Astrid cuddled the Mad Slurper to her shoulder. “Maybe when you are not too tired to hold a baby for more than a feeding, your husband will be less inclined to fret.”
Felicity flopped back against her pillows. “You know, Astrid, when people say they are tired in their bones?”
“Yes.” Astrid’s burden emitted a tiny burp, sending his aunt into a round of appreciative cooing.
“Now I know what that means. I am so utterly fatigued, even breathing is an effort. If I stand to use the chamber pot, I get light-headed. At least I’m getting out of this bed, though.”
“It will take time,” Astrid chided gently. She tucked Pen in beside his sister in the bassinet and sat on Felicity’s bed. “You lost a lot of blood, and you are still bleeding.”
“I bleed, and I use the chamber pot, and I leak milk… I feel like a human drain, Astrid. And my poor stomach will horrify Gareth out of any amorous thoughts he’s ever had about me. I look like the world’s largest prune.”
Astrid was saved from casting about for a diplomatic rejoinder by a knock on the door. She hopped off the bed, then grabbed the bedpost to steady herself.
She went to the door at a more careful walk and opened it a crack.
“David!” She threw the door open the rest of the way and wrapped her arms around her brother. “Oh, it is so good to see you,” she said, drawing him into the room. “You’ve arrived at a good time. Felicity is awake, and the babies are asleep.”
“And best of all,” David added, “Heathgate is not straining on the end of his chain, threatening to breathe fire on all passersby. Hello, Sisters.” He returned Astrid’s hug, then kissed Felicity’s cheek. “How are you?”
“Tired,” Felicity said, smiling up at him. “Relentlessly tired. But alive.”
“Of course you are,” he replied, propping a hip on the bed and giving her a pensive look. “You are much, much too pale, Lissy.” He put the backs of his fingers against her forehead. “No fever, though. Well done of you.”
“I had help.”
“Really?” David raised an eyebrow at Astrid. “I handed my horse off to a groom at the foot of the steps, so you’ll have to enlighten me. And ladies, do not even think to dissemble.”
“Astrid and Andrew had to turn one of the babies,” Felicity said. “Heathgate, fortunately, was felled by exhaustion for those few moments and spared us his presence for the actual deliveries, though it was a near thing.”
“Divine providence, though there’s doubtless a part of him that would delight in shocking the gossips.” He ambled over to the bassinet and picked up one bundle. “What unbelievably lovely little babies these are. Be proud of yourselves, ladies. When God wants to add to Creation, he chooses only the most worthy assistants.”
“What a lovely sentiment,” Felicity said.
Astrid remained silent but thought of Andrew, of his calm in the birthing room, of his methodical study of childbirth—in multiple languages—when Astrid had mentally accused him of hiding in his study by the hour.
“Babies,” said David, picking up the second child, “make everything lovely.”
He kept the child—Pen—in his arms when he came back to sit on the bed.
“Now,” he said, “pay attention, Sisters, because Heathgate will soon come through that door like a jealous horse and shoo me off to drink brandy with Greymoor in the billiards room. Felicity,” he continued, “you are to eat red meat at every meal until the bleeding stops, and then twice a day until your energy is back where you need it to be. Liver or other organ meats would be best. Some Spanish oranges would be well advised too. You are to drink as much as you can stand, because you will be nursing two babies, not one, and you are to get out of this bed for a few minutes at a time, starting immediately.”
His tone dared either sister to argue with him, but they merely exchanged a look of sororal curiosity.
“You are justifiably exhausted, Lissy,” he pointed out. “But for the past week, you haven’t even gone up and down a flight of stairs. Soon you will lose the strength you had when you climbed into this bed, and thus you will invite more fatigue. I will take my leave of you now, but I sincerely hope that before you blow out the candles tonight, you will consider reading for a few minutes by the window, sitting by the fire while Astrid changes your sheets, or taking a turn about the room.”
David glanced at the ceiling, then looked at them askance. “What is that noise?”
“The playroom is directly above us,” Felicity said. “Gareth and Andrew went up there to visit him.”
