Unless... He recalled the flicker of suspicion in Honora’s eye that day in the library, before her lips on his had made all else fall away. If he hadn’t known better, he might have thought she could tell he was hiding something, that sharp mind leaping to conclusions he might never guess. Unless, of course, I looked that fear in the eye and told her anyway. Perhaps the certainty of her reaction might be better than my prediction. She might surprise me—heaven knows Honora has never been predictable so far and, if she suspects a secret already...
‘What do you have there?’
A voice rose above the noise of the kitchen and Isaac’s heart shuddered over a skipped beat as Honora emerged through a cloud of heavily scented steam, followed close behind—as always, these days—by Charlotte.
Isaac stood up, uncomfortably aware of his limbs at her unexpected appearance. He was a lord, for heaven’s sake, a full-grown man who had reduced countless women to blushing wrecks and enjoyed every moment of it at the time, yet the sight of Honora before him, inspecting his trophy with a raised brow, somehow managed to make him feel almost a lad again.
‘The Yule log, of course. Why else would I have dragged half a tree into my house?’
The dark brow flickered. ‘Yule log? What’s that?’
‘You must know!’ Charlotte peeped round her shoulder, looking younger than ever beside Honora’s tall frame. If it wasn’t for the half-hidden bump beneath Charlotte’s gown it might have made a touching tableau so reminiscent of a rosy-cheeked child looking up at her mother it made Isaac blink. ‘It’s brought in on Christmas Eve usually, although given the weather Isaac dragged it home early, and then burned until Epiphany. Surely you must know that?’
Honora shook her head. ‘We didn’t do that in Virginia and my English Christmases have always been...’ She paused, cutting a glance at Isaac who waited for her to finish with suddenly bated breath. Would she mention Frank, with one word plunging all three of them into misery only he had foreseen?
‘...underwhelming. Lacking in tradition, I realise now.’
Isaac felt himself relax a fraction.
A temporary reprieve. But for how long? When will the time come that a slip of the tongue, an unthinking hint, will reveal everything? Unless I reveal all first?
He bent to take hold of the log once again, glad of the excuse to hide his face. He shouldn’t think like that. If they could make it through the festive days until January without incident all might be well, when Honora would leave for Somerset and the danger would be past. How he felt about her leaving Marlow Manor to disappear he couldn’t quite tell, although a sharp pang at the thought of her departure should have been all the warning he needed their parting couldn’t come soon enough.
‘I can’t leave this lying in here, getting under Mrs Strimpel’s feet. I’ll take it out into the corridor and have the steward see it’s taken care of.’
Honora watched doubtfully as he heaved the log away, a frown clouding her face.
‘You’ll never manage by yourself. Let me help you.’
She moved to his side and pushed her sleeves up from her wrists—something that somehow didn’t surprise Isaac one bit, although he caught Charlotte’s eyes widen. The same forthright action from any other lady would be unthinkable, but Honora merely seized a curve in the bark and began pulling alongside him, putting her back into it with unselfconscious effort he had to admire.
‘Honora! You really needn’t...we have servants that can do this...’ Charlotte ventured anxiously, darting uncomfortable looks at the maids who had paused to watch.
‘It’s no trouble. I’ve chopped my own wood for years—I don’t mind getting my hands dirty.’
The maids didn’t seem convinced of what they were seeing, the sight of an otherwise dignified lady with mud gathering under her fingernails and cheeks growing ruddy as she helped the master drag a great log through the kitchen door not something anyone would have expected. Except me, perhaps, Isaac acknowledged, all too aware how Honora’s shoulder bumped against his as they pulled in tandem. The huge chunk of wood made a horrible grinding sound as it scraped across the flagstones, but bit by bit it moved along.
I know Honora wouldn’t let something as silly as decorum stand in the way of getting a job done.
‘She’s right,’ he managed to say, breath coming harder with exertion. ‘You needn’t bother yourself. I’m perfectly able...’
‘...to break your back, insisting on doing this alone?’ Honora’s voice was strained as they stepped backwards into the corridor, leaving the maids to stare after them. ‘Dragging it through snow is one thing, but along a stone floor is another entirely. Unless you intend to spend tomorrow with your doctor?’
Isaac couldn’t help a gruff laugh. ‘Have you looked outside recently? There’s a blizzard closing in as well as the darkness. Half an hour and it’ll be pitch black with so much snow you wouldn’t know which way you were walking. No doctor would be able to get through that, even if I broke my back clean in two.’
‘All the more reason for me to...help...then.’
With a final grunt Honora rolled the log round to rest against one wall of the corridor between the kitchens and the rest of the house. Straightening up, she pushed both hands into the small of her back, arching to release the tight muscles. The movement showcased the hidden lines of her figure so clearly Isaac couldn’t help but stare, his eyes fixing on her slim waist barely concealed beneath black bombazine and blind to all else but that secret curve. Would it be as warm today as it had been in the library, when he had snaked a palm up to rest there and felt his skin burn against her gown? She’d been like a willow bough, so fragile looking, but strong and only ever bending, never breaking under strain. And she’d been under strain, hadn’t she? First a miserable marriage to a man who never loved her, then abandoned, and then left penniless and alone, but she didn’t complain, didn’t shatter, didn’t give in. She was determined and capable and worthy of anybody’s admiration, and certainly not just because of that tantalising sweep of waist to hip he ached to reach out and trace with wondering fingertips.
