‘Yes. I’m going nowhere.’
He caught Honora’s grimly approving nod. ‘Good. We could do with the help. I never understood why men should be excluded in the first place. They’re responsible for bringing a woman to childbed after all—it only seems right to me they should play their part in the final outcome.’
Charlotte’s grip on his fingers tightened suddenly and a high moan came from somewhere deep in her throat. Her face closed in on itself, agony written in every line, and she curled forward, shoulders hunching and knees lifting towards her chest.
‘You’re doing so well. So, so well, dearest.’ Honora’s voice sounded as though it were coming from underwater, so deeply was Isaac submerged in his concerns, and he spared one quick look in her direction. She’d moved round to the end of the bed and was gently lifting the blankets that covered Charlotte’s legs, careful yet completely in control in a way that sparked such intense gratitude in Isaac he couldn’t find words to speak.
I’ve never known a woman like her in all my life.
He watched with silent wonder as Honora dipped out of sight, reappearing again a moment and wiping her hands on a strip of stained linen.
She knows exactly what she’s doing and isn’t a bit afraid. Her bravery and competence is something anyone could learn from—as well as her kindness. If I ever needed proof my first impression of her was wrong, I need look no further than her actions since arriving at Marlow Manor.
It was hardly the time or place to examine his feelings for his unexpected guest and yet Isaac was powerless to ignore how they coiled inside him. Far from the aggravating woman he’d encountered in Wycliff Lodge’s parlour, he couldn’t now deny Honora’s place in his mind and—worryingly enough to make him pause—heart, pushing her way past the walls he had erected to break through his defences as if they were no stronger than paper. She was still just as stubborn, sharp and independent as she’d always been, but now as she knelt at Charlotte’s side the goodness within shone out of her face and Isaac knew he had never seen a more beautiful sight than her quiet, determined strength. If anyone could help Charlotte through this ordeal it was Honora. For the first time Isaac saw past her mask to the true softness within, a core of steel wrapped in velvet, and his respect for her climbed higher than it had ever climbed before.
‘Charlotte? I need you to listen carefully for a moment.’ With gentleness that clawed at Isaac’s throat Honora stroked a damp curl back from the girl’s face, crouching at the side of the bed and reaching for Charlotte’s freezing hand. ‘You’ve done wonderfully so far. With the next pain I want you to push—you’re ready for the baby to come now.’
‘Hasn’t it been coming already?’ Charlotte’s thread of a voice wavered, half-buried beneath barely restrained tears. ‘All those pains and nothing happened? Was I doing something wrong?’
Her face crumpled and Isaac caught Honora’s eye, a look passing between them too complex to fully explain but understood by both. Charlotte had no more idea of how a baby was born than a baby itself, orphaned before she was ten years old with no mother to explain the facts of life. No wonder she was terrified and confused, although the next moment some of the horror left her expression as Honora squeezed her fingers.
‘You did everything perfectly. All we need from you now is to pass the final hurdle. I have every faith you’ll do it—don’t you, Isaac?’
‘I’ve no doubt whatsoever.’ Isaac managed a smile, stiff and unnatural, but a smile all the same. Nauseating anxiety gnawed at him but he would rather die than let Charlotte see—or Honora, for that matter, her courage an example he would have to follow and one he admired now more than any other. In that warm, flame-lit room with the wind howling outside they might have been the only three people left in the world and he would not let Charlotte see any fear on the faces of the two she looked up at for assurance.
I must thank Honora for this somehow. She came here thinking she was the one whose debt must be repaid—and yet it is I who owes her more than she could ever imagine.
He sensed her on the other side of the bed without even raising his head to look, his awareness of her so intent it was more instinct than design. He was helpless in the face of it, an almost animal reaction to her he couldn’t control, and despite the heat of the room his skin prickled to know she was close.
I should begin that repayment with the truth. It’s the least Honora deserves once this terrible night is over and what I ought to have done from the start.
