Aurelia practically burst off the page. The only colour was a slight hint of cream and roses in her cheeks added with a deft stroke of pastel. Her eyes flashed and Jonathan could almost hear her surprisingly deep laugh as he examined her likeness. She looked as if she had been caught and pinned to the paper in the middle of a conversation. Her vibrancy made Jonathan’s throat tighten. He’d never seen her looking this alive or full of exuberance. He was consumed by an urge to seek out his wife and see if he could replicate that expression himself. It mattered to him enormously to see the enjoyment she was capable of and know that he had never made her laugh in such a manner. Even though the nights they spent together were a typhoon of ecstasy, the barrier between them was as great as ever. Despite all his intentions of remaining at a distance he had grown deeply fond of her. So fond that thinking about it made his heart feel like the inner of a lobster, laid out to be picked and eaten at will once his shell had been cracked. He had no idea how to begin communicating that to her or reaching a state where she might feel as fond of him in return.
He wondered belatedly to whom she had been listening when Cassandra had made her sketch and hoped it was not another man. He reminded himself that he had no business growing possessive over her previous life. That was too uncomfortably like his father’s behaviour.
‘Aurelia will love it,’ he said.
Cassandra’s brow furrowed. ‘She may not. It was done when we lived in Oxfordshire and I imagine she will have forgotten I ever started it. Perhaps you should keep this for yourself. Or perhaps I shouldn’t give it to you at all.’
She held her hand out and Jonathan instinctively pulled the picture towards himself, not wanting to risk her snatching it away. He could not imagine why his wife would be upset to receive such a flattering likeness of herself. It should be displayed where visitors could admire it. However, he rolled it back into the tube it had come in and slipped it inside his breast pocket. He would not mention it to Aurelia and it would look well in a frame on his dressing table. Aurelia never ventured into his bedroom so it would be perfectly safe to place it there where he could look at it in the absence of the woman herself.
When Jonathan returned to the drawing room he discovered that Aurelia was absent. She had gone to lie down in her old bedroom, Theodora explained, after she was suddenly taken ill with a bout of sickness.
‘Take me to her, please,’ Jonathan requested.
He followed Theodora up the stairs and into the room that had once been his wife’s. It occurred to him that he had never seen this room before and had no idea what it would have looked like when Aurelia lived there. Now it was without any signs of ownership. There was nothing of her personality in evidence, unlike the rooms she occupied in their home. She had completely left this life behind her to become part of his.
Aurelia herself lay on a low reading couch in front of the fireplace. Someone had placed a coverlet over her and her stockinged feet peeked out at the end. Her face was pale and she was sipping from a cup of water. She looked so unlike her usual self that it was all Jonathan could do not to bundle her into his arms protectively.
‘What happened?’ he asked dropping to one knee besides her and taking her hand. It was clammy and alarmingly warm.
‘It’s nothing,’ Aurelia protested. ‘I merely overindulged and now I am paying the price of far too many candied plums and sugared almonds.’
Theodora stood in the doorway, her arms folded. ‘You told me you were cramping,’ she said accusingly.
Aurelia glared at her sister and a little of her vitality returned. ‘I know you would love nothing more than to make a patient of me, Dora, but I’m afraid to disappoint you now. My nausea has passed and I feel well enough to go home. Mr Harcourt, are you happy to leave now?’
‘Of course,’ Jonathan said. ‘I’ll ask your father to bring the coach around. I’m sure he won’t mind us using it if you are unwell.’
‘There is no need,’ Aurelia said. She pushed herself upright and swung her legs to the floor. ‘I can walk home. I would like to clear my head and the cold air will help.’
Jonathan eyed her doubtfully, but she put her hand to his cheek and gazed into his eyes.
‘Please,’ she entreated, ‘walk home with me.’
When she looked at him in such a manner Jonathan was incapable of denying her anything. ‘Very well. I don’t like it, but I will do it if it makes you happy.’
