She blamed herself, but she blamed Win even more. Instead of deceiving her with melting looks and impassioned kisses, he could have told her his affections came with conditions, and that he had every intention of leaving unless he received the title and fortune he’d been promised. He could have shown her what kind of man he really was, instead of pretending she could trust him.
Except she’d already known what he was. He was a man—just like her father, just like the series of scoundrels who had duped and abandoned her poor mother. Even if she had a daughter and Win became the next earl, why should she expect him to feel the so-called connection he’d talked about before he’d stuck his hand up her skirts? Now he’d made a conquest of her. Once he had the peerage and the abbey and the income, why should he spare her a second thought?
Ugh. She didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to picture herself panting like a wanton in his arms and even urging him not to hold back.
A knock sounded on the front door. Relieved, Lina reached for the candle and rose to admit Dr. Strickland.
A sharp, fleeting pain in her lower back made her wince. It wasn’t a cramp exactly, but more like a twinge on the left side. Still another reason to regret having behaved like a lightskirt with Win, her shoulders against the chestnut tree, one leg hiked up high.
She opened the door downstairs to greet Dr. Strickland with an apology. “I’m sorry to drag you from your bed, Doctor. You can’t have managed much sleep, given that you were still at Belryth when I left at a quarter past midnight.”
He shrugged. “I had almost two hours—though I’m afraid that when Jem knocked, I was so deep asleep it took some time for him to rouse me.”
“Only two hours of sleep? Oh, dear.”
He smiled with drowsy forbearance. “If I was determined to sleep through the night, I’d have chosen some other profession than medicine.”
He started up the stairs to Cassie’s room. Lina was following him, candle in hand, when the same painful twinge struck a second time.
She pressed a hand to her back, telling herself it was probably nothing. Still, hadn’t Dr. Strickland asked her on the night they discovered the pennyroyal tea whether she’d been experiencing back pain or spasms? And with Mr. Niven’s death and all the talk of poisoning that had followed, any little change was enough to make her question the cause.
Lina massaged the small of her back. If the twinge troubled her just once more before Dr. Strickland left, she would mention it to him.
* * *
The paregoric was taking effect. “You’re very good to me, Doctor,” Cassie said wearily, closing her eyes.
He was better than Cassie knew. Lina still hadn’t paid the doctor for his previous calls. With Mr. Niven dead, she wondered whom she ought to approach about receiving an advance on her quarterly jointure payment. She had the uncomfortable feeling it was probably Win. Twenty-four hours earlier, she would’ve welcomed the prospect of trading Mr. Niven for Win Vaughan, but now...
When Cassie drifted off to sleep and Dr. Strickland picked up his medical bag, Lina rose with him. In the same instant, the twinge in her back struck again, making her breath catch.
Dr. Strickland saw the flash of pain cross her face. “What is it?”
“Probably nothing. But since you asked...” She let herself out of Cassie’s room and led him toward the stairs. “I don’t mean to sound alarmist, but after what happened to Mr. Niven, I can’t help wondering—if one really were to ingest a slow-acting poison of the sort Mr. Vaughan mentioned tonight, what symptoms would it bring on? It wouldn’t cause one to feel pains in one’s lower back, would it?”
“Not that I’m aware. In the stomach and bowel, in all probability, but not localized to the back.” He paused at the foot of the stairs and gave her a measuring look. “Now, labor pains can sometimes present as cramping in the lower back, but you have some months yet before that should be a concern.”
Though she knew he didn’t mean to frighten her, his words sent a chill scuttling up her spine. A sudden and alarming possibility occurred to her. The pains might have nothing to do with poison, but what if she’d harmed her baby, carrying on with Win out in the woods? If labor could cause back pain, what if she was in the early stages of miscarriage? “This isn’t cramping, exactly,” she said on a note of worry. “More like a recurring twinge.”
His eyes narrowed. “Recurring how often? These pains aren’t getting stronger or closer together, I trust?”
“I don’t believe so. I had two close together, and then another just now when I got up from the chair in Cassie’s room, but nearly an hour passed in between.”
“Is the feeling momentary or does it last several seconds?”
“Only momentary. It’s almost a shooting pain, really.”
“So the sensation doesn’t remind you of when you had your courses?”
“It’s nothing like that.” At least, it hadn’t seemed so to her. But what kind of similarity was she supposed to be watching for? She’d never carried a child before, never gone into labor. She had nothing to compare it to.
He looked mildly reassured. “No other symptoms? No bleeding?”
“Not that I’ve noticed.”
Dr. Strickland gave her an encouraging smile. “In that case, chances are it’s simply a muscle spasm.”
It made sense after what she’d done with Win—balancing on one foot, braced against a tree, rocking her hips up to meet his—but even so, she couldn’t help worrying. She’d had three pains since the doctor’s arrival. Or was it four? What if the twinge had come back while she was sitting in Cassie’s room, but she’d been too preoccupied to notice? What if the pains were getting stronger, and she was simply a poor judge of such things? She’d been completely heedless of her pregnancy, straining up against Win, urging him on...
