I need to assure them I’m safe. I need to tell them at least some of the ugly truth. I—
“Mama!” Lena burst in and threw herself at Meggy, climbing into her mother’s lap to wrap her in a hug and plant a sticky kiss on her cheek.
Drew followed behind with a bit more dignity. Old beyond his years, his expression showed relief and a measure of wariness. “You’re safe,” he said as if it weren’t obvious.
“Yes,” Meggy laughed. “I am. We all are.”
“Did the duke and Rand catch all the bad men?” Lena asked.
“They did. The counterfeiters and their bullies are in jail.” The ones that survived.
Lena smiled, but Drew tensed. His face wrinkled up in concentration. “Will I have to talk in court?” he asked, his voice wavering. Meggy hadn’t realized just how much he feared being asked to give witness. Brave lad. You would have done it, but at what cost?
“No,” she replied. “You won’t have to.”
“But Papa—”
“Your papa won’t go to court.”
“Did he get away?” Drew asked. The fear in his eyes broke his mother’s heart.
“Your papa is dead.” She couldn’t think of a way to dress it up. Lena leaned in closer, and Meggy wrapped an arm around her.
Drew still stood rigid. “Did Rand kill him?” he whispered.
“No!” Meggy replied. Thank God. I should have realized that it mattered to Drew, and probably Lena too, that Rand didn’t do it. They love him. Divided loyalties, even for a man as worthless as Fergus, could have torn them to bits.
Drew visibly relaxed and came closer. He snuggled up on the settee next to her. “What happened?” he asked.
She wrapped her free arm around to pull him close, giving herself a moment to think. How much do they need to know?
“Who did?” Lena prodded quietly.
“Corporal M—” Meggy began. Even his name made her sick. A child Lena’s age should never have to ask such a question, she thought. “Corporal Martin,” she said finally.
“I hate Corporal Martin,” Lena said emphatically. “I hope he was punished.”
“He was, darling,” Meggy said as she kissed the little one’s head. “He was.” A vision of Martin lying in his own blood with a gaping hole in his back invaded her mind. Whatever Lena imagined as a terrible punishment, she didn’t have to know the ugly truth. She let the vision go. Though she knew it would probably return, she refused to let the memory rule her life with her children.
Drew kept his silence, and Meggy worried what might be going on in his imagination. The three of them huddled together, sharing warmth for several long moments. “What will we do now?” Drew asked at last.
Meggy drew a deep breath. I wish I knew. “We’ll go home, I think,” she said out loud.
“To Canada? Good. I miss the forest. And the chickens,” Lena said. She meant Rand’s chickens, his house.
“I like it here,” Drew objected, sitting up straight. “I want to stay by Toby and Jonny. Can’t Rand keep us here?”
“Listen to me, Drew. We are not Rand’s responsibility. He and his family have been very kind, but we don’t belong here.”
Drew shook his head forcefully. “Ask him. He likes you. I know he does. At least ask him if we can stay. The countess—”
Lena broke in. “I like the countess, but I miss the chickens. Cat wants to go home too.” She glared at Drew and stuck out her lower lip. “I’ll bet Rand wants to go home.”
“Enough, you two. I’ve been traveling all day to see you, and I didn’t come to listen to you argue.”
Drew dipped his head. “Sorry, Mama,” he said before bobbing back up. “Would you at least talk to him?” His question earned him a frown from his sister.
“I’ll think about it,” Meggy said wearily. “Now back to the nursery with you. I need to change, but I will take tea with you this afternoon if you behave.”
Lena gave her another tight hug around the neck and a sound kiss. “Promise?”
“I promise,” Meggy smiled.
The little girl hopped down and skipped to the door with her brother following. Drew turned before leaving. “Don’t forget, you said you would think about asking Rand, too.”
She sighed and nodded. He left, seeming satisfied. Meggy sank back against the settee. I’ll think of little else. What are we going to do?
Rand leaned his back against the wall of the narrow hallway, crossed his arms, and remembered the other times he had waited for Meggy. Tea would be soon, and he needed to talk with her before family engulfed them.
The door opened slowly, and Meggy started at the sight of him, taking a half step backward. “Rand,” she breathed, “I can find my way now. I don’t need—”
He offered his arm for escort, but she ignored it. Everything in him wanted to pull her into his arms to comfort her, to hold her until ugly memories fled, and to kiss her until her fears subsided. He knew that would drive her away, as he watched her arms hang rigid at her side and her fingers nervously twist her skirts. He forced himself to give her room.
“May I escort you to tea anyway?” he asked.
“I promised Lena I would take tea in the nursery.”
Joy stretched his face into a smile. “Even better. I haven’t seen them yet. May I join you?”
He could almost see refusal in her eyes, see her prepare to verbalize it, but she nodded instead. He sent word downstairs not to expect him, and they climbed to the nursery in silence. How long can silence lie between two people before it becomes an impenetrable wall? I have no more notion how to breach it than I did on the journey to London, Rand thought.
“Rand!” Lena shouted when they entered the playroom. She threw herself into his arms when he dropped to his knees. She went without question, her trust soothing his sorely beaten heart. He was relieved that at least one of his ladies still trusted him.