Honora gave him the same small smile that always succeeded in scattering stars through his nerves and then turned to Charlotte with a sigh.
‘There. At least now I can say I’ve been of some use during my stay here.’
Charlotte smiled back, her small hand slipping into the crook of Honora’s arm. ‘You can’t think that’s the only thing you’ve done to help, surely. For my part I’ve much to thank you for.’
‘Have you?’
‘Of course.’ The wan little face was suddenly earnest and Isaac felt a wave of love for the girl he’d come to see as his own wash over him like a tide. ‘Before you came I felt so unhappy, sure nobody would want to know me again. But you’ve been so kind—a friend who appeared just when I needed one most. It might almost be fate.’
Isaac said nothing as Honora reached to pat Charlotte’s fingers with real fondness. A complex combination of pleasure and pain swirled inside him to make speech quite impossible. On the one hand it delighted him Charlotte had found some comfort in her hour of darkest need, but wariness tempered any relief. There was so much at stake that neither his ward nor Honora so much as suspected, so much that could go wrong—and with his weakness for his guest showing no sign of abating surely it was only a matter of time before somebody was cut to the bone.
If it were only me who stood to be hurt I could bear the tension. It’s not knowing when the axe will fall—and on whom first—that I can’t stand. Surely I have no choice. I’ll tell Honora as soon as the moment’s right.
* * *
The panes in Honora’s bedroom window shook with the ferocity of the gale outside, great flakes of snow hurling themselves against the glass as if they’d shatter it if they could. Moaning gusts of wind echoed eerily in the darkness, but Honora merely stretched beneath her warm blankets, snugglin
g deeper like a forest creature in its nest. Timbers creaked and somewhere a loose shutter banged closed over and over again, although floating deliciously between waking and sleep Honora barely heard it.
What had roused her from the deeper slumber she’d been enjoying a few moments before? She didn’t know and hardly cared, sleep creeping over her again to return her to oblivion. Some noise, probably, some howl of the wind down a chimney had disturbed her, but no matter. Soon she would be gone again, curled up in the most comfortable bed she’d ever slept in, and the next time she opened her eyes it would be another day closer to Christmas.
From somewhere in the murky depths of her unconscious Honora became aware of something else, some other intruder from the waking world that stopped her from sinking back under. Her brows twitched together and she frowned without opening her eyes, trying to ignore the nagging sensation that something stirred out there in the night that she should be aware of.
It’s nothing. One of the maids moving about, perhaps. Go back to sleep.
She rolled over, burying her head until only a cluster of dishevelled curls showed atop the covers. So warm, so contented, Honora couldn’t help a little sigh as she surrendered to the velvet voice of sleep.
Her eyes snapped open like a china doll’s and she lay still, staring into the darkness as the noise that had woken her came again to fling her pulse up to the ceiling. It was a faint cry, long and drawn-out like an animal in pain, and the moment she heard it Honora knew exactly what it meant.
She was out of bed and flying across the carpet before she realised she’d moved, not even stopping to catch up a shawl to cover her thin nightgown as she flung open her door. The sounds of the blizzard outside accompanied her down the landing to Charlotte’s rooms, the soft cry ended again, but replaced by uncanny shrieking of the wind that did nothing to calm Honora’s thumping heart. All around her Marlow Manor was cloaked in night, not a flicker of light to be found as she raced to Charlotte’s door and burst through without pausing to knock.
‘Charlotte?’
Searching through the gloom, Honora just made out the shape of Charlotte sitting up in her bed, her face the vaguest pale smudge in the darkened room. Although she couldn’t make out her expression Honora heard the gasping breaths as the girl fought back panic, her voice high and terrified when she spoke.
‘Oh, Honora—help! Please help me! I think... I think I’m dying!’
Honora was at Charlotte’s side in a moment, feeling for her hand and taking the icy fingers in a firm grasp. Charlotte was shaking, both with fear and the storm of weeping that squeezed her in its fist, and Honora felt her own nerves tighten with concern.
‘Shh. Shh, now. You’re not dying.’ She slid an arm around Charlotte’s back, intense pity rising inside her as she felt every rib of the poor girl’s tiny frame. There was no substance to her at all and she was like a bird in Honora’s hold, skinny shoulders shuddering with each sob.
‘I think I must be. I was woken by a great rush of something coming out and now I keep having these pains I’ve never felt the like of before...oh, and another...’
Charlotte gave a whimper and curled into Honora’s side, clutching her hand so tightly Honora felt her knuckles grind together. She didn’t pull away, however, only waited for the crisis to pass and until Charlotte sat upright again with a deep breath.
‘You’re not dying, dearest. Your labour has started. The baby is coming now.’
‘The baby? Now?’
Another flood of compassion flowed through Honora at the wild dismay in Charlotte’s thin voice.
