by Anna Small
Frederick nodded, pleased. “The life of a Nabob suits you, Felix. I always knew you would far exceed all of the Blakeneys in fortune and persistence.”
His thoughts drifted toward Jane. He could almost feel her in his arms again and couldn’t wait to be on his way to her. He frowned suddenly, and Felix echoed his concern.
“What is it?” His glance darted at Frederick’s left sleeve.
Frederick wondered if anyone would ever allow him to be merely troubled about anything other than his missing hand.
“I have a meeting at the House tomorrow. I meant to leave town and go to…” He laughed shortly. “Alice may fill you in on that part of my life, since she plays such a handsome role.” He shook his head. “I didn’t want the earldom, Felix. My life was always wrapped in my music, and then in Jane. Becoming the Earl of Falconbury has destroyed us both.”
A strange look crossed Felix’s face, and he reached out and gripped Frederick’s hand. At first, Frederick was puzzled at the gesture. Then, the realization of Felix’s unspoken intent dawned on him. The possibility of a different life—an unencumbered life with Jane—seemed obtainable.
“I can take your proxy, even if we are always on the opposite sides of the table.” The grin returned to Felix’s face.
Frederick couldn’t help but notice the remarkable similarity between his brother and his cousin, although Felix lacked Henry’s selfishness. Felix was a shrewd businessman who’d bring stability to the nearly devastated earldom and Henry’s properties. But for the chance of birth, Felix would have made a marvelous Earl of Falconbury.
When Frederick didn’t speak right away, Felix’s brow creased. He pulled back his hand but stopped when Frederick gripped it with new strength.
“Yes.” Frederick embraced him. “Yes!” he cried again, overwhelmed with how quickly his life had changed. “Felix, we will arrange for you to have my proxy at once. But are you quite certain? For once I leave London I will have no plans on returning.”
“As you pointed out,” Felix replied with a laugh, “there is much work to be done here. I relish the thought of it.”
Frederick could not express his utter relief and happiness enough. “Thank you.” It was simple, but he knew Felix understood him better than most. He caught Susanna’s happy smile. “I will send word to Jane immediately.”
“Do not send a letter,” Susanna advised. “It could get lost, and will not convey your true feelings. You should send her something meaningful.”
He nodded shortly. “I ordered a new pianoforte for her. It was meant to be a gift at Christmastide.”
“Send it now. It will mean so much to her, and she will understand your intentions.”
Pacing, Frederick stopped at the fireplace and stared into the flickering flames. “Perhaps you are right. If I write a dozen letters protesting my undying love, she will not believe me. Not after…” He chewed his lip. They had both accused each other of terrible things. He glanced up at Susanna. “You are right, my dear. I will send the pianoforte. As soon as I am able, I will go to her.” A thought clouded his mind. “If she will still have me.”
Alice rose from the sofa and went to him, timidly placing her hand on his arm. “You are incomparable, Frederick. Jane loves you more than any woman loves her husband.” She dabbed at her wet eyes and slid her arm around Felix when he stood beside her. “I regret the part I played in hurting you. And her.”
“I only pray it will not be too late.” Frederick held out his hand to Susanna. “Help me gather some music for Jane. I wish to send her a gift she will never forget.”
Laughing, Susanna shook her head. “She will want no greater gift than your love, Freddie.”
“True,” he teased, his anxiety lessening, “but I shall still sweeten my suit with Mozart.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
“It is all too shameful, Mr. Brooke! I simply cannot lift my head in town. Oh, she’s such a foolish child. It all comes of too much reading. I blame you, Mr. Brooke, though you will indulge Jane’s obstinacy. She must return to her husband’s home at once, and bother the scandal. It is worse scandal to remain here in the country.”
Jane could almost picture her mother’s fatalistic pose as she reclined on the drawing room couch, one hand thrown forlornly over her head, the other clutching a bottle of smelling salts, which were more for decoration than any useful purpose.
