by Claudy Conn
She adored her unborn child. If she stayed with Maurice, would it be best for her child? Perhaps. It would be a lie, though. One day she would have to tell her child…or would she? Oh, what to do?
A knock on her door brought her head up. “Yes?”
“Heather…I cannot sleep. I was awful to you…I…please, would you come to the door and allow me to apologize?”
She jumped out of her bed. It was dreadful that he thought he should apologize. She was the one at fault. She opened the door wide. “Maurice…no. You didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”
He stepped inside. “It wasn’t my place to tell you how to live your life. You must do what you think is right for you.”
“Oh, Maurice…my dear Maurice,” she whispered, not knowing what else to say, what else she could do. She could see him shatter right before her eyes. He was breaking…over her. How could she do this to him when he had offered her his world?
He took her shoulders and before she knew what she was doing, or perhaps if she was honest, really honest with herself, she would admit that she did know exactly what she was doing and why. She knew he needed this and she was so eternally grateful to him.
His mouth sought and won her own. Hungrily, ardently, feverishly he kissed her, long and with a passion he seemed unable to hold back. She was, in fact, surprised how welcome his delicious kisses were, and responded in kind.
She was absolutely incredulous about her level of arousal. She had believed no other than Godwin could please her, but Maurice’s touch was welcome, very welcome.
Heather was driven by gratitude and deep affection. Also, she just couldn’t reject his advances. How could she do that to him? She was torn in so many directions in that moment, and the kisses seemed to ease all thought.
She believed, truly believed that if she allowed him to bed her, she would no longer be a challenge lost and he could then be able to move on when she left for home.
Thus, she allowed him to manipulate her nightdress even as he backed her towards her bed. A moment later she felt a rush of sensation as he dexterously teased her nipples until they were taut and ready for his mouth. Swiftly, urgently, he discarded her nightdress, and groaned as his hands roamed over her beauty and his tongued teased one nipple and then the next.
Heather was shocked at the flood of happiness surging through her. Finally, she was able to give him something of herself. His kisses—his touch, were pleasant enough to arouse the woman in her, and she moved willingly to Maurice’s fingers as he sought the fluff and then the wetness between her thighs.
She smiled warmly, encouragingly, when he looked into her eyes with hope. She whispered sweet words of affection and admiration as he dropped his open neck shirt and britches to the hardwood floor.
He laid her back on the bed and his voice was hoarse with passion as he told her, “Spread wide for me, my petite…spread wide.”
She did as he asked and he bent his head to nibble at her sex. She arched with pleasure, for he had a certain expertise as he worked her, and it didn’t take long before she cried out his name as he brought her to relief.
His voice was joyful then as he got into position and deeply, ravenously plunged into her.
Their time, that night, was filled with the wonder of passion, but even as he took her, she knew she would always dream of Godwin, and kept her eyes tightly shut.
~ Fourteen ~
LOUISE’S HAND ON HEATHER’S SHOULDER startled her. She had been deep in thought as she went over in her mind everything she and Maurice had shared last evening.
Louise laughed. “Mais non, so nervous? It is only I, chérie.”
Heather smiled. “I was daydreaming.”
“Ah, of course. But why do you sit alone? Do I intrude?”
“No, Louise, of course not. You could never intrude. Shall I make room for you here in the shade of this lovely tree?”
“On the grass? Mais non. I am not such a, what is it you English call rough girls…ah, yes, hoyden. Non. I will not ruin my dress with the grass stains.” She looked around and found a set of wicker chairs and dragged one over and into the shade of the palm. She sighed and said, “It is no use to try and talk around this. One should always get to the heart of the matter, oui?”
“Well, I’m not sure,” Heather said cautiously.
“Ah, well, never mind. I am aware you sent Maurice to Bridgetown this morning. You sent him to book you and your Bunky passage to England.”
“Yes,” Heather said, and managed to meet Louise’s disapproving eye. She remembered the stricken look that had crept into Maurice’s eyes, and how she hated herself. Allowing him to bed her had only made matters worse for him, given him false hope. Why was she always doing the wrong thing?
She remembered how he had stepped back, as though she had struck him, and said, “Then last night, last night meant nothing to you?”
“It was goodbye…only goodbye,” she had answered quietly as she looked away.
He turned sharply from her and left the room. She saw it all so vividly. His hurt, his anger, and yet he went to do her bidding. She watched him leave and saw that his shoulders had been slumped as never before.
“Heather…? Heather, are you listening to me?” Louise demanded.
“What? Oh, yes,” she said, her voice scarcely audible even to herself.
Louise put a hand to her forehead. “Ah me.”
“You were not feeling well yesterday…are you not better?” Heather asked worriedly.
“It is nothing. You know I took an early ride the other morning with Maurice. He wanted me to see a piece of land he means to purchase. I thought then it was the heat…but I have these insect bites, and so perhaps it is that?” She waved this off and said firmly, “We must speak plainly, you and moi.”
“Right then,” Heather said, bracing herself.