Drew came up to them, solemn eyed, and glanced at his mother as if he had a question. She didn’t reply in word or gesture, but Rand knew she had conveyed a message to him with her motherly look. He offered the boy his hand, and the lad took it to shake.
Toby and Mary came to greet them as well. Rand knew better than to talk freely in front of them, but he struggled with it. He felt like he wobbled on ice floes on the Ottawa. One wrong step and he would plunge into the icy water. How much worse must it be for Meggy?
“Are you going to take tea with us?” Lena asked, pulling away.
“Of course. I love nursery tea!”
“Did you scuttle the dirty counterfeiters, Uncle Rand?” Toby demanded while they seated themselves. Nursery maids brought cold meat sandwiches and lemonade.
“Indeed we did, Toby. We trashed the evil villains.” Rand followed with a colorful story as brief as it was fictional about the triumph of good over evil. Drew stared at his plate, and Rand wondered what he’d already been told.
“Corporal Martin got punished severely,” Lena said, using one of her new words.
Meggy blanched at the words, and Rand’s collar felt tight. He swallowed hard before replying, “He did indeed.”
“They all did, silly,” Toby said. “The bad blokes all got it. I say, Uncle Rand, did Mama tell you we went to the British Museum to see the Rosetta stone last weekend with Jonny?”
“Where is your cousin?” Rand asked. “I thought he might be here.” He glanced at the nursery maid, raising a brow in question.
“Master Jonny doesn’t come every day. Some days he feels better than others,” she replied sadly.
“He was peaked yesterday,” Mary added, setting down her sandwich. “That’s what Mama called it. She said he shouldn’t have run so much in the park.” Worry marred her face.
“Does that happen often?” Meggy asked, wrinkling her
brow.
“More lately,” Toby answered. “Jonny says it’s his ‘cross to bear.’ He always laughs when he says it.”
They finished their meal quietly, and Lena demanded a story. In spite of declaring themselves much too old for the book she chose, all three of the older children gathered around Rand. He sat in a well-worn rocker and opened Margery Two Shoes.
This is how we heal, he thought, studying the scene around him. Drew sat on the floor with his chin on his hands, elbows on knees. For once, the innocent face of a child let go of its burden of care. Mary and Toby also sat on the floor equally intent. Lena, he saw, had picked up Cat and carried her over. When Meggy pulled up a second chair a few feet away, Lena crawled into her lap, looped one hand around her mother’s neck, and leaned her head on her mother’s chest while she still cuddled Cat. Yes. This is how we heal.
When he finished, the others returned to their games, but Lena slipped from Meggy’s lap to gaze up at him with one hand on his knees.
“When we go home, will you read to me?”
Home? He wondered how to choose his words; Lena went on before he could.
“Drew wants to stay here with Toby and Jonny, but Cat and I want to go home. We miss the chickens.”
Home. My home. His heart filled, and moisture began to pool in his eyes.
Meggy leaned over Lena and pulled her away. “Not now, Sweeting. We will talk later,” she said firmly.
Cold water to his face couldn’t have stunned Rand any more forcefully. “Yes, Lena. We’ll talk later,” he croaked. Meggy refused to meet his eyes.
At least Lena is healthy and happy, he thought as he rose to leave. “I best go talk to Catherine. I’m wondering exactly what Charles went home to,” he told Meggy.
She glanced over to where Drew played, absorbed in a game of the boys’ devising, something that involved the inevitable toy soldiers. Lena sat with Mary pretending to read to a collection of dolls and animals, Cat curled up at her side. “Me too. I’ll go down with you,” she told him.
Her response surprised him, but when Alfred, the young footman, met them on the way down, he drew strength from her presence at his side, her nearness giving him hope.
“The countess said to fetch you, sir,” Alfred said. The boy’s obvious unhappiness boded ill. He quickly blurted out why. “There’s been word from His Grace about the little ‘un. This time it doesn’t look well for him.”
“Jonny?”
“Yes, sir. The earl and countess are getting ready to go to the duke’s side.”
Rand turned to Meggy and took both her hands without thinking.
“I have to go with them. I need to be with Charles.” My presence matters! The pleasure that knowledge gave him after six years of estrangement was muted by concern for his cousin.
Meggy glanced up the stairs without letting go of his hands.
“The children need you,” Rand told her.
She squeezed his hands. “They will be well for a while. I’m coming with you.”
Chapter 40
Mortal beings can do little for a failing heart. The physician, a man of solemn dignity blessedly lacking the pomposity common to many in his profession, prescribed absolute bed rest, an infusion of foxglove he called “digitalis,” and prayer.
Will, Catherine, and Rand plagued the physician with questions while he sat in weary resignation across from them. Charles remained upstairs, unwilling to leave his son’s side. The physician repeated what they already knew: no one understood why Jonny’s heart had been inadequate from birth, why he tired easily, why he suffered from frequent dizziness, or why he had spells that immobilized him.
Meggy sat quietly in the fading light and let the others query the medical specialist about things for which he appeared to have no answer. Charles had furnished the informal drawing room of his modest townhouse for comfort rather than fashion, but as the day marched on toward evening and the conversation went in circles, it began to feel confining.
