Matilda let out another anguished cry as Radcliff approached her and swept her off the floor, rolling her into his bare arms.
Despite Radcliff wanting her to stay where she was, she pushed herself up off the floor and staggered after them. Nothing, not even her own body, was going to keep her from the birth of Matilda’s baby.
SCANDAL TWENTY
The birth of a child always marks a joyous occasion, unless of course that child happens to be born out of wedlock…
How to Avoid a Scandal, Author Unknown
A LONG, ANGUISHED scream pierced the silence and shook the very walls of the corridor. Radcliff swiped a hand over his face and stood from the chair he’d set outside of Justine’s bedchamber, unable to remain still.
This was not how he had envisioned Justine living her life as a duchess. Being beaten by his own brother. And now, assisting Matilda as she gave birth.
God save him from the images that continued to assault his heart and mind. His beautiful Justine…his Justine on the floor being caned. Like an animal. This was not how he had envisioned their life together.
Radcliff leaned against the wall and squeezed his eyes shut as Matilda shrieked with an intensity that rattled his own bones.
“Forgive me, Justine,” he whispered hoarsely. “Forgive me for not better protecting you.”
That evening
“YOUR GRACE,” DR. LUDLOW insisted. “Please. I am asking that you leave the room.”
Justine stepped toward Matilda, who continued to writhe on the bed, refusing to obey the doctor. Matilda needed her. Now more than ever.
Sweat-soaked blond hair clung to the sides of Matilda’s flushed face. She gasped, and another high-pitched scream escaped her parched lips, piercing the room.
Justine could take no more. She turned to Dr. Ludlow and demanded, “Do something! She cannot continue to suffer like this!”
The balding man grunted, shook his head and headed toward the wooden side table laden with various medical instruments.
Justine grabbed Matilda’s moist hand and squeezed it comfortingly. “Have faith.”
Matilda squeezed shut her eyes, half nodded and whispered, “I do. I do.”
“The pain will pass. Soon. It will.” Justine leaned in and kissed Matilda’s damp forehead. Her lips stung from the heat of Matilda’s skin; her temperature was rising.
Justine glanced back at the doctor impatiently.
He wiped his hands on his apron and grabbed a surgical knife from one of the trays scattered across the table. He approached the foot of the bed and stripped off the only form of modesty left to Matilda, exposing her oversized belly and her white, bare legs.
Justine’s heart nearly stopped as she scrambled around the bed. She lunged at the man and grabbed hold of his wrist. “What is it you intend to do?”
Dr. Ludlow stilled as his beady eyes met hers. He narrowed his gaze. “The babe will die.”
Justine tightened her grip on the man’s wrist. “As will the mother if you slice her open!”
Another scream echoed around them.
Dr. Ludlow slowly reacted to his hand. “We must make a decision, Your Grace.”
“No,” Justine snapped over the loud, ragged breaths of her friend. “Not this. Tribes in Africa, sir, do not require the use of blades during birthing. Find another way.”
Dr. Ludlow sighed, turned and made his way back to the oak table. He dropped the knife onto one of the trays. “She has been struggling for too long. There is nothing more I can do.”
“Dr. Ludlow,” Justine breathed. “If you save her and the babe, I will see to it you receive a hundred pounds. One hundred pounds.”
The doctor stared at her. Then nodded.
He rounded her and approached the bed where Matilda continued to pant loudly.
With marked determination, Dr. Ludlow gathered the linen he had earlier removed from Matilda’s body and assembled it over her belly and bent knees like a tent. “Let us try this again, Miss Thurlow,” he insisted, sticking his hands beneath the sheets. “There is no other way. You must force the babe out by using whatever strength you have left within you.”
Justine jogged to Matilda’s side. She scrambled onto the bed, grabbed hold of that moist, shaky hand and whispered into Matilda’s ear, “You can do this. I know you can. I will help you. Use all your strength. All of it now.”