“Then do not be angry when I tell you this. In many things you are a reasonable woman and thus, I am puzzled. You have told me everything, and now after you hear me, you may regret your honesty. But I must speak. How, chérie, how can you destroy my brother so when he loves you to distraction?”
Heather folded her hands in her lap. “I did not encourage him to love me. Quite the opposite, Louise. You know that. He knows that. From the start, I told him Godwin was the father of my child and that I had to find a way back to him…to England.”
“You love this Godwin…oui, so think of him and the danger you put him in if you return. The threat from the wicked Sara will still be there…and the threat to your child. Think of that!”
Heather had considered that over and over. She had convinced herself that she and Godwin would handle Sara together. Also, as despicable as Sara may be, Heather could not believe that Sara would harm her baby. “No…nooo…”
“Oui, I tell you. This Godwin will not allow his child to be a bastard. He will name him legally as his own. The poor Roderick will take second place…it is natural. Sara will not like that. Do you see? What then of your child’s safety?”
Heather buried her face in her hands. “Oh no…Godwin will protect our child.”
“At what cost, my dear Heather, at what cost?” She shook her head. “You are both stubborn and blind. You do not look to the future. Scandal will follow your baby through life. It is not necessary. Maurice loves you. You have great feelings for him, and in time, you will love him. I believe that.”
“No…”
“Heather, you are being a fool. Ah, mon dieu. Be a fool if you must, but not when it involves the baby. You care so much for my brother. I have watched you together. He makes you happy. He even makes you forget.”
“No, he does not. Yes, I love him, but no, I am not in love with him. My child has a right to know its father.”
Louise clapped her hands together in her agitation. “I don’t feel quite up to this…” She loved Heather and adored her brother. “How do I make you see?”
Heather was on her feet and bending over Louise. “You don’t look well,
Louise.”
“Oui…perhaps I should go inside,” she said, and stood.
Heather put an arm around her friend to steady her, but all at once, and without warning, Louise made a little sound and collapsed. Heather could not hold her up but eased her friend’s fall to the ground.
“Louise, darling?” Heather cried.
“Ah, what have I done…my gown.” Louise said, and moved her head from side to side.
Heather felt Louise’s forehead. “Oh no…you are on fire!”
Bunky, who had been given a job at the stables, was, at that moment, walking out two horses towards the pasture. Heather saw him and waved as she called, “Bunky…hurry!”
He handed off the horses to a black groom and started to run towards them. Another servant, a huge black man, saw him running towards the women and joined him.
“Aye then…what, what is wrong with her ladyship?” Bunky asked as he leaned over her.
“Roan,” Heather said to the large black man, “will you lift her and bring her into the house? Bunky, please find out where he is and fetch the doctor, do.”
“Aye, as it happens, he isn’t far. Heard tell he is at the plantation that borders ours. Right then, I’m off,” Bunky said, and left them straightaway.
“As much as I wish to help her ladyship, who is kindness itself, I…we…we may not touch a white woman,” Roan responded.
“Nonsense, we have to get her inside.” Heather had learned about all the annoying and stupid rules about blacks and whites, and once again thought that if she stayed, she would work to abolish such stupidity and free the slaves. How could people be so savage in their notions? She couldn’t understand it.
“Right then,” Roan said bravely. “I will do as you ask, but know if another white man, one other than my master, should see me carrying a white woman, I would be brought up on charges.”
“Not if you are following my request, hurry, Roan. We must see to her,” Heather answered.
Roan lifted Louise cradle like and started for the house.
* * * * *
Maurice guided his horse through the hubbub of the busy town towards the main pike, southeast, which would take him to Brabant. He had always loved Bridgeton. Not today.
Today had not been a good visit.
Inside the inner pocket of his pale blue riding jacket, near his heart, were two tickets for passage on the Southampton, leaving for Cornwall in five days. He was wounded, deeply wounded. He had actually believed Heather might stay.
The feel of Heather’s body in his arms, beneath him, giving, taking…was vivid in his mind. The sensations she aroused in him making him feel as though he should betray her trust and tell her there wasn’t a passenger ship leaving for Cornwall for months. He could do that, but…no, he could not.
What a fool he had been to think his tender lovemaking had actually made her love him. Who was this Godwin that she could not give him up?
“Ah bah,” he told his horse. “I am nothing to her. Nothing. It is because I am naïve. I should have known she was giving me the only thing she could in her goodbye.”
She felt friendship, oui, she felt gratitude, of course, but nothing more.
He felt old and worn and totally devastated. How does one part with one’s life and yet go on living? Heather had become his life.
He was a fool to let her go.
He was a fool to give in to his own gentle nature and purchase her the means to leave. Damn, such a fool!
He thought about the day she would leave and go to the Englishman, this Godwin, the father of her child. Would this Godwin keep her safe this time? He had failed her before. What would Heather do if she returned and Godwin was a cad and rejected her?
Ah, impossible. No man would reject such as Heather. How could they?
Heather was his love and she would soon be lost to him. All hope was gone.
* * * * *
Across the Atlantic, at a place Godwin and Heather often met and called their Windmera, Godwin stood and stared out to sea. For no reason at all, he was sure Heather was alive. If she was alive, he would see her again. How could he not?