She stood as quietly as she could outside the drawing room, waiting for the furor to die down. She’d only just arrived from Amelia’s the night before, wordless about her reason for coming home without her husband. Her mother’s tirade had begun from the first moment her foot crossed the threshold and had not let up throughout the night. Her father, thankfully, was more understanding.
“You say you cannot hold your head up in town, my dear. By town, do you refer to Weston? For I can assure you, even the best families will still welcome you at their christenings and parties. After all”—he blew his nose loudly—“you were not shunned when Rosalind ignored convention and married Mr. Shelbourne before she’d even come out. We shall merely tell those who wish to know that Jane is visiting her family while her husband is occupied with affairs of state.”
“My poor Rosalind.” Her mother sighed heavily. “If she were only here to cheer me, Mr. Brooke. Perhaps I should write her. Do you think she will come for a visit? She can talk some sense into that thick-skulled girl of yours.”
“That thick-skulled girl is also yours, my dear.” His voice had lowered a bit, and Jane wondered if he sensed her presence on the other side of the door. “And what can Rosalind do about it? I am not going to force Jane to return to London when she obviously has no wish to do so. In case you have not noticed, you are no longer the mother of girls, but of women. Women who have their own minds and are quite nearly as stubborn as yourself.”
Her mother gasped with such an intake of air Jane feared for the safety of any wayward moths flying about the room.
“Not return to London? But hide out in our house, like a common…”
Mercifully, she did not finish her words. Jane flung open the front door and ran outside. Her father called her name, but she ignored him. Tears blinded her as she stumbled on the grassy pathway. Her ankle turned, but she caught herself before she fell. The tiniest hint of a quivering in her middle made her stop in her tracks and grasp her stomach. She gulped a sobbing breath while she waited for the feeling to subside. Another tiny flutter, and it stopped.
A sense of unexpected peace washed over her, like an old favorite melody she’d played as a child. She’d sensed its presence for days but had not told Frederick because of the constant tension between them. It was inevitable as time itself, but she could hardly accept the reality of it, even though her belly fizzed and tickled again. She sat on the daisy-strewn grass beside the path, crossing her legs beneath her skirt and resting her hands lightly on her middle.
Waiting.
The house door banged shut, and she expected her father at any moment.
How to tell him? Or anyone? Frederick’s face entered her thoughts for the hundredth time, and she nearly crumpled in an agony of loss and despair.
“Jane, my child, are you quite all right? You have not hurt yourself?”
She took her father’s hand and rose on shaky knees. “I’m not hurt. I’m home to stay, if I may.”
His fingers tightened on her shoulders. “Hartleigh shall always be your home.”
She wanted to thank him or begin explaining her situation, but could only nod. “Do you think Doctor Adams would mind if I visit him?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Are you ill, Jane?”
“I do not wish to sit around the house all day. Mamma will grow tired of it, I’m afraid.” She gave a hollow laugh. “I will grow tired of it, as well.”
“Your mamma would prefer you sit in the house rather than tend Doctor Adams’s many charges.” He tucked his thumbs inside the arms of his waistcoat.
“Do you have any objection, Papa?”
“You have only to please yourself, dearest.” He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Had you been born a boy, you’d have made a very capable country doctor.”
“Had I been born a boy, Papa, I’d have had the management of Hartleigh under my care. Mamma would have paraded a dozen country girls before me, so I would not become an old bachelor.” Sudden tears filled her eyes, although they were not in sadness over Frederick, but for the suffering she brought her parents. “I would have been a farmer, like you.”
His lips twitched in the first semblance of a smile since she’d arrived unexpectedly. “I prefer squire, but farmer is the truth of it.”
He linked his arm through hers, and they slowly walked back toward the house, which she did not relish. Mamma was certain to be in the depths of one of her trying moods, and it would be up to her and Papa to bring her out of it. Her father patted her hand clumsily.
“We shall move your furniture into the large chamber, with the sitting room attached. It will make a lovely nursery when the time comes.”
She stared at him. “How…how do you know?”
