“I am somewhat weary, yes,” she replied. It was a lie. It was not fatigue that kept her to her rooms, but misery and longing. When she was not with the children, she thought only of Elliott. Her heart ached for him.
Georgette brought a tray over to her and set it down on the nearby table. Jane did not even glance at it, for she was not hungry. She knew she ought to eat, for the child’s sake, but she could not bring herself to. Not that evening, anyway.
“I was wondering if you might join me tomorrow for a brief excursion into the next town?” Georgette continued. “It has been so long since you have been out of doors. The fresh air may do you the world of good.”
Jane smiled tightly.
“I walked in the gardens with the children, just this afternoon.”
“I meant, out of doors with an adult. We may shop for toys for the new arrival? Would you like that?” Georgette was all sweetness and light again, but it was much too late for that.
She had shown her true colours at the church, and Jane would not forget that in a hurry. If Georgette had not spoken the way she had, and told the Dowager of her plan, then Jane might still be at Dunsmore House. She might still be walking at Elliott’s side, and happy.
“I will have to contemplate it, Georgette. I may be too weary to walk far.”
Georgette frowned. “You must not be cross with me, Jane.”
“I am not cross.”
“You are, I can see it on your face.”
Jane sighed. “It is only weariness, Georgette.”
“You really must forgive me,” she insisted.
“I bear you no ill-will.”
“Then why this hermit’s existence? You speak only with the children and avoid dining with the rest of the family. It is most unusual.”
Jane shrugged. “I prefer their company. It is simpler.”
“You are cross. I knew you were.”
“Please, Georgette, I beg you to desist. I lack the energy for such a discussion.”
“Very well, you may behave in this way if you please, but it will not change matters.” Georgette turned away and crossed the room without another word. She disappeared from sight, leaving Jane to the overwhelming gloom of her thoughts.
Are you thinking of me, Elliott? I pray that you are. Oh, how I miss you.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Walking out in the gardens with the three children, Jane turned at the sound of approaching hooves. She squinted into the sun and saw two figures coming into sight down the long driveway to the manor house. They were moving fast on horseback, their faces obscured. Thinking little of it, Jane returned to admiring the flowerbeds with Sarah, the eldest daughter. They were likely messengers with an urgent missive for one of the household.
As they drew nearer, however, she looked up again. Her heart leapt into her mouth as she saw that it was Elliott, with Frederick beside him. Impulse drove her to run across the gardens towards him, reaching him as he jumped from the horse.
“Mr Bevan‑ I mean…” she cried.
He smiled and rushed towards her.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered, the tears already cascading down her cheeks.
“I came to get you,” he replied. “I came to take you home.”
She paused and looked up.
“I cannot leave. They will not allow it, not until my child is born.”
“You must come with me now, for I love you more than life itself. Nothing makes sense without you near.”
She smiled.
“Nor does it without you, but they will follow me to the ends of the earth until I have my child. They will never relinquish me.”
People were coming out of the house, with Georgette leading the charge.
“You must go,” Jane urged. “You must go before they force you away.”
“Not without you.”
Georgette approached.
“What is the meaning of this intrusion?”
“I have come to profess my love to Lady Waterford and to take her back home, where she belongs. I do not wish to worsen your pain, Miss Felling, but Lord Waterford is dead, and, as a widow, surely she has the right to choose where she wishes to live.”
“You do not know that he is dead,” Georgette spat.
“He must be. His body has not been found. I know of ladies who have remarried with their husbands presumed dead in the war. This is no different.”
“Were they with-child?” Georgette replied curtly.
“No, but—”
“Then it is quite different,” she interjected. “You will leave, and you will not darken our door again. Jane is already where she belongs.”
“What if she gives birth to a daughter?” Elliott said. “What then?”
Georgette shrugged. “Then she is of no concern to us.”
He nodded defiantly. “Then I will wait. I will take up lodgings nearby, and I will wait for news of her child’s safe delivery into this world. I will not leave her here, if there is a chance that she may have her freedom back. And if she gives birth to a daughter, you may rest assured that I will take her, I will marry her as soon as formal mourning allows. I will give her the love and care that she deserves. She will not rot here a moment longer than necessary, if fortune smiles on us.”
“You will be sorely disappointed, My Lord. A soothsayer has already informed us that the child will be a boy,” Georgette replied, with a smirk.
“I believe in something far greater than soothsayers, Miss Felling. I will wait, as I have said.”
He had come for her against all odds, and he would not leave. Now, more than ever, Jane prayed for good fortune. She prayed for a future where she and Elliott might be happy.
He turned on his heel and leapt back onto the horse, his eyes glowering in the direction of the Fellings. He cast one last, sweet look at Jane, before turning the horse back down the road and riding into the distance. Georgette snatched at Jane’s wrist and pulled her into the house, but she did not care. She could endure any brutality, knowing that Elliott was nearby.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
For the last few months of her pregnancy, Jane glimpsed Elliott from her window. He rode daily to the top of the driveway and watched the house, for an hour, never approaching. The sight of him brought her comfort, despite her incarceration within the four walls of her bedchamber. She was even denied access to the children, though they wailed for her.
