and I lost it.—You should leave me to myself. I’m not very good company.’

  Abby laughed softly.

  ‘Now when were you ever able to brush me off like that, Jane? Call Dolly. Get dressed and let’s go driving in that fancy phaeton my father bought for you.’

  When Jane shook her head, Abby reached for the bell pull and between her relieved maid and her determined step-daughter, Jane realized she didn’t stand a chance.

  Wrapped up in hooded cloaks against the chill wind, they drove the curricle down the lane and into Rotherby Great Park. A weak winter sun shone through the naked branches of elms, oaks and poplars and the leaves were inches deep, rustling and scattering as they drove through.

  Jane had to admit being out in the fresh air with the driving ribbons in hand was a definite improvement to moping indoors, but she’d needed Abby to jostle her out of her apathy.

  ‘Thanks for making me do this. I couldn’t seem to find the energy, even to get dressed. Poor Dolly tried but—’

  ‘But you’re her mistress, not the other way around!’

  The sil
ence was companionable but finally Abby asked, ‘Was I wrong to encourage you to marry Papa, Jane? I used to wonder whether you had—a normal marriage—but I couldn’t ask—’ When Jane raised her eyebrows, Abby went on, ‘He was my father. You don’t—well—think about your parents and—sex.’

  ‘You wouldn’t be here, Abby, if your parents hadn’t had sex.’

  ‘I know—but he—you were my best friend and—!’

  The laughter bubbling within her felt good and Jane let it ripple forth.

  ‘You’re priceless, daughter! Right at the beginning when James and I first talked of marriage he was clear as to what he was offering. He loved me, and I him, as a father loves a daughter, and really, that’s how we were together. Though he did say once during that last year he was really glad I wasn’t his daughter, because of the intimate things I had to do for him. He knew he wasn’t well when we married and I don’t think he expected to live as long as he did. He used to worry about my life wasting. It didn’t worry me for we shared so much; a love of books, music, art, and the countryside. Besides, I only had to think of Squire Dunne, or see poor Henrietta Rowley whom he married a few months later. She always looked so miserable—and pregnant. Poor woman!’

  ‘But—did you not wish for children?’

  ‘Not really. It wasn’t something I thought about. My life was full and blessed, and you and Albert generously shared your children with us—quite often.’

  ‘Are you saying too often?’ Abby pounced.

  Jane laughed, relieved to feel the heavy cloud of sadness lifting from her at last.

  ‘Of course not! But it wasn’t until I thought I was pregnant, I understood—what is missing from my life now. And I—love Hades so much—and to have his child—growing inside me—was the most precious feeling. And the saddest. For I know he really doesn’t want children. He always said he’d never marry and Jason’s sons were to be his heirs.’

  Abby opened her mouth to speak, but Jane forestalled her. Now she had started talking she needed to say it all.

  ‘Hades is a good man, Abby. He does so much no one knows about. Two of his properties are set up as permanent homes for men who were injured in the war. And they’re staffed with returned soldiers he has recruited from the streets in London. He gives them a home and work and they love him. He spends a lot of time at both places even during the season. Though this season he stayed in town more, because he promised his brother-in-law he’d watch out for Selena. Family is important to him and he takes those responsibilities seriously. There has been much pain in his life, much loss. He had this unshakeable belief Jason was the better man; more honorable, gave his life for his country—and so he had no need of heirs because—he wanted to perpetuate Jason’s memory by making his sons his heirs. Then he found out those boys were not Jason’s and realized he needed to sire his own heirs and—’

  ‘He thought of you,’ Abby finally finished for her.

  ‘He feels—betrayed.’

  ‘I feel for Holly,’ Abby said quietly. ‘First she finds out Lady Baxendene is not her mother. And now—!’

  ‘Holly told you about that? She’s an amazing woman. So strong; so accepting. I know much of her strength comes from the wonderful relationship she has with Brisco. He’s her rock. She might look fairylike, but she’s not emotionally fragile. Her emotions have been tempered by her upbringing. Hades on the other hand—’

  ‘Looks like the Rock of Gibraltar, but?’

  ‘Is prone to bouts of darkness and for some reason has little belief in his own innate worth. Nevertheless, what he offered was not a basis for marriage—I could accept. He was visibly upset when I refused him, but he will have no trouble finding a woman willing to marry him on the terms he’s offering.’

  Picking up the reins again, Jane urged the horses forward and turned them for home. All pleasure had gone from the outing.

  Her heart ached for Hades and for her own inability to ease his suffering.

  Why had she ever agreed to go to London?

  Over the next few days Jane strove to convince Abby she’d pushed through the depression holding her in its grip and was grateful when she succeeded and Abby left for home. She loved her dearly but the ache in her heart, in her soul, was too profound to be shared with anyone, even Abby.

  She needed a sanctuary. This place had been that once. But since the day Hades strode through her door and fell to his knees before her, his presence followed her wherever she went in the house; and the longing to go to him, to hold him, love him—Oh God!