He pressed his hand to her cheek, and the brief warmth it brought surged through her.
“You have a certain look about you, Jane. A kind of glow, I fancy. I recognized it in your mother countless times.” His voice took on a distant quality. “Whatever happened between you and the colonel is your business, Jane. You may confide in us if you wish, but we will not press the matter. You were wise to come home.”
She wanted to offer an encouraging word, but could only cover his worn, calloused hand with hers.
“Do you think Mamma will forgive me?” she asked at length, as they reached the courtyard leading into the house.
Her father regarded her with a frank look. “With a grandchild on the way for her to spoil and coddle?” His smile broke. “I should say you will be forgiven just before teatime.”
****
Doctor Adams lived two doors down from the church, which Jane thought was convenient, since some of his patients often had need of the graveyard despite the doctor’s best efforts. She had walked from home as she always had, preferring the open air and green, rolling pastures to the jostling carriage her mother utilized.
Today, however, she wished she’d gone in the carriage, as she tired easily of late. She leaned against the stone wall along the roadside to catch her breath. Placing her hand lightly on her abdomen, she listened intently, though she knew it was foolish to think she could hear such a tiny being. There was no other sound in the world but a breeze disturbing the leaves of a large oak tree across the way. She inhaled the crisp, cool air and realized her baby would arrive by the end of spring.
Hugging her father’s old cloak around her shoulders, she pressed on toward the doctor’s house. She was grateful for the cloak, preferring it to her pelisse, as her clothes had become tighter with the onset of her pregnancy. She knocked on the door, and the housekeeper answered, smiling broadly at the sight of her.
“Miss Brooke!” She flushed deeply and dropped into an awkward curtsy. “I beg your pardon, your ladyship.”
Jane smiled ruefully, and shook the woman’s hand. “Please, I’m still Jane, Mrs. McDaniel. Is Doctor Adams in?”
“You’re not poorly, are you?” The woman scanned Jane’s face and clucked over her like a nervous mother hen. She ushered her inside and led her into the parlor.
“I am well. I wondered if the doctor might be in need of some assistance, as I used to help him before…” She almost said, before I was married, but the finality of such a statement pained her. “I’m home for a little while and am beneath my mother’s feet all day.”
“I’m sure he could use another set of hands.” Mrs. McDaniel offered Jane a chair and busied herself with a pot of tea. “He’ll be in shortly. Just been round to the Clements’ home. Poor old missus needs help with her Andrew. Do you know the Clements?”
She handed Jane a delicate china plate overloaded with a slab of cake, and sat opposite her on another chair, where she picked up her knitting, prepared for a good chat. Jane shook her head, knowing from experience it was best to let the older woman speak. A half hour later, the doctor came in, handing his hat to Mrs. McDaniel. “Look who’s here to see you,” she gushed, nearly prodding him toward Jane.
Jane smiled to stifle her sudden nervousness. Doctor Adams reminded her of her father, with his shrewd eye and no-nonsense approach to life.
A genuine smile reached all the way to his eyes, and he kissed her on the forehead.
“Jane, my dear. What a surprise! I hope you’ve retained your strong back and equally strong constitution.” His smile faded. “Or have you come for just a visit? Of course, you live in town now. Tell me—how is your fine husband? Such a pleasant fellow.”
“He is well.” She ignored the ache in her heart. “I have come home for a visit. A rather lengthy one, I’m afraid.” She could use Frederick’s lofty title as her excuse, sparing her mother any embarrassment.
The doctor nodded. “I understand he would be a busy man.” He wagged his finger at her good-naturedly. “But I cannot help but be grateful for the long-windedness of The House of Lords if it means having your assistance again. Mrs. Anthony’s back has quite recovered, and she offers her thanks to you whenever I see her.”
“I merely suggested her son and daughter should help her in the garden, rather than leaving all the work to her.”
