The next morning, Betsy rose leisurely as had become her norm of late. She’d discovered over the very recent past that by taking her time in rising, her morning nausea was greatly reduced. Stretching languorously, she laid her hand on her belly. A slight roundness met her touch and she smiled. The baby made its presence known at last. Smiling, she rose and set about readying herself for her day.
When she entered the breakfast room she was surprised to find Michael sitting within. The hour was late for him to still be taking his meal. She’d come to relish the solitude of her late morning meal, sipping slowly at her tea and nibbling on whatever caught her fancy at the sideboard. Her good mood greatly diminished, she chose a small portion of eggs and a roll. She sat and picked up her fork, keeping her eyes focused on her plate. Michael’s voice stilled her.
“Betsy, this cannot go on. Tell me what you want.”
Betsy wanted to shout out to him to tell her he loved her. To tell her that he wanted her despite his knowledge of her dowry. But the distance was still very much evident in his dark and beautiful eyes. She felt her heart sink to her toes.
“I want to go home,” she said, the words surprising her even as they left her mouth.
Michael winced visibly at her words. She watched in dismay as his expression became even more remote. He gave a short nod of acceptance.
“We’ll leave for Bridgewater Park on the morrow,” he said, coming to his feet. “I suppose it’s not too early for me to begin the horses’ training.”
Betsy just stared at him. Bridgewater Park? Didn’t he realize that Balsam Manor was her home? Didn’t he know her heart belonged within those rough stone walls situated near the cliffs in Cornwall?
She said nothing of this, merely inclined her head in answer. Without another word between them, Michael left the breakfast room and Betsy made a half-hearted attempt to eat the eggs on her plate.
When they arrived in Somersetshire the next afternoon Betsy saw their belongings settled into the large guest chamber they’d shared at Christmastime. As much as she disliked the idea of sharing the lovely space with her husband, she was loath for the Bridgewater servants to learn of their estrangement. And knowing her mother as she did, she was certain the woman would inevitably learn of the division and pester Betsy until she learned all the particulars. Then there was the matter of Maggie and Philip’s catching wind of it. She would be mortified.
Thankfully Michael said nothing of their sleeping arrangements that evening as they readied for bed. He didn’t abandon his habit of sleeping in all his naked glory, she noted with reluctant admiration. She was well aware of his presence all through the night. His sleeping form occupied a large portion of the bed, seeming even larger as she’d grown accustomed to sleeping in blessed solitude.
She awoke sometime in the middle of the night to find herself pressed against him. Quickly scooting away from him, she squeezed her eyes shut and willed his presence from her mind. She couldn’t banish his spiced scent however, or the warmth of his body she could still feel. Letting out a soft moan of frustration, she prayed for sleep.
After breakfast the next day, thankfully taken without Michael’s presence, she received a missive from her mother. Sitting in the parlor she opened the letter. Lord and Lady Bridgewater would soon be coming into Somersetshire. Betsy let out a soft groan. The Easter holiday was nearly upon them and she knew she should have realized her parents wouldn’t stay in town. Her mother disliked the crowds that descended upon London directly after that holiday’s passing, as she’d always professed.
Mary would be pleased. When Betsy spoke with her the previous afternoon she’d been almost surly to be languishing “all alone” at the park. She had the company of Maggie and Philip’s children, but they were poor companions according to Mary.
Betsy allowed a smile to curve her lips at the thought of the little angels residing abovestairs in the nursery. That thought brought with it the notion of her own little angel growing inside of her. She once more let her fingers touch her slightly rounded belly. Soon. Soon she wouldn’t be able to hide the coming child’s existence, not with its father sharing her bed.
Her mother’s arrival several days later brought with it a bit of bad news. Lady Sarah accompanied them from town and would be staying at Bridgewater Park for an undetermined length of time. Betsy expressed her concern over the situation when next she found her mother alone.
“Nonsense, Betsy dear,” her mother said as they stood in the gardens behind the manor. “You aren’t worried about any awkwardness, are you?”
