by Locke, Laura
“Sister?” he asked hesitantly. “Can you walk?”
“I can try,” Pauline said ruefully. For some reason, that struck her as funny, and she laughed, then sobered abruptly when she heard the hysterical edge to it. Henry squeezed her wrist.
“Matilda is safe,” he said to her gently. “I can never thank you enough, sister.” His voice was ragged and his blue eyes, looking into hers, were wide, the rims tear-stained, etched with the gray of tension and tiredness.
Pauline smiled at him. “I could do nothing else,” she murmured. She stumbled then and he tensed, supporting her as they climbed the last stair and walked, slow and unsteady, to her bedchamber. He helped her through the door and pulled the bell-rope, summoning the maid.
“Goodnight,” he whispered.
“Goodnight,” Pauline nodded. She stayed where she was, swaying on her feet, too tired even to move. When the maid came she helped her undress and slide into her nightgown and, though it was early still, around dinner time, Pauline slipped into bed. The maid blew out the lamp and left her to rest.
Her eyes closed, the fluffy pillow supporting her firmly, Pauline found herself drifting in memories of the day. The birth, Matilda's face. The ride in the woods, the terror. Valerian's rescue. The warmth of his arms around her and his voice, saying he loved her.
She sighed and turned onto her side, feeling blissfully content. As she dropped off to sleep, another memory surfaced. That of Cornelius, that morning, challenging her. I need to find out what is going on. I need to travel to Dorset and uncover the truth. The thought was almost the last one in her mind. A memory of Valerian – tender, gentle – surfaced and she closed her eyes. She fell, fast and dreamlessly, asleep.
Chapter 23
The next morning Pauline woke with a head that swam with tiredness. She stumbled out of bed, the headache blinding her, and pulled on the bell-rope, summoning a maid.
She splashed cold water on her face, wincing at the shock of it, then stood while the maid helped her dress. As she combed out her hair, the maid talked about the new addition to the household. Pauline listened intently; she was hungry for news.
“And milady Matilda is doing well,” the maid confided. “She sat up this morning and could take some gruel. The doctor says it's a promising sign.”
Pauline nodded. She watched the woman over her shoulder in the mirror, wincing when she noticed how pale and wan her own face was.
“And the babe?”
“Oh, fine!” the maid smiled. “She's a wee tiny creature, but strong for that. She's got a fine set of lungs on her,” she chuckled. “The master says she'd be a fine singer.”
Pauline smiled. “I'm so pleased,” she said softly.
The maid finished her hair and she walked, slowly and hesitant, each step an effort, to the breakfast-room. She heard the clatter of cutlery on plates and looked up to see Henry setting aside his teacup. He was at his usual place at the table, breakfast before him. He looked at once exhausted and elated. She smiled.
“Good morning, Henry,” she said, wincing as she walked slowly to the table. Everything hurt. It was probably the fall yesterday, she told herself. The exhaustion didn't help matters.
“Pauline,” Henry stood, coming to help her, but she shook her head.
“I can manage. How's Matilda?” She reached a place across the table and slid the chair out, sitting down. The scent of butter and hot bread hit her nose, making her stomach cramp painfully. She remembered she'd slept through dinner the previous night and reached slowly for a slice of warm, fresh-baked bread.
“She's better,” Henry said. He sounded elated. “She sat up and had some breakfast, and the first thing she wanted to do was see Arabella.” He chuckled. “I sent for a wet-nurse, but she's not here yet.”
Pauline buttered her bread, breaking off a bit and chewing slowly. It tasted wonderful. She nodded and swallowed, reaching for the tea. “I'm sure she'll get here soon,” she assured him. “Until then, I don't think Matilda will want to let her out of her sight.” she smiled.
“No, I'm sure she won't,” Henry nodded.
After breakfast, Pauline visited her sister. Her spirits soared to see the healthy flush in her cheeks, the eyes that were calm, not glassy and feverish as they had been. Her hands were level and did not shake. Her skin was cool.
“Pauline,” Matilda said, squeezing her hand firmly. “Thank you, sister.”
