“Understandable,” she murmured, feeling suddenly bared and vulnerable in front of this woman.
“You are not the right match for him,” she grimly pronounced.
Could this get any more uncomfortable? She glanced around the room as though searching for an escape.
“I understand this must be difficult to accept, my lady.” Graciela herself had difficulty accepting it. So much so she’d practically run away before Colin stopped her.
“Do you in fact understand that?” Lady Strickland angled her head, the cap atop her gray hair coming dangerously close to falling. “If that is the case, then you must own that this is an unorthodox match.”
After a moment, Graciela nodded.
The lady pressed on. “And yet you persist in moving forward.”
Graciela felt as though she were tiptoeing through a maze of thorns. There was no way to avoid a misstep. No way to avoid getting cut.
“You appear an intelligent woman, and you’re certainly no green girl.” Again, the unsubtle dig to her age. “Obviously you can see how inadvisable this match is. My grandson is young. He needs heirs. Sons. He not only needs them, he wants them. It seems unlikely you can provide him with those.”
He wants them. Somehow that affected her more than the notion of him needing them to extend his progeny.
She took a bracing breath. Part of her delighted to know that she carried his babe now, but then another part of her felt sick knowing that this would likely be the only child she could give him and it might very well be a girl. Would he be disappointed? Would he come to regret marrying her? As Autenberry had done?
She pushed aside the negative thought. Worrying would do no good now. There was no choice in the matter. Colin insisted they wed and she had agreed.
The dowager arched an eyebrow, clearly waiting for some manner of response from Graciela.
She had none to give. There was nothing she could say at this time to appease the old dragon. She wasn’t about to inform her of her condition. She would not suffer the indignity of admitting to that.
“Have you nothing to say?”
Graciela found her voice. “We are already engaged. The announcement went out and Colin has procured a special license.”
The dowager waved a hand dismissively. “Nothing irreparable. Nothing that cannot be undone. You are not wed yet.”
She shook her head, the knot of discomfort that had formed from the first moment of this encounter expanding within her chest. “You should really speak to your grandson about this. I’ve accepted his offer. I will not renege.”
She snorted. “I’ve already done so.”
“And what did he say?”
“I’m here, am I not? The stubborn lad seems to feel like he’s obligated to wed you.” She tensed beneath the dowager’s probing stare. “Apparently you’ve told him you’re increasing.”
The words hit her like perfectly aimed arrows. From the way the woman spoke—and looked at her—she obviously had her doubts regarding the veracity of this.
“Well?” she demanded almost shrilly. “Is it true?”
She thought she was lying? Graciela inhaled deeply. Oh, why had Colin confided in her? Did he think it necessary to explain why he would want to marry her? “I think you should leave.”
Lady Strickland huffed. “You’re asking me to leave? Well, I never have been treated so rudely!”
Graciela flexed her neatly folded fingers in her lap. “Have you not? I find that surprising.”
Lady Strickland’s mouth sagged, resembling a gaping fish’s. Graciela rose and moved to open one of the drawing room doors, indicating she should take her leave.
Leaning heavily on her cane, she pushed to her feet and made her way to the door, her cane contacting loudly with the floor in a steady staccato of thumps. Reaching the door, she stopped and glared at Graciela.
“You should free him. Even if you are with child and this is not some desperate ruse, what are the odds you will deliver to fruition and bear him a son? You will ruin his life. Let him go so that he can then go about marrying a more suitable female.”
A more suitable female. The words stung. Not because she thought anything was wrong with her. Not because she thought she was unsuitable and undeserving.
They stung because Colin did not love her . . . and loving her was the only thing that would keep him from regretting marrying her in future days.
She glanced out the door. Seeing no servants lurking, she gestured for Lady Strickland to move ahead of her. “I’ll show you out.”
“You needn’t overly tax yourself. You are kicking me out of your home, after all,” she sneered.
Ignoring the snide comment, Graciela led her from the room. At the top of the stairs, she took Lady Strickland’s cane from her so that she could cling to the railing for support. She motioned for Graciela to go first. “I’m much too slow. Go ahead of me.”
Complying, she started to descend just as voices sounded from below. Her gaze searched ahead, spotting Mary Rebecca entering the foyer. The doorman took her cloak and gloves. Graciela’s chest lightened a little.
After her audience with Colin’s grandmother, Mary Rebecca was a welcome sight. She was more than halfway to the bottom, a few more steps to go, and calling out a greeting just as she felt something collide hard into her from behind.
A gush of breath escaped her. Her fingers flew to the railing, but she was already moving, propelled too far forward. Velocity and gravity were not on her side.
She was going to fall.
Terror lodged in her throat as her fingers slipped against the cold iron of the railing, trying and failing to get a grip. To hang on to something.
Then she was falling.
Screams filled her ears. Her own or Mary Rebecca’s, she was not sure.
The steps rushed up to meet her in a blur. Contact. Jarring pain. Blood at lips. A sharp edge jammed into her elbow.
All the air pushed out from her body as she tumbled down the steps and came to a hard, bruising stop on the marble floor of the foyer.