‘Thank you,’ Aurelia said. She brushed her fingers against his jaw, making Jonathan shudder with delight. ‘Dora can help me dress. Will you go make our apologies to Mother and Father?’
As Jonathan left the room Theodora followed and caught him by the arm. ‘You should have insisted that she ride in the carriage. You are her husband after all.’
‘And I am not a tyrant,’ Jonathan retorted, far too angrily. ‘If Aurelia wishes to do something, I will not forbid it.’
Dora’s face lost some of its belligerence. ‘I’m pleased to hear it, Mr Harcourt, but there is a fine line between tyranny and insistence that someone take care of herself.’
Jonathan pondered this as he went downstairs. His father had never conceded when his wishes were opposed. Had there been occasions when he was right to do so?
* * *
By the time they were halfway home he was regretting his decision because Aurelia walked slowly and uncertainly. She was obviously still in some discomfort, as she paused to press her hands against her belly and gave Jonathan an apologetic smile.
By the time they reached the front door she was barely capable of standing. She took off her cloak, but wobbled and looked as if she was about to fall. Jonathan did not hesitate. He swept her into his arms and off her feet.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked.
‘I’m taking you to your room,’ he said.
‘I can walk,’ she protested. ‘You can put me down.’
‘Not this time,’ Jonathan said sternly and began to climb the staircase with her in his arms. It was no effort. Most of the bulk in his arms was her copious gown and layers of petticoats. Aurelia herself was slight and light as a feather. Jonathan nudged open the door with his foot and laid her on her bed. He lit the candle and both lamps, then sat back on the bed beside her.
‘What do you need?’ he asked, stroking the damp hair from her brow.
‘Nothing,’ she murmured, then grimaced. ‘Water, please.’
She shuddered and clutched her abdomen, then groaned faintly, biting her lip. She was clearly trying to minimise her pain. It hurt Jonathan to see it. He walked to the door.
‘I’ll send Annie to help you undress and light a fire.’
‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
He returned to her side and squeezed her hand reassuringly. ‘I won’t be gone long.’
He filled a jug of water, then slipped into the dining room and poured a tumbler of whisky to steady his nerves before heading upstairs. He almost collided with Annie as she appeared at the bedroom door, white faced. In her hands was what Jonathan recognised as Aurelia’s nightgown, bundled up but clearly bloodstained. His heart leapt to his throat and he pushed past the maid. Aurelia was on her bed, curled into a ball on her side with her hands clenching tightly to the rim of the bowl from her nightstand and looking sick. Her hair was loosely bound in a plait, but strands of hair were clinging to her cheeks and neck where she perspired.
‘I started to bleed,’ she moaned. ‘More than I normally do and so suddenly.’
She screwed her eyes tightly and gave a loud sob. Jonathan did some rapid mathematics in his head, trying to remember when her last month’s courses had been. Six weeks or maybe even longer, he realised, since the last time she had been unable to admit him to her room. She was clutching a bedsheet between her knees. With a shaking hand Jonathan poured her a glass of water and handed it to her.
‘There is so much more blood than usual,�
�� she groaned, squeezing his hand. ‘It hurts, Jonathan, it hurts so much.’
Annie was loitering in the doorway. Mrs Barnes had joined her.
‘Go back inside and wait with your mistress,’ Jonathan commanded Annie. ‘Mrs Barnes, please make a pot of tea for Mrs Harcourt. I am going to fetch a physician.’
‘There is no need,’ Aurelia protested.
Jonathan shook his head, staring in horror at the spreading crimson patch on the sheet.
‘I’ll be the judge of that. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
‘No, Jonathan—’ Aurelia said again, but he cut her off.
‘You will do what you are told this time, Aurelia.’
He left the room and strode downstairs, grabbing his coat and stepping out into the bitter night.
* * *
Dr Tavistock was at home, although the manservant who answered the door told Jonathan he was dining with his family.