Heather had escaped the brothel, and surely she would find a way to return to him.
Was he just hoping against hope?
His friend put a hand on his shoulder and said, “Come along, Godwin.”
They both turned at that moment because of the sound of a pony’s hooves on hard ground and Godwin sighed. “It is Roderick.”
“The boy has been through a great deal,” Captain John said gently. “He needs you.”
“Aye, that he has, and didn’t deserve what he has suffered. He is the innocent in all this. He is a good lad,” Godwin said sadly.
Roderick jumped nimbly from his pony and hurried over. The boy looked up at Captain John. “Please, sir, could I speak with my…with his lordship for a moment?”
“That you can, lad, that you can. Maybe you can distract him from himself,” the captain said, and moved off.
Godwin looked at Roderick with affection. He loved the boy. All that had taken place had not diminished his feelings for him. Damn, but he had been neglectful at a time when Roderick needed him. He would have to change that. He gave the boy a warm smile and ruffled his black curly hair. “Son…what is it?”
Roderick eyed him and Godwin realized just how hurt the boy was and opened his arms wide, saying again so the lad would understand, “Son, my son.”
Roderick was in his arms and clinging with all his might.
Godwin sighed. What had he done? Roderick’s years had not equipped him to handle the flight, withdrawal of one parent and the coldness of a mother who never thought of any but herself.
“Please, sir.” Roderick suddenly began to cry, as tears slid down his smooth cheeks. “Please forgive us, come home.”
Godwin stiffened. The thought of forgiving Sara was repugnant. The thought of having to hear her voice, look at her face was intolerable. He felt no pity for her circumstances—none, and he knew that was wrong, but he still hated her too much to have empathy for her.
Roderick, however, pulled on all his emotions. “Hush, lad. Your mother and I have differences that cannot be breeched. Do not fret what you cannot change. It has nothing to do with you or how very much I love you. Roderick, you are my son, you always will be. You are the child of my heart. That is what matters. I will return to Ravensbury with you because you need me and I want you to know how very much I love you.”
The lad clung to him and cried his heart out.
Captain John walked over and put a hand to both of them and together they stood in the windstorm.
Godwin looked out to sea and prayed for Heather to find her way home to him.
~ Fifteen ~
LOUISE TOSSED FITFULLY IN HER bed, lost to the fever.
Heather wiped her brow with a cool wet rag and whispered soothing words. She applied rosewater to her face and stepped aside when the doctor arrived.
However, when the doctor produced a glass bottle and produced a pair of tweezers, Heather stepped up, quite horrified. “You are not going to put those slimy creatures on her!”
The doctor sighed. He was old and tired. “Don’t be hysterical about it, miss. Leeching must be done.” He proceeded to pluck a leech from the bottle. “I understand your concerns, but rest assured, I do know what I am doing. You are not the first to object to this method and I am certain you won’t be the last, but it is tried and true.”
Heather put herself between the doctor and Louise. “No.”
“Now see here, miss. She must be bled,” the doctor insisted.
“No, neither Louise nor I believe in leeching. She has often said so, and I won’t allow it to be done to her.”
“Look, my dear, it will ease the fever, make her rest more comfortably,” he persisted.
“No, it will not. It will only drain her of her strength.” This was something Heather’s father had believed, and she did as well.
The doctor was exasper
ated. “You have not the authority to interfere…”
“Oh, but she has,” said a firm strong voice from the doorway. “Miss Martin has as much authority here at Brabant as I do.”
Heather ran to him. He was here, she thought thankfully, finally he had come. “Maurice, Louise collapsed in the garden. It appears as though she has contracted some kind of fever and the doctor wants to leech her.”
Maurice turned. “Doctor?”
“Indeed, as Miss Martin says,” he said somewhat testily. “Your sister has contracted a fever not unlike malaria. However, at this stage, I cannot be certain what it is. I am certain only of one thing, it is quite serious. We have had a few cases break out farther inland, and I have already lost two patients who have had similar symptoms.”
“Indeed, you say!” the comte snapped.
Heather could see he was seriously shocked and worried. “Maurice…you and she visited a place with a stagnant pond the other day. Could it be the water? Louise dipped her hands and handkerchief into the water when she was overheated. I recall her mentioning that to me. Could it be that?”
“If you won’t allow me to bleed her, you must keep watch, keep doing what Miss Martin has been doing with the rosewater and the soft damp rag. We can only hope the fever breaks.” He put a container on the night stand. “A little laudanum might help, but I wouldn’t depend on it. I shall look in on her tomorrow.”
“I will see you out,” the comte said as he politely led the doctor from the room.
Louise began to mumble. She opened her eyes and cried, “Blood…my husband…blood…”
Heather knew she was referring to the guillotine. Louise had confided in her about her grief, her fears, her dear husband, and her lost brother and his family.
Heather shooed the nightmare away with gentle words, and reapplied the cool rosewater. It seemed to calm Louise down and she rested quietly again. However, when the comte reappeared, he inclined his head to her and said softly, “I will see to her now.”