* * *
Honora held the baby as carefully as if he was made of glass as she washed the worst of the blood away and wrapped him in clean white linen. His scattering of dark hair was soft beneath her fingers and his mouth formed the most delicate little O as he yawned, clearly exhausted already from the messy business of being born. Honora looked down at the bundle in her arms and felt her heart swell with happiness for Charlotte—and then with unexpected grief so sharp it took her by surprise, almost making her stumble as she approached the bed.
It was years since she’d attended a birth and the sight of a newborn baby, so small and breathtakingly vulnerable, seized her throat and gripped without mercy. She was delighted for Charlotte’s sake, but that unhappiness for herself welled up so violently it might have drowned her, rising up to drag her beneath the surface.
Gritting her teeth on her emotion, Honora found a smile, hard won but passably genuine. ‘You have a son—a beautiful, healthy son.’
She heard Isaac’s breath of relief, but didn’t look at him as she gently laid the baby in the crook of Charlotte’s thin arm. Isaac’s eyes were too sharp by half—she knew he would see the turmoil in her face at once, no doubt remembering the secret sadness she’d let slip weeks before, and instead she kept her attention firmly on the new mother lying spent in the bed.
‘Charlotte? Did you hear me? I said you have a son.’
The girl’s eyes were closed and her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. At the placing of the bundle in her arm her lids fluttered open and she gazed down at the tiny face, silently drinking in every detail of his plump cheeks and little creased forehead.
‘It’s all over? I have a son?’
‘That’s right. What will you call him?’
On the other side of the bed Isaac leaned over and softly moved the linen to see the baby’s face. In the low dawn light he looked tired and drawn, but a spark glowed in Honora at his expression, giving way to a rush of fondness she was too exhausted to deny. He looked every inch the proud grandfather—at the ripe old age of thirty-seven—and a flutter of wonder swept through her as he stroked the miniscule nose. How many men would be so tender to their ward’s illegitimate child, its existence sure to bring shame on his name and household? There was no shadow of reproach in Isaac’s look, however, and once again the goodness Honora had once been so sure didn’t exist showed itself so obviously she had to shake her head.
I can hardly believe I ever thought him to be like Frank. To have sat all night with Charlotte, holding her hand through her pains and now looking at the baby as if pleased to meet him...
The dangerous regard for Isaac that had grown within her like a great tree spread its branches ever wider, challenging her to fell it with an axe of good sense, but she found she couldn’t even lift the blade, let alone swing it. The kind soul concealed behind confidence that could be confused for arrogance had won over her hesitation and now Honora felt exposed, unable to look away from his face or make herself listen to the nagging voice inside her that still muttered for caution.
‘I think I’ll name him Christopher. Christopher Isaac.’ Charlotte’s voice was little more than a whisper, almost lost amid the crackling of the fire in the grate. She traced the line of little Christopher’s chin with wavering fingers and Honora felt her brow contract into a frown. The hand Charlotte lifted shook violently. When Honora placed her own against Charlotte’s forehead, she found it burni
ng hot where previously it had been cold and clammy.
That isn’t right.
Slowly Honora moved to the foot of the bed, conscious not to let her thoughts show on her face. A gleam of alarm had begun to shine at the back of her mind, but she forced herself to lift the blankets drawn over Charlotte’s legs quite calmly, praying she wouldn’t find what she suspected, with growing fear, might meet her worried eyes.
To her horror, she saw she was right.
The sheets beneath Charlotte were sodden with blood, far more than could usually be expected for a straightforward delivery and enough to make Honora catch a strangled breath. It was the nightmare every doctor and wise woman dreaded and, replacing the blanket, she moved discreetly to Isaac’s side.
‘Isaac.’ She bent to speak directly into his ear, hardly noticing how he stirred at the sensation of her closeness. ‘You need to send a servant for the doctor. It’s light enough now for him to find his way here. You must do it this moment.’
‘What? Why?’ He turned his head to murmur back, Charlotte too weak and intent on Christopher’s face to pay them any mind. ‘Surely the danger is passed now the child has been born?’
‘Charlotte is bleeding—a great deal too much to be safe. If the doctor doesn’t come quickly...’