The world spun around her in a dizzying vortex. Moving so swiftly that nausea rose up in her throat.
And then there was nothing. No sound. No color.
But thankfully, no more pain.
Chapter 26
Graciela waded through a fog, her feet like solid blocks of stone. At least that was how it felt. How she felt. Her limbs like lead. Her eyes ever peering into a shadowland. Vestiges of figures drifted ahead, darker smudges within the rolling gray, like wisps of smoke impossible to reach or identify.
She called out, her voice tinny and small.
Those dark ribbons twisted and danced on the air, flickering in and out, away and farther away. Teasing ghosts.
She forced her heavy legs to keep going. Keep moving. Searching. Pushing against the dragging weight, against the deepening ache, the widening void inside her.
Colin.
And something more.
There was another reason for the gnawing bleakness, but it was elusive, rubbing at the edges of her mind like rain at a windowpane, fighting to get in.
She reached for whatever it was. For the intangible thing she felt slipping and draining from her body, easing out like fluid from a sieve.
She stretched her arms, hands wide-open, attempting to seize hold of everything she was losing even if her muddled mind was too clouded to understand.
Her heart knew.
Colin clung to Ela’s cold hand, lifeless at her side. He bowed his head, his forehead dropping beside her, resting on the bed next to her motionless arm, willing her to move. Get up. Talk. Walk. Be his again.
His fingers flexed around her hand, unable to let go of the softness.
He would never let go.
Her breath came in tiny, labored rasps, lifting her chest. It was the only movement she made, but proof enough that she lived, and that was everything. All that mattered right now, in this moment.
“My lord.” A hand brushed his shoulder.
Ever since Ela had been pushed.
The thought shuddered through him and went down his throat like a jagged shard of glass. His own grandmother had done this to her. Because of him. Ultimately, it was because of him that Ela had been hurt. It was a difficult thing to accept. Something he might never be able to accept.
She was to be his wife and bear his child. The one thing in his life he should have done was make certain no harm befell her. And he had failed in that. If he could go back and untouch her, undo everything, including his pursuit of her, he would. Instantly. If it meant she wouldn’t be here like this, he would undo it all.
His gaze devoured her, hurt and broken in her bed.
Hurt. Not broken, he corrected. Not dead. He gave her hand the slightest squeeze. Not dead.
The physician had been summoned. He’d come and gone after setting Ela’s arm in a sling, promising to return first thing in the morning. He believed her wrist to be badly sprained. Thankfully, she had not fallen from too high a perch, nor did it appear her head sustained any injury in the fall. He’d pronounced her lucky and her recovery as promising.
Right now, as Colin stared down at her, it was difficult to feel lucky. Watching her lying there so bruised and battered with her arm tucked to her side, he had never felt so helpless in all his life.
He was still terrified that she might somehow never open her eyes again. That he might never hear her voice again. Knowing all of this could have been avoided if not for his lunatic grandmother only made the bite deeper . . . sharper.
By the time he had arrived, his grandmother was gone. She’d fled and no one had attempted to stop her. Little thought had been given to the old woman in the wake of the damage she had wrought. The household had been in chaos, all care and focus on Ela. As it should have been.
He did not fault any of the staff for letting his grandmother go. He would handle her later. For now he could not think to leave Ela’s side.
Besides, there was no place for that old woman to hide. No place where he would not find her.
“You should take a meal,” Lady Talbot suggested.
He simply shook his head, not glancing her way. He kept his gaze trained on Ela. She was pale beneath the usual golden hue of her skin. Dark smudges that resembled bruises marred the thin skin beneath her eyes.
Lady Talbot’s fingers tightened ever so slightly on his shoulder. “Then rest for a while in another room. You’re no good to her dead exhausted.”
“I’ll rest enough sitting in this chair.”
“Strickland—”
He shot a glance over his shoulder. “I’ll rest when she’s awake. After I hear her voice with my own ears. When I hear her tell me that she’s fine.”
Lady Talbot stared at him a moment before nodding.
Suddenly Ela lurched up in bed. Clutching her middle, she brought her knees to her chest and bowed over them with a shrill scream that tore through him.
Lady Talbot rushed to Ela, grasping her gently. “Ela!”
Colin reached for her hand, repeating her name as fear gripped him. He’d wanted her awake, but awake and well. Not like this. Not in pain. Ela in pain clawed through him, making him want to howl out his own agony.
Ela tipped over as though a great wind knocked her over on the bed. Lady Talbot leaned over her. “Ela! What is it?”
He climbed upon the bed on the other side of her, surrounding her, yet careful not to jar or cause her further pain. Her wide eyes gazed up at him, glazed with pain. He’d wanted to stare into her open eyes again, but he didn’t want to witness such pain in their depths.
Sweat dotted her brow and tiny tendrils of damp hair clung all around her face.
He came over her, wiping the hair back from her forehead carefully, uncertain where she was hurt and not wanting to make anything worse for her. He wanted only to fix her . . . take all her pain inside himself so that she would never suffer again.
“Ela,” he crooned. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
She shook her head, her glass eyes welling with tears as her gaze fixed on him, grabbing hold of him in a manner that he felt as tangibly as a fist around his heart. “It’s happening.”