“I will offer mine host a proper greeting,” David said, kissing each sister on the cheek. He handed Pen to Astrid before adding, “Remember: red meat, fluids, and moderate activity.”
When the door closed behind him, Felicity flopped the covers back and wrestled her way to the edge of the bed.
“I feel like Dr. Mayhew’s younger, better-informed assistant paid me a call,” she said. “Dr. Mayhew said to remain abed for at least a week after James was born, and mentioned neither fluids nor red meat.”
“David has medical training,” Astrid replied. Also good timing and a way of dealing with the difficult topics directly. “Could I talk you into some cold slices of beef, perhaps taken by the fire?”
Felicity pushed to her feet. “I suppose so. After which, by God, I am going to read something besides that dreadful Mrs. Radcliffe.”
“She awaits you by the fire. I’ll order you a tray, then, and see what all that rumpus was about in the playroom.”
Astrid made it as far as the hallway before a footman stopped her with a note.
Meet me in the stable in twenty minutes.
Greymoor
Now this was interesting—Andrew hadn’t, apparently, decamped for Sweden without notice.
Astrid and her husband had developed a cordial, superficial means of communicating over the past few days. They had worked as a team when Felicity had needed them, and Andrew exhibited better spirits than when Astrid had left him at Enfield.
But he was too thin, and he avoided her by day and slept elsewhere at night, suggesting they were in the midst of a cease-fire, not a rapprochement. Astrid wasn’t about to question him directly regarding his preferences for their next move.
But neither would she run from a confrontation, so she made her way downstairs to the kitchen entrance fifteen minutes later and retrieved her old, heavy cloak from a peg by the door. When she was bundled up against the cold, she grabbed a few lumps of sugar and eschewed gloves, mittens, scarf, or hat.
The stables were deserted when she gained the door to the barn. The grooms had done their morning chores, fed the midday meal, and repaired to their quarters over the carriage house to clean harness, play cards, or nap. Fairly’s mare stood in a loose box, demolishing a pile of fragrant hay, Andrew’s gelding doing likewise in the stall beside her.
Andrew’s timing, at least, would guarantee them privacy.
And what, in fact, did Astrid want to tell her husband?
That she loved him, of course, but love to Andrew was apparently no inducement whatsoever.
“Greetings, dear Astrid,” a cheerful male voice called from behind her.
Astrid whirled in surprise then had to grab an empty saddle rack to catch her balance. “Henry?”
He grinned and bowed. “Your most devoted and doting caller, in the flesh. I understand felicitations are in order, if what Lady Quinn told my mother is correct.”
“Felicitations are in order,” Astrid said, smiling. “The marchioness presented her husband with a healthy boy and girl just three days past. It is good of you to call.” Though unusual, given the weather, the state of things between their families, and the normal restrictions on a new mother’s social calendar.
Henry pulled off riding gloves, finger by finger, and stuffed them in his pocket. “Lady Heathgate was waving the note from Heathgate around at some tea or other yesterday, letting all and sundry know exactly where you bided. If her coach weren�
�t too heavy for this snow, she’d be here, I’m sure.”
Unease prickled up Astrid’s neck. “I don’t see your horse.”
“Tied him at the bottom of the drive,” Henry said, fingering a bridle that hung by an empty stall. He took it off its hook and fiddled with it, which was presumptuous, riding equipment being among a gentleman’s more personal property.
“I’ll summon a groom to fetch him,” Astrid said. “I’m sure, after toiling all the way out here from Town, you don’t want to leave a valuable animal standing in the cold.”
Henry shook his head as he unfastened a buckle. “Can’t let you do that, Astrid dearest.” He hung the bridle back on its hook, though he’d unfastened the thin snaffle reins and was drawing them across his palm in an odd, repetitive motion.
And Astrid dearest? Unease lurched closer to dread.
“Whyever not? A decent horse is worth quite a sum, and even the worst shouldn’t be left to stand in the weather.”
She started to walk past him, intent on summoning a groom, but Henry’s arm snaked out to catch her in a punishing grip above the elbow.
“Henry, turn loose of me this instant.”
