by Erica Taylor
“Oh, his thoughts were perfectly clear,” William replied. “Tobias was Foxton’s only son by blood. If he believed it was his child you were carrying, he would do anything to see that child either inherit the titles or inherit the fortune.”
“Tobias and Heath were brothers?” Anna asked frowning.
“Cousins actually,” William replied. “It’s a long and complicated story. Where is Tobias now? Has he been the one behind the attacks on me?”
Tears sprang to Anna’s eyes, but William felt little remorse. Her guilt and wrongdoing were the result of her own choices. He was not going to feel sorry for her tears. They were not his fault.
“Tobias and Foxton said some insane things, most of which I didn’t understand,” Anna explained through her crying. “After Heath died and Tobias wrote to you, Tobias and Foxton spent a lot of time together holed up in his study.”
A commotion from the hall drew William’s attentions.
Tobias Byrne, wild with emotion and reeking of alcohol, burst into the room and headed straight for William.
“You damn bastard,” Tobias said, swinging at William, who was too stunned at Tobias’s rather inebriated appearance to react quickly. Tobias landed a punch squarely on William’s jaw. William staggered back from the blow.
Reaching inside his jacket, Tobias pulled out a handgun and everyone took a collective step back.
Tobias glared at him. “You just refuse to die.” Raising his hand he fired the weapon in William’s direction, but his shot went wide, thankfully.
“See?” Tobias asked, with a wild laugh. “Why won’t you just die? Father said everything would be put to rights once you were gone.”
“What are you talking about?” William cried at him, searching behind the madman for Sarah, who was thankfully safe—Westcott had moved in front of her to shield his sister-in-law from Tobias’s desperate actions.
“I should have been Foxton,” Tobias spat, pulling a bullet round from his pocket and went about reloading the weapon.
“Instead, I was left on the wrong side of the blanket. Father told me he would fix everything. Anna was with child, it was the perfect solution. It all started with removing Heathmont from the picture, and then all we had to do was deal with you, but you—” He fired again and missed, though this shot was closer, hitting the wall near the window. He reloaded again.
“You could never have inherited,” William reminded him.
“I couldn’t have, no,” Tobias agreed, tapping his chest with his pistol. “But my son could. If he was born to the Duke of Foxton who died tragically, my son would inherit. His mother would need a husband to help her raise the new duke—and I would happily volunteer. I could raise my son to be the next duke and act as regent until he reached his majority. Or, if it is a girl, I could raise her to be a great heiress, with all the money and lands going to her. But you won’t bloody die!”
He fired again and missed, the bullet shattering a vase near the bed. His aim was getting better.
“You haven’t tried very hard to have me killed,” William scoffed. “Each of your attempts have been haphazardly done.”
“I had to make it look like an accident,” Tobias insisted, fumbling to reload again. “Do you know how difficult it is to accidentally have someone killed? Opportunities were not as often as you’d think.”
“The strap of the saddle?” William asked.
Tobias nodded. “The tree downed across the road was a happy accident, but gave me time to rethink my plan. Your carriage troubles coming down from Scotland was all your own bad luck.”
“Why did you think you could get away with it?” William asked.
“Because I’m clever,” Tobias snapped. “No one even suspected anything until you entwined yourself with Bradstone and Westcott here.” Tobias turned his attentions to the earl.
“Once you started asking questions and seeing things for what they were I realized I’d have to change my tactics. I told Anna of your affair with the marchioness—you were not as discreet as you thought you were. And I dug a bit and gave Radcliff ’s mistress a bit of information for blackmail.” He sneered at Sarah, waving the pistol in her direction, Westcott still standing in front of her. “If you distanced yourself or if the scandal of the affair came out, Bradstone and Westcott would surely lose interest in Foxton. It’s easy to fool a back-country magistrate into thinking a murder is an accident, but an agent of the Crown? Westcott, you would be more difficult to fool.”