The physician responded to one more redundant question with the same patience with which he had answered the others, “Lord Jonathon suffers from dropsy brought on by cardiac insufficiency.”
Catherine leaned forward at that and demanded, “Explain one more time. In simple words, please. The boy is struggling to breathe.”
He sighed deeply and responded, “The lad’s heart won’t beat hard enough to move the blood, and fluid is accumulating in the lungs.”
When the earl demanded to know what Jonny’s heart had to do with fluid in the lungs, the physician admitted that his profession didn’t know enough to explain it, but that the phenomenon was well documented. He withdrew from the room with relief, mopping his brow.
“Quacks, the lot of them,” the earl complained, sinking back and putting one booted foot over his well-clad knee. “Charles needs to find another.”
Catherine smiled at the contradiction in his two pronouncements, a small sad smile. “You know very well Charles chose this man after going through half the physicians in London. He’s the best to be had.”
“Foxglove is poison. Every countryman knows that,” the earl grumbled. “Wouldn’t let my cattle near it, and he’s feeding it to a boy.”
Rand leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. His hair stuck out at odd angles where he had run his hands through it in agitation throughout the evening. He addressed the earl, but Meggy suspected he spoke in part to convince himself. “The physician explained that, Will. Too much would kill him. Even a little may make him ill, but it may clear his lungs. It is the only hope he has. The infusion has to be administered in small doses throughout the night with great care. That’s why Charles insists on doing it himself.”
“We shouldn’t leave him alone there,” Catherine said. “I’ll keep an eye on Charles for now.” She rose in one graceful movement and turned to speak directly to Meggy. “If you want to go home and see to the children, we can call the carriage back when we need it.”
Meggy stood up as well, uncertain what to do, concerned that the earl didn’t rise when the ladies did; it was an uncharacteristic lapse in manners. He had sunk into grief, his chin down, and his hands clenched in front of him. The boy’s illness affected him profoundly.
Rand, who rose immediately, had eyes only for Meggy. “There’s little enough we can do for the boy. You take care of yourself.”
Meggy bristled briefly, but her shoulders dropped in resignation. If he thinks me too fragile to bear this situation, I’ve given him cause.
“We’ll take care of Charles,” Catherine said. “Will and Rand will spell me throughout the night. You’ve had a long journey and a difficult time. Get some rest.”
“The children worry. Hug them all for us and try to reassure them,” Rand added.
Meggy wasn’t so sure she wanted that burden; Toby and Mary loved Jonny, and Drew and Lena had rapidly become attached. It would be better to go than to sit here doing nothing, with Rand hovering near me, and grief all around and too much time to think.
“I would like to see him one more time before I go,” Meggy said.
She followed Catherine upstairs to the master bedroom where Jonny lay, at his father’s insistence. The room had easier access for servants coming up from the kitchen and more room for trays, medical bottles, and a father’s rocking chair. Charles slumped there, a book unread in his lap.
The sound of the boy gasping for breath horrified them all. Meggy fought back tears and struggled to convince her own heart to stop racing. As a child, she had fallen from her father’s bateau. She remembered well the plunge to the lake bottom, the fight to the surface, and the panic when she couldn’t breathe. Poor Jonny. Ease his struggle, Lord, she prayed, and comfort his father.
Charles looked up when they approached and shook his head, as if to say, “No change.” Weariness and worry could
have crushed him, but Meggy knew him to be stronger than that. The nightmare he faced had been with him since Jonny was born.
“Is he tolerating the infusion?” Catherine’s brisk practicality seemed to help the duke.
“He gagged on the last one, and I thought he would regurgitate it, but it stayed down,” Charles replied.
Meggy, emboldened by the shared crisis, bent to kiss the duke’s cheek. “I’m being sent home to see to the children. I’ll return tomorrow.”
“Hug them for me, and keep them close,” he told her, his eyes straying back to his son.
A sob, unbidden and unexpected, escaped her. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!”
Catherine’s arm came around her, and Charles reached up and took one hand. “Don’t be. All we can do is comfort one another.”
“You protected me in Bristol and came home to this. I am so sorry.”
The duke’s expression fluctuated from grief to consternation. “Yes, I should have stayed close to home. I won’t leave again. Not until—”
He didn’t say it, and she had no words of comfort, no words to explain that he mistook her meaning. Meggy blamed herself for his absence from his son, not Charles. With a swift hug for Catherine, she left them, taking her tears with her.
Long after the servants sought their beds, just before the beleaguered household could rise again with the sun, Rand made his way down the darkened stairs to the drawing room. He picked up the rose-covered teapot, felt its cool sides, and sniffed inside hopefully, only to be disappointed.
He glanced longingly at the cabinet where Charles hid more potent beverages and considered his options. Catherine ordered him to go home and try to sleep, but his mind raced across problems, one more intractable than the next. His future and Meggy’s—individually and jointly—jumbled together with his sister’s hopes, his cousin’s dilemmas, and the fate of the poor boy in the upstairs bedroom.
The Renegade Wife Page 26