Pauline shook her head. “I did nothing, dear.”
They sat quietly a while, both looking away, each lost in thought. At length, Matilda drew a long, steady breath.
“You saw my daughter this morning?”
“No,” she replied. “Is she resting?”
“She's upstairs in the nursery,” Matilda said slowly, even speech seeming to drain her energy still. “I think Mrs. Haddon will guard her fiercely.” she chuckled.
“I think so,” Pauline nodded.
“She's small, but strong,” Matilda murmured. “She'll grow fast.”
“She will,” Pauline nodded. “She already cries loud enough for two.”
Matilda chuckled again. “I believe so.”
They sat for a while together, neither saying anything. Pauline hesitated, deciding after a moment to say nothing of her ride yesterday. Her sister was well. She did not want to tax her strength by frightening her.
After a moment, the housekeeper appeared. Matilda sat up and Pauline stood.
“My lady?” she said. “The wet-nurse is here. And, Lady Pauline? Word from Braxton House.”
“Oh!” Pauline stood, then glanced at Matilda, who nodded.
“Mama, probably,” she said.
Pauline inclined her head. “I'll bring her up.”
She headed briskly downstairs. But it was not her mother. The door opened and a pink-and-white bullet shot in.
“Cousin!” Cornelia exclaimed. Still in her pink bonnet, she wrapped her in a fragrant hug, looking up shiny-eyed. “Pauline! I'm so glad to see you! And how is Matilda? Oh! We were all so worried...” she bustled past, heading up the stairs, discarding cloak and bonnet as she went. Pauline, feeling sightly dazed, caught up with her.
“Cornelia?” she asked, frowning. “You came alone? Where's Mama? And how was the ride from London?” She must have arrived in Braxley two days ago. Pauline was surprised to see her so bright and alert, after three days' travels.
“It was lovely,” Cornelia enthused. “Your mama is coming to visit later. I just couldn't wait! Where is Matilda?”
“She's in here,” Pauline said, reaching the door and knocking on it. The midwife appeared.
“Wetnurse is just leaving,” Mrs. Haddon said briskly. “Milady wanted to meet her. When she comes out, you can go in.”
She shut the door and Pauline and Cornelia looked at each other blankly. Pauline smiled.
“Mrs. Haddon is the self-appointed guardian around here,” she explained. “No-one enters or leaves without her permission.”
Cornelia chuckled, seemingly relieved. “Oh, good! I thought it was just me.”
Pauline shook her head, patting her cousin on the arm. They waited until the wet-nurse left, then went in, Pauline lagging behind so as to let Cornelia have her say.
“Matilda!” Cornelia effused, dropping into the seat by the bedside. “Cousin. Oh, we were all so worried! Here! I brought you some confections from the bakery...” she brought out a box, carefully wrapped in white paper, and put it on the bedside table. Pauline, hanging back a little, shook her head, grinning.
That is so typical of Cornelia. Kind, generous and utterly disconnected from suffering or pain. I do love her sometimes.
Her eyes met Matilda's who gave her a pale grin. “Pauline? Do you think Cornelia could go up to see my daughter?”
“Oh!” Cornelia shrieked with excitement. “Oh! A little girl! How dear...”
Matilda laughed and Pauline bit back a smile. Cornelia looked from one to the other and chuckled.
“I suppose I am a bit excited,” sh
e said, flushing.
“I am glad,” Matilda assured her, touching her hand gently. “I feel the same way.”
Pauline smiled and a moment later led Cornelia up and to the nursery.
Cornelia stopped in the doorway, eyes wide, voice crooning. “Oh! A baby! She's so tiny. Might I hold her..?”
After twenty minutes, Pauline led Cornelia to the drawing-room and ordered tea drawn for them both. She settled down on a seat, Cornelia opposite on the chaise-lounge, and they talked.
“What news from London?” Pauline asked.
Cornelia colored. “Well, after you left, Cornelius was frantic,” she explained. “Pacing around, restless...we were worried, Claudia and I.” She sighed, looking tense. “He left next day.”
“I know,” Pauline said and her cousin stared up at her.