And then, one night, with the promise of Spring on the horizon, the pains began. She awoke with a start, feeling the stab of agony deep in her abdomen. Instinct told her that the baby was coming, though she had no way of being sure. She lay still, as if it might fade. For a time, it did, only to come back with a vengeance some time later. After a few hours of silent, lonely torment, she frantically rang the bell for assistance. The pains were coming in shorter intervals, each one stealing her breath away. She could not endure in silence any longer, though she desired to persevere on her own.
The maids came running, and Georgette alongside. They took one look at her and moved into action, with one of the maids sending immediately for the midwife. The rest went about making her comfortable, bringing hot water and towels to soothe her pains. In truth, she was terrified. The pain was too great, making her wonder if something was wrong. It tore at her insides, as though a great hand were twisting her muscles into a knot.
“It hurts, Victoria,” she whispered to the oldest maid in the room.
Victoria smiled.
“Aye, it will do, m’Lady.”
She had a broad, Geordie accent that somehow comforted Jane.
“Will I die?”
“Not likely, m’Lady. Yer young and yer full of vitality. I’ve seen many of yer sort go through this, and all have come out well enough. It’ll hurt more before the night is over.”
Victoria was right. The hours blurred into one long haze as Jane struggled through the birth, fighting the urge to push until the midwife said that she could. She felt faint and disoriented, black spots dancing in her fi
eld of vision as she writhed on the bed. She could hardly focus on what she was doing.
“Push, my Lady,” the midwife urged.
Jane nodded and bit down on a length of wood, as a scream tore out of her throat. She did so again and again, until she no longer had the strength.
Consciousness evaded her. All she could see was blood staining the towels — so much blood. She did not know where it had come from, and she began to wonder if she had been wounded. The pain did not subside, either. Sobbing, she collapsed against the sheets in a veil of perspiration.
“You have to keep pushing, my Lady,” the midwife said.
“I cannot,” Jane wept. Her head felt foggy, her limbs weak.
“You must.”
Gathering the last scrap of energy she had, she pushed as hard as she could. She was barely aware of what was happening, as that last exertion took her consciousness with it. She heard voices and sounds, but she could not see who spoke. Indeed, she felt sure she heard a baby’s cry, but she lacked the strength to open her eyes.
“My Lady?” the midwife’s voice was close to her ear. “You have a beautiful baby girl.”
She blinked her eyes open for long enough to see Georgette storm out of the room in a cloud of anger. And then, everything went black.
Chapter Sixteen
A knock came at the door to Elliott’s chambers. He turned in surprise, for he had not expected a visitor.
“Enter,” he said.
One of the Inn’s staff appeared a second later.
“There is a young lady downstairs to see you,” he replied sheepishly.
“Who?”
“I do not know her, Sir.”
Puzzled, Elliott got up and followed the man down to the ground floor of the Inn. There, standing awkwardly by the fire, was Sarah Felling, James’ eldest daughter.
She kept glancing over her shoulder as if she anticipated the arrival of someone. Her eyes widened as she saw Elliott.
“Miss Sarah, what are you doing here?” Elliott asked, sinking down to her level.
“It is Jane— Lady Waterford, my Lord. Georgette did not wish for you to know, but I came as soon as I could escape the house,” she explained rapidly. “They do not know that I have gone, and they will be very cross when they discover what I have done.”
“Is Lady Waterford well?”
Panic made his heart pound. She nodded.
“She had the baby last night.”
“A son or a daughter?” He could barely draw breath.
“A daughter, my Lord.”
Elliott stood, a smile upon his face. “Then we must go. There is no time to lose. I will ride back with you.”
“Thank you, my Lord.”
Together, they exited the Inn and made their way to the stables. He quickly prepared his horse and helped Sarah into the saddle. He realised that she must have run all the way from the manor house to come and find him and, for that, he was eternally grateful. It could not have been easy for her, considering who her father was, but she had done it regardless. He leapt up behind her and turned the horse around, pressing it on in the direction of the Waterford Estate.
He helped Sarah down before they reached the entrance, where she scurried away into the gardens. He would not reveal her secret, if it had not already been discovered. With his eyes bright and his pulse racing, he tethered the horse and proceeded to the front door. When the butler attempted to deny him entry, he pushed past the rude young man and pounded up the stairs.
He did not stop until he reached Jane’s bedchamber, where several maids were just exiting. They looked at him in abject fear, and some horror at his unseemly hurry to enter a lady’s bedchamber, but he paid them no heed as he skirted around them and into the room. Jane sat up on the bed with the child in her arms. She had never looked more ethereal than she did at that moment, with the baby cradled against her. He paused for the briefest of seconds, taking in the remarkable sight of her, his throat tight with emotion.