“No. No. I can’t.” Matilda released an exhausted sob and squeezed her eyes shut. “Justine,” she panted. “If the baby survives, promise me you’ll raise it. Promise me. If it is a boy, name it Radcliff. And if it is a girl, name it Justine.”
Tears clouded Justine’s vision, and though she struggled to remain strong, she felt herself inwardly crumbling. “You are not dying. And as such, I will not make those promises.”
“Do not deny me!” Matilda half sobbed, half screamed.
Tears streamed down Justine’s face as she blindly tightened her grip on Matilda’s hand. How could it end like this? How?
“Justine!” Matilda screamed.
“I promise,” Justine whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. “I promise.”
AS IT TURNED OUT, there was absolutely no need to promise anything. Matilda and her beautiful, dark-haired baby girl survived. Matilda was very weak, and had drifted into a deep sleep, but the doctor assured Justine all was well and that there were no signs of complications.
The doctor kept saying it was a miracle.
Though the servants had tried to coax Justine to leave on several occasions, she had decided to stay long enough to help bathe Matilda’s newborn.
She’d never seen fingers and toes so small. Not on a human anyway. She’d never felt skin so soft. Justine smiled as she finished carefully wrapping the freshly bathed child in linen and gently gathered the soft weight up into her arms. She cradled its tiny head in the crook of arms that still ached from the blows she’d endured and smiled past tears, ignoring the pain. She couldn’t wait to have a baby of her own.
Henri tsked as he brushed the curling ends of his blond hair out of his eyes and hurried forward, his slender arms outstretched. “Allow me, Your Grace. I have held many, many babes in my life and you require rest.”
Justine kissed the softness of that small head several times, then carefully transferred the baby to Henri. She sighed. “Where is His Grace?”
Henri arched a brow as he gently swayed back and forth with the baby in his arms. “Outside the door. Where he has been all along.”
“Thank you.” Justine made her way to the door of the bedchamber. Before leaving, she cast a glance back. Henri cradled the baby in his slim arms, grinning down at her as if she were his own child. “Enchanté, Mademoiselle,” he cooed, adjusting the wrapped linens around the baby’s sleeping face. “Crying is permitted, but not at this particular moment. Your mama sleeps. And it is wise you sleep, too.”
Justine bit back an exhausted laugh and left the room, closing the door behind her. Perhaps it was best Henri stay on, even once the female servants returned to the house. He was everything she could want in a lady’s maid.
Justine wandered over to Radcliff, who slept on the floor beside the door, and collapsed onto the floor next to him in the candlelit corridor. “It is amazing what a hundred pounds can buy these days,” she drawled.
Radcliff woke and tried to scramble up, but Justine dragged him down toward herself and wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders. She leaned into him, wincing from the effort. “All is well. Matilda and her baby are perfectly fine. That is all that matters.”
“Come. Now that the babe is here, you must be tended to. We’ll call for a bath and let you soak.” Radcliff shifted into a crouching position and slid his hands beneath her, sweeping her up off the floor.
She flinched as his fingers grazed the welts beneath but managed to wrap her arms around him as he stood and carried her to his bedchamber. If this was not love, if he did not love her, then she knew for a fact that she knew nothing of love at all.
SC
ANDAL TWENTY-ONE
Always respect the wishes of others, even if those wishes do not necessarily respect you.
How to Avoid a Scandal, Author Unknown
Ten days later, morning
RADCLIFF ROTATED A THICK, RAW SHARD of deep purple amethyst, the edges of the large stone pressing into the pads of his fingers. He shifted in the leather chair and held the amethyst up higher toward the French window before him. Sunlight peered through the sheer crystal, reflecting thin purple-and-white prisms across the length of his sable coat, striped waistcoat and gray trousers.
Leaning farther back in his chair, he stretched his legs beneath the mahogany desk and knew without a doubt that it was perfect for the necklace he intended to have made for Justine.