“Is there any risk to an unborn child if a person—an expectant mother—has been...” She groped for the proper word, some way to express what she needed to say without making herself sound reckless, fast and disloyal to Edward’s memory. “That is, if she were with a man, and they had...physical congress. Could that bring on—”
Despite his usual professional manner, the doctor blushed. “I think I take your meaning, Lady Radbourne. You’re asking if conjugal relations pose a risk during pregnancy?”
She stood up straighter, trying to look dignified and merely curious instead of guilty and worried. “That’s right.”
She was afraid she’d shocked him, but he answered plainly enough, “Assuming the course of the pregnancy is otherwise unremarkable, the risk is minimal. Certainly no cause for worry in and of itself.”
“Ah. That’s good to know.” Lina drew a deep breath. She’d already put the cat among the pigeons. She might as well settle her doubts once and for all. “And you’re quite sure? Even if the act was—were to be—slightly outside the ordinary?”
Dr. Strickland seemed to deliberate a moment. “Er...outside the ordinary in what way?”
Lina’s cheeks heated, but she strove to match the doctor’s tone of medical detachment. “If they were standing up, for example, and the man was, um, rather forceful.”
Dr. Strickland paled, and his eyes went wide. “Lady Radbourne, if he overpowered you, I beg you to—”
“No, nothing like that!” she said quickly. “It wasn’t against my will.”
“Ah.” The doctor’s rigid posture relaxed. “I see.”
“He didn’t force me.” It was clear enough to both of them who he was. She was horrified Dr. Strickland knew everything now, but even more horrified he’d supposed she’d been attacked. “He would never do that.”
“Then forgive me for assuming the worst.” Now the poor man really was blushing. He couldn’t meet her eyes, though he reverted in every other respect to his customary bedside manner. “In that case, I doubt there�
��s any cause for worry. Unborn babies are hardier than one might suppose, or there would be a great many fewer of them born every day. And activity of that nature could bring on a muscle spasm of the kind you described.”
“I’m relieved to hear it.” She was sure her cheeks must be far brighter than the doctor’s, and she didn’t want to know what he must think of her now, but at least she could content herself she was unlikely to have harmed her baby.
Dr. Strickland hesitated. “But—do be careful.” His blue eyes met hers. “Please. I say this as your friend, not your doctor. Make sure you know what kind of man you’re dealing with.”
“I am,” she said, feeling on solid ground for the first time since leaving Cassie’s room. “I do.”
* * *
Freddie set his plate of kippers, bacon and buttered toast on the breakfast table and pulled out the chair across from Win. “Did I miss anything of importance last night? No one else died after I went to bed, did they?”
“No, Mr. Niven was the night’s sole fatality,” Win said dryly. He debated whether to add though Lady Radbourne hates me now—it was the kind of social distinction Freddie tended to miss unless explicitly informed—but decided it would make him sound too much like a lovelorn schoolboy.
Then again, he felt like a lovelorn schoolboy. The only difference was that as a youth, he’d never gone further than kissing the vicar’s daughter behind the sexton’s cottage. He had a good deal more to regret now.
He pushed a kipper about on his plate. “I thought Julia could use some fresh air today. I mean to teach her to skate. Care to join us?”
“No, I have work to do at my dovecote.”
Win regarded him through narrowed eyes. “You’re not still climbing the walls there, are you?”
“You made me promise not to,” Freddie said in an aggrieved tone.
“Then what is it you plan to do at the dovecote?”
“I’d like to paint the door today, and oil the hinges.” He took a bite of his toast. “Win, if I need to buy Joe Ibbetson a new crowbar—”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”
Freddie chewed and swallowed. “Win, if I need to buy Joe Ibbetson a new crowbar, who would pay for that, you or the estate?”
“I can’t say. Who is Joe Ibbetson, and why would you need to buy him a new crowbar?”
“Joe is the abbey handyman, and I’ll need to buy him a new crowbar if he doesn’t find the one that’s missing.”
“Why did you borrow the old crowbar?”
“I didn’t.”
Win gave him a blank look. “Then why should you need to buy him a new one?”
“Because his old one disappeared at the same time as I borrowed his hammer and chisel, and he’s convinced I took it. I told him he’s mistaken and he must have misplaced it, but he hasn’t stopped asking about it.”
“And you don’t want him to change his mind about allowing you to borrow his tools in future.”
“Yes, exactly.”
“I’ll pay for the crowbar.” He might have to watch every penny back at Hamble Grange, but until Lina’s baby arrived, he remained de facto master of Belryth Abbey. “Though as for borrowing his tools in the future, it may be a moot point. We’ll be leaving soon after all.”
“What?” Freddie gaped at him. “You mean going back to Hampshire? How soon?”
“Very soon. Before the week is out.”
“But I thought you wanted to stay and ensure Lady Radbourne was safe.”
“I did, but in the days since I resolved to keep her ‘safe,’ someone killed first the gamekeeper’s dog and now Mr. Niven, and I’m no closer to learning who’s responsible.” He’d also convinced Lina that he was a heartless opportunist, though he didn’t think Freddie needed to know that. “Staying here is doing more harm than good.”