“You killed Heath?” William asked, trying to pull Tobias’s attentions back to him, and not Sarah. It worked.
Tobias gave a theatrical shrug, looking back at William. “Who knows how he ended up head first in a water trough? I could have helped him, I suppose. According to Colton and Islington, Heathmont’s little pals, I wasn’t even there.”
“But you were,” Anna said, shock and fear filling her voice. Apparently, this part of the plot was previously unknown to her. “You were in the village the next day when his body was found. That’s the day you brought me here.”
Tobias shrugged drunkenly again. “Details. Fratricide always gets bogged down in the details. But you, killing you off won’t be fratricide at all. We aren’t brothers, we aren’t even cousins. Who will care if I just murder you after all?”
“What will killing me accomplish?” William asked.
“Nothing,” Tobias admitted. “Just my own satisfaction I supposed. I was going to wait. Bide my time. Now that you’re all here, it seems fitting to end you once and for all.”
Tobias fired the pistol again, just as Westcott launched himself onto Tobias from behind, wrapping his arms around the gunman and tackling him to the floor. Tobias still managed to get a shot off, and this time it made contact.
Searing pain shot through William; he felt as though his head had just exploded. Blood rained down into his line of sight, and he crumpled to the floor, despite striving to remain standing.
Blood. On his hands, on the carpet. And yet, he was still alive. He didn’t understand what had happened. He felt along his head, the warm sticky liquid seeping through his fingers, coursing down his face. Someone pulled him to his feet, pressed a towel to his head and forced him into a chair.
“Hold this,” Westcott ordered him, and William put his hand on the towel. There was a tremor of panic in the room, something had happened, and he didn’t think it was just him being shot in the head.
He whirled around, too quickly, and the room spun.
Sarah, he thought through the spinning. Where was she?
His vision cleared, and he found her, holding Anna’s hand, arm wrapped around her back as his wife doubled over in pain.
He didn’t understand what he was seeing, blood blurring his vision, pain clouding every thought, making it all much more difficult to process.
“The baby,” Anna cried, clutching her swollen belly and gasping in agony.
William glanced to the floor beneath Anna’s feet and realized with a wave of dread washing over him, that in the commotion, Anna’s water had just broke.
Fear rushed through Sarah as she did the calculations.
“It’s too soon,” Anna moaned, coming to the same conclusion. Anna was about to deliver nearly six weeks too early.
Sarah’s frantic gaze found William’s, but he was no help, blood dripping from his head, swaying in his seat.
“Ian,” Sarah called to her brother-in-law, her voice desperate.
“I’ve got him, you deal with her,” Ian instructed. Sarah nodded, and he pulled William to his feet. They were out of the room within seconds, Dr. Lennox at their heels. Tobias was clapped in irons by Ian’s associates and led out of the room.
“Breathe, Anna, there you go,” Sarah cooed at her.
“It’s too early,” Anna whimpered.
“I know it is, dear, but let’s get you to a bed.” Sarah managed to get Anna out of the sitting room and into her adjacent bed chamber. In between contr
actions, Sarah got Anna out of her day dress and down to her shift. There was a rush of activity as maids dressed the bed for childbirth, adding extra layers of sheeting and towels, additional sets within reach. Water was brought into the room by the bucket load, and a fire was lit to enable a constant flow of boiling water in the kettle that hung over the hearth.
Where is the accoucheur? Sarah wondered, holding Anna’s hand as another contraction wracked through the young woman’s body. With each passing contraction, Anna grew weaker and weaker, her body and spirit already exhausted and weakened from having been ill.
Another half hour passed, Anna’s cries of pain echoing off the high walls of Hastings House. Finally a familiar face came into the room and Sarah breathed a sigh of relief.
“Dr. Lennox,” Sarah exhaled as he set his medical bag beside the bed. “Thank goodness. Is the accoucheur with you?”