A knock made him glance up. His heart pounded at the thought of it being Justine. He’d hardly glimpsed her these past few days, considering all the time she spent at Matilda’s side and with the babe.
“Justine?” he called out. “Is that you?”
The doors fanned open and Jefferson appeared. He cleared his throat. “Forgive me. Are you at home, Your Grace? Lord and Lady Marwood wish to apologize for calling at such an early hour, but are here to see you and ask that you not disturb the Duchess into joining your conversation.”
Radcliff fisted the crystal hard. Though Justine’s parents had been surprisingly silent these past ten days in response to the detailed letter he had insisted Justine write to them explaining what gossip never would, Radcliff had a feeling that their silence had merely been building to a storm that was about to rage and thunder. “I am indeed at home. I shall receive them here.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Radcliff leaned toward the desk cluttered with several gem trays which his jeweler had delivered the day before for inspection. He tossed the amethyst into a tray lined with red velvet padding and shoved his chair back, rising.
Circling the desk, he strode toward the middle of his study. He glanced toward the massive empty space above the hearth and couldn’t help but smile, knowing that Justine didn’t like his mother any more than he did. A new duchess now reigned.
Hurried steps soon echoed in the corridor, drawing steadily closer. Radcliff interlocked his wrists behind his back and turned to face the double doors, readying himself for high winds.
Lord and Lady Marwood strode in, arm in arm, both dressed in what appeared to be traveling clothes.
They paused side by side, forming a wall directly across from where Radcliff stood, and stared him down, as if they intended to gut him there and then.
Jefferson lingered within the doorway. “Will you require any further assistance, Your Grace?”
Not unless the man intended to help him duel with his in-laws. Radcliff cleared his throat at the thought. “No, thank you. You may close the doors behind you.”
Jefferson nodded and folded the doors into each other.
The room hummed with lethal silence.
Lady Marwood lifted her chin slightly, reminding Radcliff of Justine’s own mannerisms. “My daughter has informed us that the rumors circulating London are, in fact, true. That she was indeed brutalized by your brother. As if that weren’t enough cause for concern, there are other claims Justine will not admit to. Claims that you are both housing a less than reputable woman who recently gave birth to your own brother’s child. Is that true?”
Justine was going to have his neck for admitting it. “It is true,” he managed. “Miss Thurlow was in dire need of assistance and I decided to offer her a form of charity.”
“Charity?” Lady Marwood echoed. “Is that what you call housing your brother’s mistress beneath the nose of your own wife? Charity? Yes, well, I am here to announce, Your Grace, that we are not at all pleased with you or this marriage.”
Radcliff widened his stance and drew in a calming breath before letting it out. “I understand, Lady Marwood, and can only apologize for myself and for my brother’s monstrous behavior. I vow never to allow anything of this nature to occur again. Carlton is being stripped of his yearly annuity and will find himself at the mercy of debt. As for Miss Thurlow and her child, they will both be departing on the morrow to Scotland to start life anew.”
Lord Marwood sucked in a harsh breath and let it out through his nostrils. “That is all good and well, but my wife and I have decided it would be best to take Justine with us. Away from this quagmire and the horrid things London is spewing about our daughter. Rest assured, Your Grace, we will cover any and all expenses.”
Radcliff narrowed his gaze. “What is it that you are informing me of, my lord?”
Lord Marwood nervously glanced toward Lady Marwood.
Radcliff stared them down. “There is no need for further pleasantries. I assure you I’ll not take offence.”
Lord Marwood drew in a breath and announced, “We wish to take Justine with us to Cape Town. We are moving there permanently and ask that our daughter be allowed to join us.”
Radcliff clenched his jaw, refusing to believe they would take his Justine away. They had no right. She was his. Not theirs. Not anymore. “Cape Town is rather far from me and London.”