‘It is Christmas night, sir,’ he protested. ‘The doctor won’t come now.’
‘I don’t give a damn whether it is the day of Christ’s second coming,’ Jonathan growled. ‘My wife is ill. Tell him Edward Langdon’s partner is here and, if he wants another farthing from Mr Langdon, he will see me.’
As he had hoped, Edward’s name and the threatened loss of custom did the trick and while Jonathan placed around the hallway Dr Tavistock gathered his bag and coat.
* * *
Before long the doctor was standing at Aurelia’s bedside while Jonathan paced along the landing on the other side of the closed door, feeling like a bitch denied access to her pups. Aurelia could not be seriously ill. He was not sure if he would be able to endure that. When the door opened he rushed inside, demanding to know everything.
‘It’s possible she has lost a child very early in the pregnancy,’ Dr Tavistock said quietly. ‘I am unable to confirm it, but I have seen cases before.’
From the bed Aurelia groaned and gave a sob. Jonathan dropped to her side and took her hand. He stroked his thumb softly over the underside of her wrist.
‘Did you know?’
She blinked furiously to clear her eyes of tears.
‘I only started to suspect a few days ago. I was barely two weeks past my usual time,’ she said. She covered her face with her hands and her next words were muffled. ‘I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure.’
Jonathan tightened his grip on her hand and closed his eyes.
‘I’m sorry,’ Aurelia wept. ‘I am so sorry.’
‘What for?’ Jonathan asked, looking at her again. What on earth was she apologising for?
‘Your child. Your heir. I keep failing. I hoped this month...’
It felt as if someone had plunged a hand into Jonathan’s belly and ripped out his innards. She was in pain and weak, yet she thought it was the loss of an heir that he cared about.
‘No! No, you haven’t failed me.’ He sat on the edge of the bed and took both her hands. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and hold her to him, but with the doctor present even this breach of restraint felt odd. ‘There will be other chances. We don’t even know if Dr Tavistock is right. You must not torture yourself.’
He found it impossible to grieve for something he had not known about until a moment before and that might not even have existed, but his heart broke for Aurelia’s sake.
‘Can you give her anything to help her?’ he asked.
‘I’ve prepared a draught of laudanum,’ the doctor said. It will make her sleep and when she wakes there will be less pain.’
Less pain, but not less sorrow, Jonathan suspected. He took the glass that Dr Tavistock had prepared and gave it to Aurelia, holding the rim to her lips with his own two hands, then escorted the doctor to the front door.
‘A sitz bath and wet-sheet treatment daily will help draw any congestions and the pain will ease over the coming days,’ Dr Tavistock assured him. ‘I’ll send you my bill shortly. Goodnight and Happy Christmas to you.’
Happy Christmas? Jonathan smiled through a clenched jaw at the man’s insensitivity. It was barely comprehensible that the nicest Christmas Day he had experienced should end in such a way. He sagged against the door frame, then returned to Aurelia’s room with a heavy heart. She was still awake, though her eyes were growing heavy.
‘Will you read to me until I sleep?’
Jonathan reached for the book on her bedside table, expecting something frivolous. It turned out to be an old copy of Malory’s Death of Arthur translated into English. It was something he had never read, but from the look of the well-thumbed volume Aurelia had frequently returned to it.
Aurelia lay back. Already her eyes were starting to droop and she was struggling to remain upright. Jonathan pulled a footstool to the side of the bed and began to read. When Aurelia’s eyes closed for the third time in succession, Jonathan put the book down quietly. Almost asleep, Aurelia’s face was smooth and untroubled. He bent and kissed her forehead.
‘Goodnight, my dearest,’ he whispered. He wouldn’t dare call her that under normal circumstances, but she stirred a little and smiled.
‘Goodnight, Arthur.’