She tailed off, but there was no doubting what she meant. Isaac’s face turned the colour of sour milk and he lurched to his feet at once, only stopping when Honora seized his arm. Their eyes met, hazel looking up into brown, and a spark leapt into the gap between them to dance over so much left unsaid. Despite their shared fear there was something else, something that bound them together in one snatched moment, a connection neither one of them could fully understand or deny.
‘Don’t go for him yourself. Send a footman. Charlotte needs you here with her to reassure her all will turn out well.’
‘Of course. Of course I’ll stay with her. Let me go to find Taylor. He’s our fastest rider—if the situation is as bad as you say there isn’t a moment to lose.’
Cutting the uncanny thread of their locked gaze, Isaac turned to Charlotte and stared down at her, a skeletal figure in a bed far too large for her tiny frame. He looked on the verge of saying something, his mouth working silently, but instead he stooped to press a kiss to the damp forehead and left the room at once, his joy of moments before doubtless turned to ash and his fear for his ward overcoming all other thought. In a matter of seconds the atmosphere had changed and the rapid alteration made Honora’s head spin, horror rushing in to push aside everything else—apart, perhaps, for the echo of that long look, that silent exchange of something for which Honora had no name.
She watched him go with pity so stark it pained her to feel it. The life of the one person he loved in all the world was threatened at the very moment he’d finally thought it safe...there was no justice in the world and as she took up Isaac’s vacated position beside the bed she could have cried at the cruelty of a girl so young forced to endure such suffering, and for the man who would be devastated beyond words at her loss.
‘Where has Isaac gone?’ The thin reed of Charlotte’s voice quavered up from her rumpled pillows.
‘To fetch a doctor. I’m afraid... I’m afraid there’s been a complication.’
‘Ah.’ Charlotte sighed dreamily but didn’t relax her hold on her sleeping son. ‘I thought perhaps there was. Somehow I knew something wasn’t quite right.’ She closed her eyes briefly. ‘I feel strange. Almost as though floating away on a warm tide.’
Honora looked at her in alarm. She sounded so unlike her usual self, so weak and talking such nonsense that real fear flared in Honora’s stomach. She’d seen this once before, in a carpenter’s wife she and Ma had attended some twenty years ago. Sapped by a bad bleed after a long and difficult delivery, the poor woman had babbled incoherently until she simply gave up. There was nothing they could do to save her and Honora knew how Ma had been haunted ever since, wishing she’d somehow been able to conjure a miracle. The similarity between the young woman and Charlotte was almost too much to bear—the same pallor yet feverish heat, the same insensible speech and the same crimson stain on sheets growing ever deeper. Charlotte hadn’t been strong even before the birth, thin and pale as a graveyard wraith. If the doctor didn’t come soon there would be only one outcome, one Honora couldn’t bear to look in the eye...
‘I’m going to die, aren’t I?’
It was a statement so close to the train of Honora’s terrible thoughts for a moment she was unable to reply.
‘Of course not,’ she lied through gritted teeth. ‘Neither Isaac nor I will let that happen.’
‘But it’s out of your hands. You can’t stop it if that’s my fate.’
Honora steeled herself against a shiver. Charlotte’s voice had taken on a vague quality so like the unfortunate carpenter’s wife that it was frightening.
‘Don’t talk like that. The doctor will be here before you know it.’
‘You’re a good friend. You’ve been so kind to me even though I didn’t deserve it.’ With obvious effort Charlotte swapped the swaddled baby into her other arm, her shockingly cold fingers finding Honora’s in jarring contrast to her heated face. ‘That’s why I’m going to leave him with you.’
‘Who?’
‘Christopher. When I’ve floated away he’ll stay here with you and Isaac.’
Charlotte’s chest still shuddered with those quick, shallow breaths and she seemed to be fading before Honora’s horrified eyes. ‘You will marry Isaac, won’t you? As a parting gift to me—so my poor boy has two parents to love him?’ She looked up at Honora with such sudden, clear hope it was all Honora could do not to flinch back, away from those shining, feverish eyes. ‘I could never give him that. I’m not even allowed to mention his father’s name. Can you believe such a silly thing?’