“That is the point.” Lady Marwood’s sharp hazel eyes pierced the short distance between them. “Exposing Justine to a place she has always loved will set her mind and soul straight. Time to her own thoughts, not governed by you or London, should allow for her to make a better decision. Whilst we appreciate all that you have done for our family, it is obvious that which is most important to us has become neglected. If you ever cared about her well-being, Your Grace, we ask you permit Justine to join us in Cape Town for a year.”
“A year?” Radcliff stepped toward them, trying to keep his anger strapped in place. “No. I will not allow for any of this. How dare you? How dare you come into this home and try to separate us? She is my wife. And she will remain at my side until death itself decides that we should part.”
“She is indeed your wife, Your Grace,” Lady Marwood tossed back at him. “Yet what sort of respect and happiness have you given her thus far? Have you heard what people are saying about you and about her? Have you? Do you expect me and my husband to quietly stand aside whilst her happiness is blown to dust? Perhaps you are choosing to deny Justine this opportunity of freedom because you know she would never return. Deep inside, you know that her happiness does not belong with you. How could it after everything you have put her through?”
Radcliff shifted his jaw. Despite what Lady Marwood thought, he knew without any doubt whatsoever Justine would return to him. That her happiness did lie with him. And that the moment Justine discovered she’d been hoodwinked by her parents, she would shake her fist and demand that he join her in Africa. That would certainly put to rest these ridiculous doubts her parents had about Justine’s happiness and the state of their marriage.
Radcliff angled himself toward them with a renewed determination to prove them wrong. “I will cover any and all expenses, including your own, for two months. After two months, I will expect a letter written in her own hand informing me as to where her happiness truly lies. Will that suffice?”
“Yes.” Lady Marwood curtsied and reclaimed her husband’s arm. “I realize this may be difficult, Your Grace, but sometimes we must make sacrifices that are best suited to the needs of others. Please have her and her trunks ready to leave within the hour. My husband and I will be waiting outside in our carriage.”
“You intend to depart in an hour?” he echoed. Christ. That would hardly give him any time to even hold her, let alone explain all of this in a rational manner.
Lady Marwood stared him down. “The arrangements to depart were made shortly after I received Justine’s letter. We ask you not disclose our conversation. She is fiercely proud and would not take to our meddling.”
That much was true. He smirked. “I shan’t breathe a word.”
Lady Marwood’s gaze narrowed. “It is obvious you find this situation amusing. I assure you it is not.” She spun away and wh
isked toward the doors, Lord Marwood striding after her.
“I shan’t breathe a word,” Radcliff muttered. “But I most certainly will scribe it.”
SCANDAL TWENTY-TWO
Without truth, there is no substance. And without substance, there is no soul. If you tell lies, it will eventually take its toll.
How to Avoid a Scandal, Author Unknown
Forty minutes later
JUSTINE PEERED INTO THE STUDY Jefferson had insisted she go to straight away and spied Radcliff sitting behind his writing desk. She quietly watched from the doorway as he leaned forward and placed a small stub of red wax into the flame of a candle.
His dark hair fell into his eyes as he pressed the end of the melted wax onto the folded parchment. He cast aside the wax, letting it clatter onto the desk, then snatched up the glass handle containing his seal and pressed it firmly into the soft wax holding together the parchment.
He set the seal aside and glanced up, meeting her gaze from across the room. Though there was an unwavering intensity within those handsome dark eyes, after a few breathtaking moments, a grin slowly spread across his lips, crinkling that jagged scar. “Come, dearest. I must speak to you at once. We have very little time.”
She quirked a brow and hurried toward him. Rounding the desk, she settled beside his chair. “What is it?”
He stood, his sable morning coat shifting around his muscled shoulders and arms. He held out the letter he had just sealed, his eyes never once leaving hers. “This is for you. All I ask is that you not open it until a week after you arrive in Cape Town.”
She blinked down at the sealed parchment he held out and glanced back up at him. “Cape Town?” she echoed. “Whatever do you mean? Is that why Henri and the other servants are scurrying about packing trunks?”
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