“I am sorry, but it is still unattractive.” She ran the long gold chain with its enameled and diamond and opal studded twisted salamanders, through her fingers. “I suppose my father spent that money to buy this necklace, but why?”
“He probably reasoned it harder to trace and easier to hide since you’d be wearing it. If you had received the letter as he intended, you would’ve understood.” Everett took it and turned it over in his hands. “Salamanders are supposed to be the symbol of passion. Rather wise of him. Instead of trying to stash the money, he invested it in an antique necklace of historical value.”
“Oh, that horrid Mr. Little, he said my father was ‘chosen’ because of his inexperience as a businessman. They used him as a fool to further their seditious plans. But he found them out … he was not so ignorant.” Bettina shook off more heavy sadness as she contemplated the necklace again. “Even if I thought this an ugly trinket, I never once thought of selling it when I had no money. It was my last link with my father. But why did he give it to me and not my mother?”
“Perhaps he felt you wouldn’t ask too many questions. And if your mother was aware of the state of things, he didn’t want to unduly frighten her.”
“I showed Maman the necklace after we left Paris. She was as confused as I. Papa should have had the letter written at the same time he gave it to me. To be opened in case … why did he wait so long?” She glided her fingers along the cool rope of gold, as if she might feel her father’s touch there. “He was … he died about seven, eight days later. And I remember about two weeks before that, he left on a trip for several days and would not tell us where he had gone.”
“I’m sure he had many things on his mind, and didn’t know he’d run out of time. Just be glad we solved the mystery of why you’re being sought out.” Everett wrapped the necklace in a cloth. “I'll put this in my safe until we decide what to do.”
To her morbid state of mind, the cloth resembled a shroud. “Damn those revolutionaries.” Bettina hated to consider the possibility that they had murdered her mother as well.
* * * *
Bettina stretched out, relaxing in the warm water. The large tub sat before the master chamber fire. How comforting to immerse one’s entire body in soothing water, her skin sleek with scented oil. She poked her toes through the surface, knowing soon she’d have trouble seeing them. Her waistline had expanded in her fifth month.
The larger she became, the more her thoughts shifted inward, away from her past and the tragic incident and horrible revelations with Mr. Little. She wanted to concentrate on what she had instead of what she’d lost. Dwelling on sad memories ruined her happiness.
The door opened and Everett came in. “Mother thinks you’re a regular fish, as much as you enjoy bathing.” He crouched beside the tub. “But I prefer my women clean.”
“Your mother keeps herself busy playing mother hen to poor Peder. He is someone who needs a good scrubbing.” Bettina pictured his room in the servants’ quarters slowly filling with dirt. Peder was the young man who had kissed Kerra under the mistletoe on Christmas.
“Mother remembers him from when he ran errands and performed odd jobs as a boy for her and my father.” Everett stirred a finger in the water. “I wasn’t certain if he was the best choice to hire, but his shooting skills impressed me, and he knows everyone in the area. He’s tired of working the mines, coughing up black. You need the protection after—”
“Do not speak of that tonight. You did insist that Peder give up his dog whipping duties on Sundays?” Bettina asked. “I do not approve of cruelty towards animals.”
Everett smiled. “Yes. He’ll be busy enough here, doing other jobs as well.”
Bettina hadn’t been sure of this disheveled young man. But she reminded herself, after her experience with Pete, not to judge people by their appearance.
Everett picked up the sponge and brushed her left nipple, so enticing near the water’s surface.
It tickled, and she laughed. “You better behave yourself and stop that, sir.”
But he leaned closer and pressed his mouth to her lips, his tongue caressing hers. “We may only have a short time left,” he managed to say between kisses.
“I knew you had an ulterior motive.” Bettina giggled and hugged her wet arms around his neck. “We still have months to go.”
He picked up the thick towel from the stool and held it out, helping her from the bath. “Sit by the fire to dry your hair.” Everett sat on the floor near the hearth, leaning against a chair. He eased her down between his legs, her back to him. With one end of the towel he rubbed gently through her hair. Then he began to dry her skin, spending an inordinate amount of time on the area around her breasts.