Honora hesitated, confusion and uncertainty crowding her already clamouring mind. She could hardly believe she’d heard correctly, Charlotte’s unexpected request surely too silly to so much as consider—but what was that about Christopher’s father? It took her straight back to that day in the library, when Isaac had seemed so evasive and his reluctance to speak had roused her suspicions at once. Those same suspicions whispered again now, hinting at some secret loitering just out of view...
Why is Charlotte forbidden from uttering the man’s name? And what was it Isaac seemed so keen to conceal?
But then Charlotte’s head turned painfully to look down at the baby cradled in the crook of her arm and all thoughts of mystery and intrigue fled. Honora heard her begin to hum brokenly under her breath, tender and nightmarish at the same time, and felt her innards roil with dismay.
This can’t be happening. She’s descending into delirium so quickly...where’s Isaac?
Still holding Charlotte’s hand, she swallowed down the metallic tang of fear. Marrying Isaac? Bringing up Christopher as her own? It was the rambling of a sick woman, but that didn’t stop Honora’s heart from beginning to rail inside her chest. ‘Charlotte, this is madness. You don’t know what you’re saying.’
‘Oh, I do.’ Charlotte almost sang her reply, gazing down at Christopher with unfocused eyes. ‘I’ve thought about this since that day in the library when I saw you with Isaac. If you two married, Christopher would be raised in a stable home with parents who love him. Would you deny him that? An innocent child—’ She broke off and one solitary, heartbreaking tear slipped down her cheek to wrench Honora’s chest. ‘I let him down before he was even born. With you and Isaac he would have a chance at a good, respectable life with good, respectable people. It’s what I want. Won’t you promise to do it before the tide carries me away?’
Honora sat frozen to the spot, lips parted, but no words starting from them to explain the depth of her horror. The grey dawn light had grown stronger, trickling beneath the heavy velvet curtains, but still she felt as though she were trapped in some
terrible dream.
She truly wants me to marry Isaac. And raise her baby as my own.
It was impossible. Charlotte was merely babbling, her rationality stolen by exhaustion and pain, and making her say things she couldn’t possibly mean. Once the doctor had stopped her bleeding she would recover and all would be well, and the memory of her absurd request would be no more than that, a bizarre moment of madness she probably wouldn’t even remember once her strength had returned.
Before Honora could answer the door opened and Isaac entered, ashen with worry, but the sight of him enough to gladden her heart and somehow calm the worst of her fear. He came to the bed and sat beside Charlotte, his hand moving at once to smooth back her wild hair.
‘Doctor Harcourt will be here very soon. Taylor has taken my own horse to fetch him—between them they’ll be there and back in no time, snow or no snow.’
Charlotte’s eyelids had closed again, dark lashes sweeping pallid cheeks, and Isaac threw Honora a questioning look. Sitting on either side of the bed, they were like a pair of matching statues, bound together by their desperation, but each taking comfort from the other, a curiously heartening feeling Honora could hardly explain. Now Isaac was before her the world seemed the smallest fraction less bleak, although worry still gnawed at her like a hungry beast she knew stalked them both.
‘Any change?’
She shook her head. ‘I’m afraid not. She doesn’t seem to be in any pain, although she’s clearly delirious...’
‘I’m not,’ Charlotte spoke up, unsteadily and still with her eyes firmly closed. ‘I meant every word and what’s more I’ll say them again, to Isaac this time.’ Still she didn’t look at them, remaining oblivious to Honora’s start of dismay.
‘What words? What do you have to say to me?’
‘Christopher. I want him to stay here with you and Honora when I go to be with the angels. When you marry her and raise him in a family. You’ll do that for me, won’t you?’
She asked him as simply and trustingly as one might request some ribbon to be brought home from market and Honora saw Isaac’s face tighten with shock. He didn’t frown or exclaim or do anything else but sit quite still and look down at his ward’s peaceful face, doubtless every reaction made impossible by disbelief. Whatever he’d been expecting her to say it certainly wasn’t that and when his gaze sought Honora’s she saw her own feelings reflected back at her in his granite face.
A Mistletoe Vow to Lord Lovell Page 14