Betsy blinked. Did her mother know about Sarah’s comments regarding some sort of past connection with Michael?
“Now, do not fret about an uneven table,” Betsy’s mother said.
“Oh no,” Betsy said softly. “Tell me you didn’t invite Lord Templeton.”
Lady Bridgewater gave Betsy an expression of dismay. “Whyever would I invite him here?” she asked Betsy. “I do not worry about matters such as the proper number of guests at a table when we’re here in the country.”
Betsy took a deep breath of relief. When the less-than-welcome visitor joined them in the gardens Betsy gave a her the smallest nod and took herself back into the house, much preferring Maggie’s company to passing forced civilities with the loathsome Lady Sarah.
The next morning Betsy woke to an odd feeling within her body. Her stomach felt heavy. Strange. She dressed a bit slower than usual and took herself downstairs to breakfast. Only the ladies were present. Lady Sarah was wearing a pretty riding habit and a hat perched jauntily atop her black braids.
“Are you going riding this morning, Lady Sarah?” Betsy asked, not giving much care to the lady’s activities.
“Why yes,” Sarah answered. “Oh, you enjoy riding, do you not?”
Betsy nodded.
“Then perhaps you would like to accompany me?”
“I cannot go riding,” Betsy said without thinking.
“Whyever not?” Betsy’s mother asked.
Betsy’s head snapped up in surprise. Maggie met her gaze and raised her eyebrows.
“I don’t feel much up to riding this morning,” she said in vague answer.
Betsy knew her sister wouldn’t be put off for long. As she had fully expected, Maggie remained after Lady Bridgewater and Sarah left the breakfast room.
“Are you all right, Betsy?”
“I’m a bit uncomfortable this morning.”
Maggie’s eyes widened. “Is it the baby?”
“I’m not sure.”
“You’ll rest today.”
Betsy laughed lightly. “That’s all I’ve been doing.”
“Have you told Balsam yet?”
“No.”
Maggie did not lose her look of worry as she accompanied her sister into the parlor.
***
Later that morning Michael sat at his desk in the office behind the stables, his mind far from the numbers on the papers spread before him. Betsy was in his thoughts, as always. He’d slept fitfully the night before, fighting the urge to take his wife into his arms as she slept so peacefully beside him. He’d come awake and studied her closely as she slept, trying in vain to imagine what she was thinking, dreaming. He had no notion of what was in her mind.
She was still angry at him. That was certain. But more than once, when she was unaware of his observance, he found her expression soft and affectionate in his direction. He’d been wrong to say such things to her. But she was wrong to keep herself from him since that night, and in more ways than physical. She didn’t spare him a single word whenever they were in the same room. It galled him to sit across from her at the dinner table and hear nothing from her. She spoke to everyone present, except for Lady Sarah of course. If only he himself could manage to ignore that woman as easily.
Sarah seemed to attach herself to him at every opportunity. Last evening she’d once more pressed herself close to him and all but offered herself. How could she think he would serve his wife such a be
trayal?
“May I ask what it is that has you so intense?” a shrill voice asked from the doorway of the office.
Michael was flabbergasted to see Lady Sarah standing there, a slender hand placed on one hip. He returned his gaze to the papers littering his desk.
“I thought you could accompany me on my ride this morning,” she said with a pout.
“I’m very busy, Sarah,” he said curtly. “I have no time for more of your nonsense.”
Sarah walked further into the room.
“Time can be a concern,” she said, closing the door. “Perhaps you can teach me to ride as vigorously as you did yesterday. I watched you. You looked magnificent.”
He didn’t merit that comment with an answer. Sarah stepped closer and perched herself on the edge of his desk.
“I know full well why you are so agitated.” At Michael’s noncommittal shrug she continued. “You’ve gone too long without a woman’s touch.”
Michael’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowed.
“Are you a witch?” he asked. “How could you know such a thing?”