She looked up in surprise.
“Elliott? How did you get in here?”
“I pushed my way past Miss Felling’s infantry,” he teased, crossing the room to reach her.
There, he sat on the edge of the bed and admired the tiny person in Jane’s arms. She was more perfect, even, than Jane. Plump cheeks and blue eyes stared upwards, whilst miniature hands balled into fists. A yawn stretched her sweet mouth open.
“Her name is Lydia,” Jane said softly.
“She is perfection,” Elliott replied, touching his index finger to the baby’s smooth cheek. “May I?”
Jane nodded and handed the child to Elliott. It had been many years since he had held a baby in his arms, but instinct reminded him to support her neck.
He glanced down at the beautiful infant and found himself lost in her sweet features, admiring the pink flush of her cheeks and the gossamer tufts of her eyebrows.
“She is so beautiful I could weep,” Jane gasped.
“I have never seen anything more remarkable.” He leaned down and pressed his lips to the child’s forehead, inhaling the warm, milky scent of her. “I swear to you now, that I will be the greatest father to her, until and after the day we may have children of our own.”
“You believe Georgette was sincere?”
He smiled.
“She will have to be.”
A girl was no use to the Felling family. If Francis succumbed to illness, the future of the Barony fell to another. Jane was already quite out of the picture, for she could not offer them anything, any longer.
“I have never known happiness like this,” Elliott confessed.
A quiet chuckle slipped from Jane’s lips. “Neither have I.”
“It is a rather strange moment, my dearest, but might I ask for your hand in marriage?”
“You may, and I accept with an open heart,” she replied, her eyes wide.
He knew that he would have to be patient, and wait to marry her until her official mourning for James was done, but her acquiescence was enough to give him the hope that he desperately sought. Still holding Lydia to his chest, he leaned over and paused just shy of Jane’s lips. A small smile crept across them. Slowly, she closed the gap between them, their lips grazing in the most tender fashion.
In that moment, he had everything he had ever dreamed of.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Four months after returning from Northumberland, Jane found herself waiting in a carriage outside St. Mary’s Chapel in Lower Nettlefold. Alice had taken Lydia inside already, and she sat alone with Lady Dunsmore, who had insisted on walking her into the church. Excitement bristled through Jane’s veins, for she could hardly believe that this day had come.
Elliott was waiting for her inside, and when they came back out again, they would be man and wife.
“Are you nervous, child?” Lady Dunsmore asked.
Jane shook her head. “I am excited.”
“You love him?”
“I love him, my Lady. I fear I have always loved him.”
“And you are loyal?”
She nodded. “I have always been, even in the darkest of days.” She paused and drew in a breath. “I know that you do not approve of our match, but rest assured that I will love and cherish him like no other. He will know true happiness, I will make sure of it.”
Lady Dunsmore smiled. “I do not disapprove of your union, my dear Jane. Indeed, I have come to realise that you are a most fortuitous pair. I did not see it before, and I apologise for that. The complexities were too great, and I did not wish to see you both embroiled in scandal. However, you have overcome, and you have shown everyone that your affections run deep. To me, it seems as if you may be more in love with one another than any pair I have ever seen. “
At Jane’s startled look, she continued.
“That includes Alice and Frederick, and my beloved son and his wife, whom I lost so long ago. Dunsmore House is finished with gloom and misery. It is due time that it was filled only with joy.”
&nbs
p; “Thank you, my Lady,” Jane whispered.
“I promise that I will keep you and your daughter safe, for I confess, I have already fallen hopelessly in love with the charming girl,” she replied, with a chuckle. “I shall be a true Grandmamma again, and you cannot know how utterly joyful that makes me. I thank you for this gift”
“She will be so dearly loved.” Jane sighed, and held onto Lady Dunsmore’s hand.
“As will you, sweet Jane. As will you.”
Together, they stepped out of the carriage and went into the church. Elliott turned as Jane entered, his face lighting up with the most charming smile she had ever seen. She wanted to run to him, but propriety urged her to maintain a steady pace. Soon enough, she would be his wife, and she would be able to run into his arms as often as she pleased.
And they truly would be the happiest of pairs.
THE END
I DO HOPE THAT YOU ENJOYED THIS SECOND BOOK IN THE LOWER NETTLEFOLD DUNSMORE HOUSE SERIES
RESCUING LADY JANE
The next book in this series, Reuniting Lady Marguerite, reveals the final missing child, Marguerite’s, story. If you would like to receive news about it, sign up to my newsletter.
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With love
Lydia Pembroke
About the Author
Lydia Pembroke’s roots go back to England, although her country of birth is Australia. Her interests include ancestry, and it was the brooch left to her by her paternal grandmother that sparked her interest in the Regency and Victorian Eras. She often held the precious brooch in her hands, wondering what mysteries it held. Today, she still fantasises, but now she and writes those stories down. Her stories are romantic and sweet. She never kills anyone, unless she really has to.
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