Dr. Lennox frowned. “Alas, no, he is not. It seems today is a popular day for births. He sent a missive to say he would be along as soon as possible, but he is attending another birth with twins and, well, you know how long and complicated those can be.” He adjusted his glasses as he counted Anna’s pulse in time with his wrist watch. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”
“How many births have you attended?” Sarah asked warily.
“More than you, I would suspect,” he answered, making note of the times on a paper.
“I’ve been at each of my siblings’ births since my mother had the twins,” Sarah informed him. “So four live births, technically.”
“Oh,” he grimaced. “Well, then two less than you it would seem.” He pushed gently on Anna’s belly as the contraction subsided.
“Wonderful.”
“You are in luck,” Dr. Lennox added. “The midwifery apprenticeship you wrote to me about would seem to begin now.”
If he was trying to make a joke to put her at ease it was not helping, but she felt the gravity of his statement. There was no one else coming. No midwife, no accoucheur. They were on their own. If ever Sarah had doubted this path for her life, by the end of this ordeal she would know for sure.
“Have you tended to Foxton?” she asked.
Dr. Lennox nodded. “His grace is quite well. Head wounds bleed more than necessary, so it looked much worse than it truly was. The bullet grazed his skull. He will have a ghastly scar once it heals but his hair will cover it. Not to worry about him.”
At least she could put William and his safety out of her kind. With William safe and Tobias in handcuffs, the only thing left to worry over was Anna and the baby.
Her delivery was long. Excessively long, in Sarah’s opinion. Troublingly long.
What began on the afternoon of a Tuesday finally concluded early in the morning on the following Thursday. Sarah had managed only a few sips of tea and bites of the sandwiches sent up by the cook. She had not seen William at all, though she knew he was still in residence. Dr. Lennox had spoken to him in the hallway twice during the ordeal. The accoucheur never arrived.
And finally, the babe was born, a handsome, healthy-looking baby boy. Small, but when his lugs filled with air for the first time he let out a lengthy belting cry, his flesh turning pink. His cries echoed throughout the delivery chamber and into the hallway and the house beyond. Sarah held him as the cord to his mother was pinched and snipped, comforting him as best she could.
“There now,” Sarah said softly to him, wrapping him in the blanket. Warmth rushed through her, excitement at what she had just witnessed. A new little life had begun, and she was there to witness it.
“Sarah.” Anna’s voice was weak, and Sarah moved towards the head of the bed, bending so Anna could see her son. Reaching out, Anna grasped Sarah’s hand lightly, trying to squeeze but there was little pressure.
“He’s here now, Anna,” Sarah said to her. “You did well. Rest now.”
“Henry,” Anna said lightly, her eyelids drooping. “Heathmont’s Christian name was Henry. I swear Henry is his father. Name the baby after his father.” Her hand fell from its light grip on Sarah’s hand, her arm falling awkwardly on the bed.
“Anna?” Sarah said, shaking her shoulder lightly. Her eyes didn’t open.
“She’s not breathing,” Sarah said quietly, then louder again. Dr. Lennox moved around towards the top of the bed, hands on Anna’s neck, taking her pulse.
Dr. Lennox was shouting for supplies, maids were rushing around and a newborn baby was crying in Sarah’s arms. It was all too much. Sarah tried to soothe the newborn, but the babe was not having it. She slipped from the room, finding a corner chair in the comparatively quiet hall while she attempted to calm the baby.
“There we are now,” she said softly, dabbing at his face, still marked with afterbirth, with a corner of the blanket. “You are just perfect, you know?”
Her elation at witnessing a new life come into the world was confirmation enough she was on the right path. Never had she felt so alive, felt so at ease in a situation, in what her own hands could do. She had so much to learn, but the possibility was exciting.
Her joy was contradicted by the aftermath, as she came to realize what was happening beyond the closed door. Anna’s face had been so pale, her voice so faint and airy, barely above a whisper. The labor had been long and hard, and there had been so much blood. Sarah shuddered. Anna wasn’t the first woman she had seen die in childbirth. She would likely not be the last.