Sarah leaned closer. “I’ve seen you with that child,” she said. “It is obvious she’s kept you from her bed, the silly chit.”
Michael said nothing, stunned as Sarah put herself on his lap. Her fingers traced over him and his body reacted immediately from its long denial. Sarah threw her head back and laughed, a smug look clear on her face as she began to work the buttons of his breeches free.
“You want me, Balsam,” Sarah said in triumph.
“I’m a man, Sarah,” Michael answered, his voice harsh. “That’s all.”
Michael firmly shook his head and placed his hands on her shoulders to push her from him.
“Take your hands from my husband,” Betsy said, her voice shaking.
Michael’s gaze found Betsy where she stood in the doorway. The hurt and anger in her blue eyes struck him to the core and he promptly lost any trace of the physical desire that had briefly flickered through his body.
He finally succeeded in pushing Sarah from his lap. “Betsy, this isn’t what you presume.”
“How could you do this to me?” Betsy asked.
Sarah hurried from the room and Michael came to his feet, his hands spread in front of him. When Betsy ran her widening gaze over the front of his breeches his own eyes followed. Two buttons, he thought with dismay as he fumbled to close them. Undone by two bloody buttons!
Betsy ran at him, pummeling her fists against his chest until he grabbed her wrists.
“Betsy, stop this!” he shouted, giving her a shake. “You will stop this now.”
She pulled back, her cheeks wet with tears. He watched in disbelief as she ran from the office. Cursing fluently, he slammed his fist against the wall.
Chapter 29
“I always thought her such a silly child,” Sarah said as she walked into the office once more.
“Leave me, Sarah,” Michael growled, not turning to face her. “Leave me unless you wish to feel my hands upon you.”
“Oh, I believe I would much enjoy your hands upon me,” she answered.
He turned flashing eyes on her, his hands in fists. He dropped his dark gaze to her slender white neck.
“Not where I wish to put them.”
Sarah’s hands flew to her throat as her eyes grew wide with alarm. Before Michael could feel a glimmer of satisfaction at her reaction, a groom ran into the office.
“My lord!” the young man shouted. “Come quickly!”
“What is it, man?”
“My mistress, my lord,” the groom said quickly. “Lady Betsy.”
Michael’s heart pounded in fear, harsh and stomach-clenching.
“What about Lady Betsy?” He latched onto the man’s lapels. “What happened?”
“She took Gusty, Lord Balsam,” the man said. “I’d just placed the saddle on the mare’s back when she ran out of your office. I hadn’t yet fastened it.”
“Where did she go?”
“Over the east pasture.” The groom sucked in a breath. “She went in that direction.”
Michael had scarcely left the room when another groom rushed into the stables.
“Lady Betsy has fallen!” he cried out.
At the young man’s words Michael’s heart stopped. Without another thought he ran from the stables. He found her quickly enough, spying Gusty standing beside her as if keeping watch.
Betsy was lying flat on the ground, unmoving. He ran to her, sick with worry as he stared down at her pale face. Her eyes were closed and her breathing shallow. He fell to his knees beside her, cradling her in his arms.
“Ah God, Betsy,” he urged, his throat tight. “Please don’t leave me. I can’t live without you. I love you.” He swallowed thickly. “Please don’t leave me.”
Betsy’s eyes fluttered open. She gazed at him in confusion for a moment, then reached up to touch his face lightly.
“Oh Michael,” she breathed.
“Betsy, love.” He grabbed her hand and placed a kiss on her palm. “I love you. I haven’t betrayed you, sweetheart. I would never betray you.”
Betsy’s gaze warmed and he could see that she believed him. Suddenly she grimaced in pain, wrapping her arms around her middle.
“Oh God, no,” she whispered. “The baby.”
Michael straightened. “Baby?”
“I’m so sorry, Michael.” She squeezed her eyes shut once more. “Oh Lord, no…”
Michael looked on, helplessness filling him. He saw it moments later, blood dark and red staining her skirt. He scooped her up in his arms and stood.