Jonathan grinned. The laudanum was confusing her and she must be imagining herself in the book. She would make a fine Guinevere. He left her alone, extinguishing the candle and lamps, and finally went to his own room. The green-silk nightgown he had planned to give her remained unopened in its gaily beribboned package.
Jonathan had spent the past five years alone on Christmas night, but none had seemed as long or lonely as the one where his wife lay in a drugged slumber a few steps away. She must recover. He’d do anything to know she would be safe. Anything to keep her safe in the future. He’d been given a glimpse of a happy family life that afternoon; something he’d never dared to consider could be his. To have Aurelia snatched away from him would be worse than cruel. It would destroy him.
Chapter Fifteen
After a week of convalescing Aurelia was convinced that any longer in bed would see her screaming like an inmate of the Bedlam Hospital. She felt better within three days, but had stayed in bed for a full week, only leaving her room to take the unpleasant cold sitz baths Dr Tavistock had prescribed. There she shivered in the hip-deep water of the tub, counting each day until she might stop taking them. The only thing that made it bearable was Jonathan’s company. Being wrapped from neck to feet in damp sheets, she was perfectly modestly dressed, so he sat beside her and continued to read the tales of Arthur and his knights out loud to her. He read well, changing his voice and expression and clearly enjoying himself. He had started reading where her bookmark had been and continued each day. Aurelia hoped he never opened the book at the front and discovered the inscription there.
From your own devoted Arthur
She should have burned the book with all the other love tokens Arthur had sent her. His gifts had generally been what Aurelia considered safe and slightly impersonal, such as flowers or chocolates, and she could not bring herself to destroy the beautiful volume that had been uncharacteristically thoughtful. After a week she felt stronger, but her mood continued to be low and she grieved for the loss of the baby that might have been. She suspected that however many children she might eventually give birth to, she would always hold a special place in her heart for the first lost child.
* * *
Lying in her room did nothing to lift her spirits and she insisted upon leaving her room to mark the passing of the old year. Jonathan made a half-hearted attempt to protest, but submitted and they spent New Year’s Eve sitting together in the drawing room. Edward called early but left at eleven, pleading a cold. As the clock chimed midnight and 1850 turned into 1851, Jonathan took her hand.
‘Happy New Year, Aurelia, I hope this one will be good to both of us.’
He looked grave. He swore he did not hold her failure to give him a child against he
r, but she could not believe he did not regret that he had chosen a wife who was incapable of doing the one thing he had married her to do.
Aurelia leaned over and kissed his cheek and felt him stiffen. Since Christmas night when he had carried her in his arms and held her close he had seemed wary of touching her. Perhaps he was fearful of injuring her. She was feeling much better physically and now her body sang to her that it wanted to be touched again. Each month when her courses had prevented them making love, Jonathan had waited for her invitation to resume. This might be a similar situation and she would have to make the overture.
‘It’s late, but you don’t have to go to the factory tomorrow,’ she murmured. ‘Would you like to come to my room?’
His eyes widened and he sat forward. ‘Are you sure you are well enough?’
He had not been able to disguise the eagerness in his voice. She was right that he wanted to and she wanted to sing with joy.
‘I think so,’ she replied cautiously.
‘Then, yes. Yes, I would,’ he said. His face lit up, reminding Aurelia how handsome her husband was, but what gave her greater joy was seeing how eagerly he responded to her invitation.
‘There’s something I need to collect first.’
He went into his own room and returned carrying a flat box wrapped in red paper and a green ribbon.
‘I was going to give you this on Christmas night,’ he said, ‘but, well...’
He didn’t need to finish the sentence. Their eyes met and Aurelia saw a reflection of the grief that she felt. The powerful need to be close rose up again inside her. She unwrapped the box and lifted out a nightgown of such beauty that she gasped aloud.
‘I thought you might enjoy wearing this,’ Jonathan said.
‘Very much so,’ Aurelia murmured, tracing her finger over the pleats of lace at the neckline. ‘Will you wait while I change?’
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