“You do? But how..?”
“He came to visit,” Pauline said grimly.
“Pauline? Oh...I'm sorry,” Cornelia covered her mouth with her hand. “I wish I could have warned you. But...” she shook her head.
“No harm done,” Pauline said lightly. “I hadn't expected it, mind.”
“Well, when he was ranting away in London, I couldn't have been more surprised,” Cornelia said candidly. “Shouting about betrayal and how he should go down and how could he let you leave...” she shook her head, shivering. “He's...he's odd, Pauline.”
Pauline grimaced. “I know,” she nodded. “I noticed.”
“Oh, and Francis said...” she stopped. Blushed and looked suddenly shy, eyes studying fingers.
“What did he say?” Pauline asked gently.
“He said...oh! Pauline. You won't be cross?”
“No,” Pauline assured her, sure that whatever it was it couldn't be so bad. Nothing was ever as bad as Cornelia assumed it to be. “What is it?”
“He's here, Pauline. In the village. He followed me back. I said he shouldn't but..but we're in love, Pauline. Forgive me?”
Pauline let out a long shuddering breath. She patted her cousin's hand and looked into wide eyes. “Cornelia, I'm happy for you,” she said gently. “I couldn't be more so. Why would I be cross?”
Cornelia squeezed her hand. “Oh, cousin! Thank you. You know Mama would never countenance him...” She looked at her hands sadly.
“Mama will come round to the idea,” Pauline said grimly. “She has to.”
“Oh, Pauline,” Cornelia sighed. She took Pauline's other hand and held it, squeezing them both tightly. “Thank you.”
“Not at all,” Pauline said gallantly. “I will help you. I won't see you forced into a loveless marriage.”
Nor, she thought grimly as her cousin beamed at her, eyes misty with held-in tears, will I let myself be likewise forced.
The thought gave her an idea.
“Cornelia?”
“Yes, cousin?”
“Is Francis lodged near here?”
“In Epsom, near the barracks. Why?”
“Well, do you think you could send him a message? From me? I have something I need to ask him.”
Cornelia nodded briskly. “Of course, cousin! When do you want to see him.”
Pauline leaned back, considering. “Do you think he could visit this afternoon?”
Cornelia smiled. “I'm sure he could try, Pauline. For you, I am sure he could.”
Pauline smiled. When her cousin left, promising to have her note delivered to Epsom, she curled up on the chaise-lounge, a cup of tea balanced between her fingers.
From what I can gather, Francis knows more of Valerian than anyone does. If anyone can help me uncover his secrets, it would be him. Together, we can put together a plan so that, when I go to Dorset, I can uncover the truth.
That ride with Valerian had convinced her, more than ever, of how deeply she loved him. That alone would be enough to persuade her father to letting her wed him – however poor his station turned out to be – but with the whiff of scandal surrounding him, she would rather at least know for sure the truth of it.
I know in my heart that, even if there is some basis to this tale, it is not as Cornelius said. I know Valerian is a gentle man. But I need to tell this truth to everyone else.
She would not see Valerian cast out any longer. She wanted to clear his name. And Lieutenant Frances Westcote was the best place to start.
Chapter 24
The day softened to the rich gold of afternoon and Pauline finally found rest in the drawing-room. She had been pacing since before luncheon, unable to settle to anything. She wished she could go riding, but she didn't want to risk leaving the house, lest word from Francis arrive.
“And I think if we move that one,” Henry commented, lifting a card, “we will win. Ah!”
He smiled ruefully as the game of Patience failed to fall as easily into place as he had hoped. Pauline grimaced.
“I never was much good at this,” she commented ironically. “I think I bring my own personal dark cloud to the game.”
Henry laughed. They were seated playing Patience together, both tense and trying, hard, to forget it. “I don't see why it's you, Pauline,” he smiled. “I also have bad luck at cards. It's one of the reasons I never play for anything except clay counters,” he indicated the bag of coin-shaped rounds that lay beside him.
Pauline giggled. “Wise idea.”