“Fetch the doctor!” he called out to the grooms. “Go. Now!”
With Betsy cradled securely in his arms, he ran to the main house and up the grand staircase to the guest chamber. Her skirts were sodden with blood now, blood that covered him as well although he was scarcely aware of it.
“I’m so sorry, Michael.” She sobbed brokenly. “Forgive me.”
“Hush, love.” He kissed her wet cheek. “Hush.”
He settled her on the bed and took her hands in his. Her eyes had closed again and he said a silent prayer for her. So much blood, he thought with growing horror. How could she lose so much blood?
The doctor came quite quickly but not quick enough in Michael’s estimation. He refused to leave the guest room despite the doctor’s continued insistence that his being present during so intimate an examination was highly improper. He held Betsy’s hand in his as she continued to cry softly, her eyes closed and her face pale.
When at last Michael quit the chamber he found most of Betsy’s family standing in the hallway. Maggie and Lady Bridgewater wore identical looks of worry, wringing their hands. He glanced down at himself and saw he was covered with Betsy’s blood. His baby’s blood.
“Balsam,” Philip said, grasping Michael’s shoulder. “How is she?”
“She’ll be all right,” Michael said flatly.
“And the baby?” Maggie asked.
Michael stared at her. “You knew of it?”
Maggie nodded. Michael raked his fingers through his hair and sighed, shaking his head sadly.
“The doctor assured me she’ll be able to carry another child in the future,” he said. “He expects her to recover fully.”
He happened a glance at Lady Bridgewater and was struck by the shock and sorrow on the woman’s face.
“Why don’t you go to her, Madam?” he said. “I’m certain she would much like to see you and her sister.”
Both ladies nodded and hurried into the chamber, leaving Michael standing with Philip and Lord Bridgewater in the hall.
“I’m sorry, Balsam,” Philip said softly. “Go clean yourself up in our rooms, man.” He gave Michael a slight smile. “I imagine your wife would not wish to receive you in such condition.”
Michael couldn’t smile at his friend’s well-meaning attempt at a bit of levity.
“I can clean myself thoroughly, Wilton,” he said. �
�But I’ll never be able to wash my child’s blood from my hands.”
He walked slowly toward Philip and Maggie’s chambers, his head low.
***
Betsy sat up in the bed, clean now and clothed in a snowy white nightgown. Her mother and Maggie fussed over her as much as did Betsy’s maid, seeing to her hair, her pillows, and her every comfort. Mary sat on the bed, chattering on about anything and everything. Betsy felt a small smile curve her lips at her little sister’s chirpy voice, happy to focus on something other than the gnawing emptiness she felt at the loss of her baby.
What would Michael say? First to keep the child’s existence from him and then to carelessly risk its life? She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer for her baby’s soul, asking for God to grant her forgiveness even if her husband would not.
“Lady Sarah is leaving the park on the morrow,” her mother said, drawing Betsy’s interest at last.
“Why, Mother?” Betsy had to know.
“It seems she was incapable of sustaining her feigned compassion for any length of time,” her mother said. “And I believe she harbored some sort of design toward my son-in-law.”
“Lord Balsam would never spare that lady a second glance,” Mary said with a nod of her little chin. “He loves Betsy, doesn’t he Mother?”
“Indeed, child,” her mother said.
Michael quietly entered the chamber and stood well away from the bed, uncertainty in his stance. Betsy stared up at him, her smile fading. Maggie and her mother sensed the change in her and turned in his direction. Wearing looks of gentle understanding, Maggie and Lady Bridgewater arose. Mary gave Betsy’s hand a squeeze and hopped off of the bed. Before following Maggie and her mother out of the room, Mary stared up at Michael.
“I’m so sorry about the baby, Lord Balsam,” she said.
When the three had quit the chamber, Michael came to stand close to the bed.
The Viscount's Vixen Page 21