“You are a blessing to these people, my dear, and I, for one, am happy to see you. If you don’t mind getting started now, I must call on Joseph Wilson. He’s a very special patient of mine.” He studied her for a moment, and nodded shortly. “I think you’ll be able to help him.”
Jane stood, knowing the doctor never remained still for long. Her feet retained the memory of an ache from standing long hours at some patient’s bedside. It seemed like years had passed, but it had only been the previous winter, before she’d gone to Everhill.
“I’d be happy to accompany you.”
They walked a short distance through town until reaching a side street where the houses were not as nicely kept as those in the center. Jane avoided mud puddles where the cobblestones had broken away and followed the doctor into a battered-looking house with oiled paper protecting a broken windowpane.
“Good morning, Mrs. Wilson,” Doctor Adams said cheerfully to the woman bent over the fireplace in the front room. The woman grunted a greeting but didn’t look up.
Jane fought the urge to cover her nose. A dreadful smell filled the air. As if he hadn’t noticed, the doctor moved through the cramped room to a man sitting in a dim corner.
“Hello, Joseph. How are you this fine day? I saw a flock of blue jays during my morning constitutional.” The doctor carried on a one-sided conversation with the invalid, whose slack jaw and dull eyes showed little response.
“He’s been that way all week.” The woman’s gaze shifted toward Jane, as if she were suspicious of her presence. “I gave him some laudanum, but it don’t do him no good.”
Jane flinched at the mention of Frederick’s favorite potion, but she smiled kindly.
“Would you like some help?” She indicated the heavy pot Mrs. Wilson was trying to bring to a stained table. Their poverty was unusual for the village, but hard times came quickly upon a household if the husband were injured.
“No, no, miss. You mustn’t lift heavy things in your condition.” She clucked her tongue at Jane, shaking her head.
The doctor looked up sharply before returning his attention to Mr. Wilson.
“Joseph, how is your leg? May I have a look at it, please?”
Joseph didn’t move, and the doctor motioned to Jane. She set his bag on a chair and opened it, assisting him in the old way when she was an earnest young girl, eager to bring some spiritual help to the needy while the doctor saw to their physical wounds.
“No medicine for him, Jane, I’m afraid,” the doctor said under his breath. He smiled at the patient’s wife
. “His color is good, Mrs. Wilson. Have you wheeled him outside into the fresh air, as I instructed?”
She shrugged her thin shoulders. Jane noticed the frayed patches at her elbows, the dingy lace at her throat. Her hair hung carelessly down her head, with thick gray tendrils wound through it. “He won’t go outside. I’ve tried, but he’s too heavy to push in that chair.”
“Nonsense.” The doctor’s eyes grew steely. “We can’t leave him to rot in the corner, Mrs. Wilson. I’ve told you to ignore his protests and bring him out. Drag him if you must. He has to start living again, sooner or later.” He peered down at the man’s slack face. “Do you hear me, Joseph? There’s no need for you to sit indoors like this. You need to get outside.”
“What for?” Mr. Wilson’s voice was a breathy whisper. Jane wondered if she’d imagined that he’d spoken, because his lips hadn’t seemed to move.
“Eh? What’s that?” The doctor bent closer, and Mrs. Wilson and Jane leaned forward, as if the man were about to utter a great revelation.
“I said, what for? Ain’t got my leg no more.” His voice grew stronger as he spoke. Mrs. Wilson clutched her chest.
“He ain’t spoke in so long, Doctor,” she said, her sallow skin appearing ghoul-like in the semi-darkness of the room. “Ye got ’im to speak.” She hurried back to the pot and ladled out a bowl of thick, brown soup. “Try an’ have a bit of this, Joseph.” She held out a spoon laden with vegetables and soggy pieces of meat, but he remained quiet, his eyes staring straight ahead.
The doctor pursed his lips. “You must eat, Joseph. You must keep up your strength.”
He indicated the wife should try again, but Jane stepped around him and placed her hand lightly on his shoulder. He startled but didn’t speak.
“Do you still feel your leg, Mr. Wilson?”