Henry reddened slightly. “I've always been bad at...Oh! Hello, Silverton.” he looked to the manservant in the doorway, his face grave. “What is it?”
“A visitor for the lady, sir,” he said, bowing.
“Oh,” Henry looked at Pauline, who felt suddenly unaccountably scared. “I'll go and do the accounts, sister.” He stood, pushing in his chair. “If you need me, I'll be down.”
Pauline nodded gratefully. She had already told him she was expecting Francis, though she had not filled him in as to the details of the matter. “Thank you.”
“Don't mention it.”
He disappeared upstairs. A moment later, Francis came in. He bowed low. Pauline curtseyed.
“I wanted to say...”
“Did you have a...”
They looked at each other. Pauline shook her head, a grin on her face. “You go first.”
The officer, face flushed, cleared his throat. He was, Pauline noted to herself, handsome in a traditional way. She was very happy for Cornelia.
“I wanted to thank you,” he said, blushing. “For what you said to Cornelia. We are both grateful.”
“I meant it,” Pauline insisted. “I am glad you're here,” she added, steering the conversation to the matter of interest. “I wanted to ask you something.”
“Of course, my lady,” he nodded, lowering himself into a seat and reaching for the teapot, pouring for her and then himself. “Anything. I'm all ears.”
“Do you know anything of Dorset?” she asked at once.
“Not a lot,” Francis nodded. “I was there once, few years back. Pleasant place. Countrified. Why do you ask?”
“Do you know if Valerian was ever there?” she asked candidly.
“Oh,” Francis frowned, chewing his lip thoughtfully. He cleared his throat. “Now you mention it, I do recall him saying something of the place. Just once. We were planning to ride through it, I recall. He said it was hell on earth. Something like that. Gave it a wide berth. It's why I only went once,” he added with a tense grin.
“He said that?” Pauline frowned. “Why? Did he say anything more? Explain what he meant?”
“No,” Francis shook his head sadly. “I'm sorry, my lady. He didn't.” He frowned at her, as if he wanted to ask a question. Pauline sighed.
“Well, I suppose there's only one thing to do, then,” she concluded. “Go myself.”
“Go where, my lady?” Francis asked, looking concerned.
“To Dorset. To find people called Dashwood. Does the name recall anything to your memory?”
Francis chewed his lip. At length, he shook his head. Coughed. “Can't say it does, milady. Could be any number of people
in Dorset. Worth asking about, mind,” he nodded.
“How would I find them?” Pauline asked.
“Well, you could do what I'd do. Ask at the church. They have records of everyone. They might help.”
Pauline raised a brow. “That's intelligent, Francis.”
He blushed. “Thanks, my lady. Not often someone says that of me. Thank you kindly.”
Pauline laughed fondly. “You are intelligent, Francis. You should hear it more. Thank you.”
He blushed. “Thanks, my lady. And, my lady?”
“Yes?” Pauline asked.
“If you...if you decide to go to Dorset, can I come?”
Pauline stared at him. The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. Especially if she and Cornelia went together. No-one could say it wasn't proper. And it would be so much safer than going on her own, with a maid for company. And he new more of what they sought than anyone else.
“Thank you, Francis,” she nodded, brisk. “I would like that.”
“Not at all, Lady Pauline. Least I can do.”
“Thank you,” she said again. They sat together in silence for a while and he cleared his throat.
“I suppose I should be going,” he admitted. “I have to report to the captain later. Should get back afore too long for that.”
“Of course,” Pauline nodded.
“You'll send my regards to Cornelia?” he asked on the doorstep as Pauline saw him off. The way he said her name was enough to set Pauline's heart softening.
“Of course,” she called back.
“Thanks, milady.”
When he had gone, Pauline went upstairs to think about all she had learned. She was more confused than before, but also more excited. She was going to go and find out what really happened. Who Valerian was.
She went to the desk and wrote down what she had discovered, so she could take it with her. Wrote down the names Cornelius had given her, and what Francis had said.
He said Dorset was hell on earth.
By all accounts, it was the opposite of that. Genteel, picturesque, lovely. Not anything like a hell of any description. Why would Valerian hate the place?