He grinned at her again, and the light in his eyes made Astrid’s flesh crawl. “Struggle,” he challenged her softly as he tightened his grip. “Please.”
“What are you about?”
“You won’t struggle,” Henry said, pulling the sort of face a doting swain made when a lady’s dance card was full. “Alas for me, but I suppose time being of the essence, it’s for the best. Still, I’ve never beaten a pregnant woman before—might have been fun, you know? One usually has to pay for that variety of sport.”
He shot a speculative look at the bulge of her stomach, and when his gaze dropped, Astrid wrenched away. She got all of two steps before Henry’s fist grabbing her voluminous cloak stopped her progress. He wrestled her around to face him and delivered a stinging backhand across her cheek.
“Naughty, naughty,” he crooned, raising his hand for another blow.
***
Andrew made his excuses as Fairly dragooned Heathgate off to the library for a celebratory tot—and wasn’t it a relief that somebody else was on hand to keep Gareth from hovering over his wife even as she slept?
Life was, in fact, full of relief. Relief that Felicity was slowly, slowly rallying. Relief that Andrew again dwelled under the same roof as his wife, and relief that Astrid’s tracks through the snow were singular, suggesting she’d hared off to the stables without maid, footman, or groom in tow.
Good things had been known to happen in stables, and at this time of day, the barn would afford Andrew privacy with his wife, so he followed her there, pausing outside the barn door for a moment to gather his courage.
The sun shone with the relentless brightness of a snowy winter day, the eaves dripped with a promise of moderating temperatures, and all was right with the world—or soon would be, if luck was with him.
On that fortifying thought, Andrew grasped the door latch.
The sound of a blow, flesh on flesh, rent the winter stillness, followed by a male voice, soft, snide, the words indistinguishable.
Astrid was in that stable.
Andrew’s entire life was in that stable.
Her voice came to him, defiant, bothered, not the least afraid, then more snide male taunts.
Andrew had no weapons, but Astrid had no weapons either, save her wit and courage. He crept closer and cracked the door.
***
Astrid cringed, her arms wrapped around her belly, as Henry cocked his arm back for a second blow.
“Touching.” Henry smirked, lowering his hand. “You protect my brother’s heir rather than yourself. Did you know”—Henry wrapped the reins tightly around Astrid’s wrists—“Herbert refused to share you with me? I had it all planned, the pitch darkness, the dressing gown, slipping up the back stairs of a Sunday night like a marital thief—what fun, eh? It wasn’t as if Herbert actually enjoyed servicing you, but that damned title does put certain requirements on a fellow. He wasn’t as stingy with some of his other toys though, or with your money.”
A pang of sympathy for Herbert’s hunters pierced Astrid’s ire, for a man who’d strike a petite, defenseless, pregnant woman would delight in abusing a helpless beast with whip and spurs. “What are you talking about?”
“My brother,” Henry said, giving the leather a vicious yank, “or should I say my late brother, was becoming too headstrong. He begrudged me the occasional loan from your funds, but then, he’d also married you against my wishes. He got you pregnant against my wishes, telling me it was what Father would have wanted. Bah! All Father wanted was to tramp around in the mud, shooting at anything that moved—a convenient propensity, in the end.”
Henry put a tight knot in the reins, painfully binding Astrid’s wrists.
“Is that snug enough for you?” he asked oh-so-pleasantly. “Such a shame we don’t have time to play…”
She needed to keep Henry talking. Sooner or later, somebody would check on the horses, or on her—wouldn’t they?
“You sent the note telling me to meet you here, didn’t you?” She was damned if she’d let Henry know how much her bindings hurt.
“Clever of me, wasn’t it?” Henry yanked on the trailing ends of the reins, pulling Astrid toward the door of the saddle room. “You see, I am the clever one in the benighted Allen family, but by definition, that means my parents and my dear siblings were unable to appreciate my superior intelligence. While that allows a fellow a certain freedom, it does grow tedious, always having to manage every detail oneself. Come along.”
Astrid weaved on her feet, half in earnest. “I’m dizzy.”