‘But... I don’t know what to do! How am I to manage? I have no mother to tell me what to do, what to expect...’ The pale face turned in Honora’s direction, shadowy eyes glazed with desperation. ‘Will you stay with me? Will you help with what’s to come?’
Honora swallowed. Her heart still leapt like an untamed horse and the darkness felt suffocating, worry circling despite her soothing words. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d attended a labouring woman. Back in Virginia she and Ma had helped many neighbours through their births, bringing the child forth and sharing in the family’s joy. This time, however, there was no joy to be found, only the terror of a young girl thrust into a situation she should never have known. ‘Of course. Of course I will.’
She felt Charlotte sag against her and tightened her grip on the frail body, pressing a kiss on the tumbled curls.
Poor girl. Poor, motherless scrap. Whoever the man was that did this to her deserves a punishment I can’t even dream of.
‘I’m so afraid.’
‘I know. But you can do it. You’re stronger than you think.’
Chapter Nine
Isaac paced back and forth in front of Charlotte’s door like an angry cat, hating himself for his helplessness. Every cry was like a dagger to his heart, every groan twisting the knife, yet he could do nothing but wait as more than one life hung in the balance.
When Honora had appeared at his bedroom door for a moment he’d wondered if he was dreaming—until one look at her face made his heart stand still.
It’s time.
He cast a desperate glance now out of the landing window, ice flooding his veins as yet another awful sound came from Charlotte’s rooms. Snow still flung itself against the glass, the noise of the wind cutting through the darkness, and Isaac passed a hand across his eyes. There was no possibility of going for the doctor while a blizzard ruled the night. With the gale whipping up the white drifts he would be snow-blind in moments, turned about and confused and hardly able to tell which way was which in the midnight gloom. He would go at first light, but until then there was nothing to be done but pray Honora knew what she was doing, the fate of his beloved girl in her capable hands.
And if Honora hadn’t been here? What would have happened then?
The thought made him shudder. What would they have done without her stepping into the fray, taking control with such calm authority his admiration for her had swelled inside him?
I should have planned better. I should have engaged a nurse to stay here in case of a situation exactly like this one—anything rather than force Honora to deliver her own husband’s baby, even if she doesn’t know it...
Guilt circled in Isaac’s stomach to mix with the worry already there, an uncomfortable brew that made him wince. It was cruel of him to maintain his deception and he knew it, his growing regard for Honora chafing against his dishonesty. She deserved better than to be taken for a fool, first by Frank and then by himself, and his resolve to come clean swelled ever larger—but then that truth was driven from Isaac’s mind by a cry louder and more agonised than any before.
‘Charlotte!’ Her name was torn from his lips and he stood, staring at the heavy wooden door that lay between them as if he would see straight through it. A birthing room was usually no place for a man, but what was that to him, when the one he loved as a daughter lay frightened and desperate and beside herself with pain?
‘“Usually” be damned,’ he growled, striding for the door. Nobody could tell Lord Lovell what to do and he hardly hesitated as he seized the handle and pushed inside. Charlotte needed him, her terror tangible in that wild scream, and nothing and no one would keep him from being at her side.
His first thought was how warm the room was. A fire blazed fiercely in the hearth, throwing strange shadows up against the blue-papered walls, and too many candles to count stood on every surface, bathing Charlotte’s chamber in a comforting orange light. They were clustered most densely around the bed, the hangings pulled back and the fine embroidered coverlet kicked to the floor. Clara hovered to one side, but it was the two figures on the bed that caught Isaac’s attention like an arrow: Honora sitting at Charlotte’s head with the sleeves of her hastily donned gown pushed up and her hair hanging loose about her shoulders, one hand gripping Charlotte’s, whose face was so white she might have bee
n carved from marble. Three sets of eyes turned to fix on him—one pain-filled periwinkle, another determined hazel, the last frightened brown—and with a nod of his head toward the door Isaac dismissed Clara from the room. She slipped out with a weak, grateful smile, only pausing to direct one final look of heartfelt sympathy for her young mistress lying limply on the bed before vanishing, pulling the door shut behind her and making the candle flames dance in the closing draught.
‘My little wren.’ Isaac stepped towards the bed, noting with a leap of dismay how feebly Charlotte reached for his hand. Despite the warmth of her chamber her hand was like ice, her face pale although sweat slicked a curl to her forehead. He cut a concerned glance at Honora, who returned his gaze with steady seriousness that did little to dim his fears, but assured him she felt them just as acutely.
‘I’m so glad you’re here.’ Charlotte gripped his fingers and moved to brush them with her cheek like a kitten seeking comfort. Her voice was faint, far weaker than he would have liked, and he tensed his jaw on a sudden thrill of fear. Was it normal for a labouring woman to sound so frail? Surely she would need more fight than this, to keep about her task until it was mercifully at an end?
‘Of course I’m here. Nothing in the world could keep me from you now.’
He tried to twist his lips upwards, but they hardly moved, the muscles of his face frozen by worry so acute he could barely breathe. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Honora get up from the mattress and lay Charlotte’s hand down with care that raised a lump in his throat.
‘You’re staying for the duration, then, I take it?’
A Mistletoe Vow to Lord Lovell Page 13