  She was crying again. Dammit! This place was smothering her; drowning her. The thought brought James to mind and his need every year about this time to get away from Rotherby—because he’d felt the place was drowning him.

  ‘Oh James,’ she whispered, ‘this is not how you thought my life would be. I’m so sorry—’

  ‘That’s what I should do!’ she said out loud, for a moment imagining she was talking to James. ‘That’s why you bought the house at Maldon!’

  She’d not been there since his death, though both Albert and Abby and their families had used it. The place, with its view out across the Chelmer River, was what she needed.

  Suddenly her energy was boundless. A few days to organize things and leave no loose ends here at Rotherby, and she’d set out for Rotherby Cottage at Maldon.

  Chapter 18

  Six weeks. Six of the longest fucking weeks of his life! And probably the most productive. He’d ridden from Rotherby Dower House like a fox with the hunt in full cry behind him.

  A mortally wounded fox.

  Fuck. That would simply make him pathetic.

  Leaving Fosse to follow—or not—he’d ridden away from Rotherby that day with one goal in mind; to reach The Dene and tell his fucking perfect brother what an asshole he was—had been. It had been close to midnight when he’d arrived, riding purely by instinct and the occasional light of a fitful moon.

  He’d have strung up any of his staff who’d put any horse, let alone one as valuable as Zeus, at such risk. His own safety mattered little. It had been his choice, but the horse had no choice but to obey his master. Lucky the animal hadn’t dumped him on his stupid, arrogant backside.

  His arrival had pulled a grumbling head groom from his sleep and created a furor in the house. Larkin had let him in, still trying to get into his trousers as he opened the door, Mrs. Larkin behind him dragging a robe about her ample shoulders.

  He’d sent the housekeeper back to bed, ordered Larkin to bring whisky up to his room, and leapt up the stairs two at a time.

  The minute Larkin left him he carried the bottle and a candle along the hall and entered Jason’s room. Jase had been dead at least eight years and probably hadn’t been home for a year or two before that, but his twin’s presence grabbed Bax by the throat the moment he closed the door at his back.

  It took all his strength to prevent himself hurling the full bottle of whisky at the portrait of Jase in his dress uniform, hanging on the wall above the fireplace. His mother must have hung it there. A better one of Captain Jason Delacourte on horseback graced the main salon downstairs. The place was a goddam shrine to his memory.

  Saint Jason. Fuck, even he’d thought his brother damned near a saint. No doubt marrying his best friend’s lover to prevent her being utterly ruined was an honorable thing to do—but to let Bax believe the boys were Delacourtes—by blood—was a betrayal he was having difficulty accepting.

  He’d probably have handled it a lot better if his grand, magnanimous scheme to make Angular Jane his wife and mother of the heirs he now needed, hadn’t back-fired—like a gun going off in his face.

  He really hadn’t believed she’d not simply fall into his arms and he’d be spending the night in her bed.

  Instead, he’d spent it sprawled in the only chair in Jason’s old room, drinking the whisky straight from the bottle, cursing and swearing at his brother between every burning swig. He’d also had a few colorful discussions with his father on the sub
ject of his pedigree and made some strange sort of peace with the memory of his sister. Samantha had not been forced to marry Paxton, and the choice to end her life, if that was what she’d done, was hers alone to make.

  He’d only been sixteen at the time with little awareness of what was going on in his older, married sister’s lives. There was no reason for him to wear her death on his conscience as if he could have prevented it.

  The morning had found him whisky-fogged and yet with a sense of thinking more clearly than he ever had, probably since his father died when he was seven.

  He’d allowed them all, Papa, Jase and Sam, too much power over his life and how he lived it, allowed them to keep him away from The Dene except for infrequent day visits to his aging but super-efficient steward, who still maintained the estate’s principal office there. Trouble was, there’d been several other properties to accommodate him without braving the ghosts of The Dene.

  Other projects had benefitted from his frenzied activity once he’d taken up residence, all designed to keep him so busy Angular Jane simply couldn’t register on his consciousness—at least more than a couple of times every hour of every goddam day.

  The Riverdene property between Bancombe Park and The Chase, which he’d been pursuing in a desultory fashion all season, was now his, and currently undergoing a complete refurbishment. He and Fosse had already made a foray into London’s more desperate quarters, searching out returned soldiers who’d been unable to find work, some completely able-bodied, some not. It wasn’t charity in his book, though the poor sods he rescued were beyond grateful. He was simply adding to the value of the Baxendene Estates.

  Oddly enough, the thought of siring his own heirs had fueled the desire to increase the assets he’d leave to them.

  His children. Not thinking about that. Not until he could imagine their mother being someone other than Angular Jane. He could see them too readily. Boys with his black Beresford curls and grey eyes, and girls with Jane’s fiery locks and topaz eyes. Or other variations—