“Come anyway, bitch,” he growled, “or I’ll drag you. And right now, you don’t particularly want to be on the floor, much less on your back, do you?”
Astrid stumbled along behind him, her sense of balance hampered with her hands tied in front of her. The saddle room loomed at the end of the barn aisle like a crypt, with doors opening both onto the aisle and onto the outside wall of the barn. If Henry got her in there, he could easily kill her and leave the building unseen.
“So it was you who poisoned me? And was it you who pushed me down the stairs?”
“Now that’s exactly what I mean,” Henry said, reverting to eerily pleasant tones. “I did indeed put the poison in your raspberry jam. Mother wouldn’t have gone near the stuff, but as for that, Mother nearly caught me giving you a little push down the steps. I do this for her, too, you know, dutiful fellow that I am. She doesn’t care for Dougie. Doesn’t appreciate nipfarthing, pompous condescension, doesn’t realize the poor boy can’t help himself. Douglas was due to join us for our weekly tête-à-tête, and it should have been he who was suspected of pushing you down those stairs, but alas, spontaneous schemes are sometimes not the best. Tell me you did suspect him, just a bit, hmm?”
Nausea rose, for once having nothing to do with Astrid’s condition. She considered bolting while Henry fumbled with the latch on the saddle-room door.
“How does pushing me down the stairs harm Douglas?” Though accusations of murder would rather hamper a man’s prospects.
“Foul play would appear to be in his interests rather than mine at present, though Dougie, I regret to inform you, is not long for this world.” He peered into the saddle room. “Damn it. It’s black as Hades in there.”
Henry Allen, cold-blooded murderer of innocents, was apparently afraid of the dark, thank God.
***
Astrid conversed with a homicidal lunatic, as if the man had come to call at teatime. Through the cracked door, Andrew had a narrow view of the barn aisle and could see his wife tethered by the hands as she was dragged toward the saddle room. Her captor was solidly built, though not as tall as Andrew.
Not as tall as Douglas Allen either. The dim lighting of the barn’s interior shrouded the man’s features when he turned to head down the aisle toward the saddle room, hauling
Astrid behind him.
The saddle room held weapons—knives for trimming and repairing harness, farrier’s tools, and other items a man might use to take the life of a small, defenseless woman.
Astrid stumbled, and Andrew nearly bolted through the door to catch her. She righted herself, grousing at the fellow who dragged her through the gloom.
Andrew considered working his way around the barn from the outside, but the door from the saddle room on the outside barn wall might well be locked. The element of surprise was his only advantage, and he could not squander it. When Andrew might have slipped into the barn, the fellow contemplating Astrid’s murder yanked the saddle-room door closed and came stalking back up the aisle, forcing Andrew to give up his vantage point as well.
He eased the barn door closed the two inches he’d dared open it, just as the crunch of snow behind him warned him he was no longer alone.
“Greymoor, what in God’s name is going on?”
The voice was clipped, irritated, and far from welcome, for what murderer ever worked alone when he might recruit a willing accomplice?
***
“Your immediate family seems to suffer from a propensity for fatal accidents,” Astrid observed. Henry tugged her along, and she had no choice but to trot along behind him, like an obedient dog.
“They do, bless them. Father was my first stroke of genius, and then when Herbert became too… obstreperous, he was the next to go. I blush to admit I started a few rumors suggesting Herbert might have taken his own life—a diversionary tactic, of course.”
Henry passed the reins to one hand to fiddle with a lantern hanging from a crossbeam. “You are the first person to connect those two deaths, and they occurred in exactly the same fashion. Herbert moved, damn him, and ruined my shot, but it did the job, nonetheless.”
“And you think you can also murder Douglas, leaving you with the title?”
“Not a doubt in my mind—this one’s empty, bugger it.” Henry tossed the lamp aside, the resulting crash making the horses restive. “I will be creative, maybe sabotage his curricle, though I rather fancy it myself. I might hire somebody to call him out and anticipate the count just the least, most unfortunate bit—that sort of thing happens all the time.”
Andrew; Lord Of Despair Page 27