“What is it?” William’s voice asked.
She looked up at him, tears streaming down her face. His head was wrapped in a white bandage.
He nodded towards the baby. “Is it a boy or a girl?”
“It’s a boy,” she said, dabbing at more remnants of birth on his skin. He was flawless, his skin a healthy pink and she wrapped him again in the blanket before looking back at William. “Would you like to hold him?”
William shook his head and took a half step back. “I can’t. He is a part of her.”
“Will,” Sarah said softly, rising to her feet. “He is part of you too. He is part of your brother, remember that.”
He shook his head again. “Take him back to his mother, Sarah.” Before she could say anything else, he escaped down the stairs.
She sat down again, looking at the newborn lordling. He had calmed, having found his fist which he was busy mouthing in an attempt to feed.
“You’re going to be hungry, little one,” she cooed at him, her heart tightening. He was so tiny in his perfection. A small creation of lies and deceit, but also of love. Sarah knew Anna had loved him, and William would too.
“Lady Radcliff,” Dr. Lennox said, standing in the doorway to the birthing room. His face was ashen, and he shook his head.
She nodded in understanding and rose from the chair, gently passing the newborn to his arms. “I will inform Foxton.”
He gave her a reassuring smile. “Take your time.”
William was in his study, with Andrew who Sarah was surprised to see. One look to her brother and Andrew nodded, patting William on the shoulder as he passed and left the room.
Even after the door closed, Sarah could not fathom what to say. She stood a few paces away from William, her arms wrapped around herself. She was exhausted and could feel her energy seeping away, but she remained standing, knowing he needed to hear what she had to say.
“He is healthy?” William asked, not turning to look at her. He stood before the fireplace, his forearm resting against the mantle.
“Yes, he seems so,” Sarah answered. “He is with Dr. Lennox.”
“Good,” he answered. “And . . . Anna?”
Her long pause caused him to glance up to the reflecting glass before him, finding her reflection and reading her gaze. Slowly, Sarah shook her head.
“William, Anna has died,” Sarah stated before she lost her nerve.
His eyes were locked with hers in the reflection, and she saw a myriad of emotions crossing over his face. She wished she could n
ot read him so well, that she was not here to witness his reaction. No matter how cool and calm he wished to be on the outside, she could read his pain.
“Do you need me to repeat it?” she asked.
“I heard you,” he replied. “How?”
“How does any woman die in childbirth?” she asked with a dark laugh. “It is difficult work, she was feeling weak, and . . . and I do not know why. Labor was long. She did not survive.”
“The baby did,” he said.
“You saw him yourself,” she told him.
“I don’t want him,” he said to himself, but she heard him anyway.
“Well, you don’t have a choice in the matter,” she retorted, her hands on her hips. “You don’t have the luxury of choosing.”
“Sarah, I never wanted any of this!” he cried at her, spinning around to face her. He let out a harsh, pained bark of laughter, running his hands through his hair, the annoying blond locks that constantly fell across his brow now encumbered with a bandage wrapped around his head. “All I wanted when I came to London was you. And now I don’t even have that.”
“What you have is a wife to bury and son to care for,” she reminded him. “And a nurse to hire quickly; Henry will be hungry.”
“Henry?” he asked looking up at her.
She nodded. “Anna, with her last breaths, told me he was to be named after your brother. She insisted he was the father. It’s your prerogative to change his name, of course.”
Tears welled in William′s eyes and he looked towards the ceiling, blinking them away. “How am I to do this, Sarah?” he asked. “How am I to be a duke to a dukedom I never wanted and a father to my brother’s son?”
Sarah took a few steps towards him, closing the distance between them. Laying her hand on his forearm, she told him, “You will find the courage within you, strength you never knew you possessed. You will do what you must, to the best of your abilities. You might fail a few times, but the important thing is, you will try. Will, this may not be what you came to London for, but this is what life has given you. Between you and your new son, the dukedom will be well cared for.”