“If you’re worried because the poisoned brandy was likely meant for you, I should think any food that comes direct from the kitchens ought to be safe. The poisoner probably chose the brandy because there were no witnesses in the study, but the kitchens are full of servants.”
“That’s a risk I’d rather not take indefinitely, especially with you and Julia eating the same food I am.”
Freddie’s mouth turned down. “So you’re just going to leave, without even knowing who poisoned Mr. Niven? It isn’t like you to give up.”
Win sighed and leaned back in his chair. “You must be confusing me with someone else.”
“I doubt that’s the case. You’re the only brother I have.”
“That was a figure of speech, Freddie.”
“I mean it’s unlike you to admit defeat,” Freddie insisted. “Take skating today. I remember when you taught me. I thought that day would never end, but you refused to give up.”
Win remembered that day too. After Freddie’s countless spills, complaints and tearful pratfalls, their father had decided the lesson was a lost cause and taken their sisters back to the Grange. Home on leave, Win had stayed out on the ice with his brother for four more hours, until at last Freddie was able to keep his feet under him. By the time they trudged home, they were both chilled to the bone and the sun was sinking fast, but Freddie knew how to skate. “There’s a world of difference between teaching a child a new skill and handling real problems.”
“I still say it’s not like you to give up. You haven’t stopped making changes at Hamble Grange since that wet summer four years ago. And you always did your best to keep Harriet happy, even though she was a dreadful fishwife and past reclaiming.”
“Freddie...” As flattering as his brother’s faith in him was, Freddie had never quite grasped that Win had married above himself. He didn’t know the full extent of the Grange’s financial problems, either.
Freddie sighed. “I know, I know, she was Julia’s mother. But she used to snap at the servants, and she told the vicar I belonged in a lunatic asylum.”
“Harriet really said that?” It was the first Win had heard of it, though he had no doubt Freddie was telling the truth.
“More than once. She hated pigeons too. I can’t think how you endured her as patiently as you did.”
It wasn’t patience, it was knowing I should never have made her promises I couldn’t keep. And he was no more able to keep Lina safe or to make her happy than he’d been able to maintain Harriet in the style to which she was accustomed. He pushed his plate away. “I’m sorry, but it’s best for everyone if we go back to Hampshire.”
“Even for Lady Radbourne?”
“Especially for Lady Radbourne.”
“How odd.” Freddie frowned. “I thought you were interested in courting her.”
“What gave you that idea?”
“Miss Douglass said you seemed interested in courting her sister.”
“Well, I’m not.” Win swallowed down an illogical anger. “You were just complaining about Harriet. Why would I go through that again?”
Freddie squinted in confusion. “I thought we were talking about Lady Radbourne.”
“I mean, why would I want to marry again when I did such a poor job of it the first time?”
“You weren’t married to Lady Radbourne the first time,” Freddie said reasonably. He tapped his closed fist thoughtfully against his chin. “It’s a shame her husband is dead, and we can’t ask him what kind of wife she made.”
“If he were still alive, why would that be any of our concern?” Win shook his head. Having this kind of conversation with Freddie was an exercise in futility. “I can’t marry Lady Radbourne. What if her baby is a boy, and the next earl? What would I do then, become some rich woman’s plaything?”
“Don’t worry, Win. I expect you’d be quite good at it.”
Win pinched the bridge of his nose. “It doesn’t signify, because we’re leaving for Hampshire t
his Friday.”
“But what about the poisoner?”
“He’ll be someone else’s problem.” Win pushed back his chair and stood. “I never belonged here in the first place.”
Chapter Sixteen
Do I entice you? do I speak you fair?
Or, rather, do I not in plainest truth
Tell you, I do not, nor I cannot love you?
—William Shakespeare
Lina made her way up the high street in Malton, Jem walking at her side. She’d just been to the stonemason’s to see Edward’s completed monument. Though she was happy with the work, she’d rather hoped Mr. Monkman would take a bit longer to finish it. She had weeks yet before she would receive her first jointure payment, and she’d hated having to tell him she needed more time to settle his bill.
As she neared Hill & Sons, a familiar figure emerged from the shop—Frederick Vaughan, heavily burdened with an armful of merchandise. He had a long-handled paintbrush, a bucket of Emerton and Manby paint, a large tin of linseed oil, a smaller tin of oil of turpentine and a bottle of paraffin oil. He was doing his best to manage it all, but in imminent danger of dropping any one of the items he was holding.
After what had happened to Mr. Niven she had mixed feelings about seeing Mr. Vaughan again, but Jem was with her, and a part of her longed for news of Win. On an impulse, she called out, “Mr. Vaughan!”
He turned, and actually broke into a smile. “Ah, Lady Radbourne. I’m glad it’s you.”
“Why, did you wish to see me?”
“No, I simply meant I’m glad it isn’t your sister. Would you help me carry this?” Clutching the rest of his purchases to his chest, he held out the bucket of paint.
Jem rushed to take it from him—he recognized, even if Mr. Vaughan didn’t, that a gentleman wasn’t supposed to ask a lady to carry his parcels, let alone the heaviest of them—but Lina did relieve him of the paintbrush and the paraffin oil.
“Did you come on foot?” Mr. Vaughan asked. “I did.”
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