“What’s happening, love?” Just then he noticed a wetness beneath his hand where it was propped upon the bed. He lifted his palm off the bed and brought it before his face, his fingers splayed wide, each digit covered in glistening blood.
Her gaze followed to his hand and a twisted, animal whimper escaped her. “Again,” she choked before closing her eyes and dropping her head back on the bed.
Lady Talbot gasped and turned toward where the housekeeper hovered near the door. “Send for the midwife. Quickly.”
His bloodied hand seemed to glare back at him, the brutal smears of crimson startling on his skin, holding him riveted.
He had not thought of this. His only thought had been for Ela . . . for her well-being. Perhaps it should have occurred to him. It was the reason they were getting married, after all. The reason he had told her, at least.
And yet he’d been wrapped up exclusively in Ela. He had not thought of the child. He hadn’t thought his fear could get any worse.
He’d been wrong. This was another fear. Their child.
She was losing their baby.
By the time the midwife arrived, the worst of the pains had stopped.
Ela no longer cried out and her breathing had evened into a steady cadence. Tired, but even and mild.
It was the only reason he agreed to leave her side and step out into the corridor.
He left the room briefly so that Mary Rebecca and the housekeeper could freshen the linens and help her change clothes. He paced a brisk line outside the door, listening for any sounds that floated through the door, dragging his hands through his hair and pulling hard at the strands.
“Colin?”
He looked up at the sound of Clara’s voice.
“Clara,” he greeted.
“Is she better?”
“She’s awake,” he answered.
She released a heavy breath as she continued to stare at him. “Who is that woman? The one in there with Mama?”
He stared back at her. It wasn’t his place to explain that a midwife was attending to her mother. “She’s here to help your mother.”
“But you said she woke up. Isn’t she well now?”
He studied this girl who so resembled Ela and felt a surge of protectiveness. He wrapped an arm around her and hugged her. “Of course she is.”
The door to the chamber opened and Lady Talbot stuck her head out. “You can come in now.” Her gaze flicked to Clara. “Lord Strickland,” she clarified as though he needed to be told that the girl shouldn’t enter the bedchamber to witness whatever waited within.
He nodded and stepped away from Clara.
She snatched hold of his wrist. “I want to see her. I need to see her.” Clara looked at him so resolutely, her chin thrust out defiantly. She suddenly appeared far older than her fourteen years.
Lady Talbot stepped out into the corridor. The door snicked shut after her as she put her arm around Clara’s shoulders and gave her a comforting squeeze. “Not just yet, my dear. Let Colin see her first and then you can come in for a short bit. Your mama is very tired and needs her rest.”
Lady Talbot’s eyes connected with his and she motioned with her hand, indicating he should enter the chamber.
He didn’t need to be told twice. He slipped inside the room. Evening had fallen and it was darker than when he last occupied the space. Lantern light suffused the room and Ela was a motionless shape beneath the covers, her dark hair loose, fanned out all around her.
The midwife was closing up her bag. Mrs. Wakefield stood close by and the somber mood of the room brought him to a halt.
The midwife lifted her gaze to
his. Mrs. Wakefield’s gaze skittered away . . . a first for that usually direct lady.
He took a hesitant step forward, his gaze seeking Ela on the bed. He said her name softly. “Ela?”
She didn’t stir. She was curled on her side, her back to him, almost as though she was closing him out. Not only him. It felt as though she were closing out the world.
The midwife cleared her throat. He looked to her, searching the kind lines of her face for answers. “How is she?” he asked, the words feeling as though they were ripped from somewhere deep inside him. In his mind, he still saw the blood, heard her cries, saw her stricken eyes.
“She will mend.”
He breathed a little easier. His gaze darted back to her and he stepped closer to the bed, determined to see her face, to touch her. He stopped right at the edge, noting the stiff line of her shoulders. She didn’t appear to invite anyone’s touch.
He looked back at the midwife, noting again her grim expression. His stomach clenched, knowing without having to be told—there was more.
Ela would mend. No mention of the baby.
“And?” he prompted. He might already know, but he needed to hear it. He needed to know.
She shook her head forlornly. “I’m sorry. There was a great deal of blood. I’ve never seen a baby survive this kind of trauma. I can’t say for certain yet, of course . . . but I don’t see how it is possible.”
A cry choked out from Ela then. He eased down beside her and touched her back.
“Please, don’t,” she rasped.
“I’m sorry, Ela . . . so sorry.” He dropped his hand onto the bed, inching toward her arm, hoping that would be more welcome.
She pulled away as though sensing his oncoming touch. “It’s not your fault,” she said in a small, tired voice. “You and I were never meant to be, Colin. I suppose none of this was.”
He stared hard at the back of her.
She continued. “We don’t have to pretend anymore or use an innocent child to bind us together.” The words felt like rocks striking him, cutting his skin and stroking deep. “I’ve already suffered one loveless marriage. I pasted the fake smiles on and let lying words of love drip from my lips. I can’t do it again.”
The Scandal of It All Page 21