“You are not paying attention to your duties.” A shiver of pleasure rippled through her.
He lifted her hair and kissed the back of her neck, and she wanted to melt into his body. She relaxed and sighed with contentment as his fingers traced her nipples, down her swollen belly lined with blue veins like rivers on a map, to the furrow between her legs. When she felt him grow hard, she reached behind to caress him.
“I do believe it’s time for bed,” Everett murmured, assisting her to her feet.
Bettina dried more thoroughly and snuggled beneath the covers.
“You’re supposed to be waiting for me,” he said after undressing and crawling in, faced with her back.
“But I have become so fat….”
“No, you’re twice as beautiful. There’s nothing more alluring to a man than the woman he loves carrying his child.” Everett’s hand slipped under the sheet and he massaged the skin between her shoulder blades. “Now don’t fall asleep … we have unfinished business.”
The pillow felt soft and inviting on her cheek. She smiled when he reached around to rub her tender breasts. His warm breath in her ear and gentle attentions aroused her. “That feels good,” she mumbled.
His hardness strained against her thigh when he pressed his body into hers. But instead of turning her around, he entered her from behind. She moaned with delight at this new position, and he took her slow and easy, prolonging their pleasure.
Bettina sighed with satisfaction and Everett moaned his climax. He pulled out, hugging her close. Now lying still, she perceived a strange fluttering in her belly. She put her hand on her stomach and felt a vibration—like a butterfly was trapped inside, beating soft wings against an inner drum. “Everett, I think the baby is kicking.” She turned to face him and held his hand over the spot. They both grinned with pride.
* * * *
On August 4th Bettina awoke soaked in fluid, an aching pressure on her lower back. She knew the date, as she’d remarked the evening before that her time might come at any moment.
“Everett, wake up, something is wrong … I am leaking!”
Everett threw on his clothes and hurried into the hall where he called for his mother.
“The baby is coming, dear, that’s all. It’s perfectly normal.” She rushed in, pulling on her robe, and stroked Bettina’s cheek. Her gray hair dangled stringy about her thin face.
Everett rushed out to hitch up his curricle to fetch the doctor in Port Isaac. Mrs. Camborne hovered at Bettina’s bedside, squeezing her hand and trying to sooth her. At Bettina’s request, the woman dispatched Frederick to tell Maddie.
The ormolu clock on the mantel ticked a half hour. Maddie swept through the chamber doorway with Mrs. Gorneves, the village midwife. “You don't need that doctor. Mrs. Gorneves can do it all, an’ for lots cheaper.”
Bettina stared at the wizened old woman who had to be at least a hundred years old. The woman grinned with no visible teeth. Bettina shuddered at the ordeal she was about to face. She thought of this squirming presence within her, soon to be in her arms, a viable person. She looked up at Mrs. Camborne. “How long does this take usually?”
“It is different for everyone,” Mrs. Camborne said with an indulgent smile, patting her hand. “Don’t be afraid. We’re all h
ere to help, dear.”
“Travails can take an hour, if you be lucky. But, sweetin’, it be known to take two days.” Mrs. Gorneves smacked her withered lips. “Bring me clean linen and a bowl o’ water, Maddie.”
“Two days? Quel dommage, I had no idea of this.” Bettina sank back on her pillow, contemplating this shocking news. Her innards cramped and she shifted on the bed. “I do not know if I am ready for this.”
“You will be.” Mrs. Camborne squeezed her arm.
“’Tis natural to have such fears,” the old woman said in a kind but direct manner. “I make the raw caudle to fix you up right. Maddie, fetch me an egg, grated nutmeg, a bit o’ sugar. I put it in a glass o’ Sack and warm it for you to drink. Must be like milk fresh from a cow.”
“I brung it all with me to make. Have it fixed up in a moment.” Maddie went to a basket she’d set on Everett’s chest of drawers.
All the activity around her made Bettina more edgy. She stroked her belly, hard like a pumpkin, her skin feeling stretched to its limit.
When Everett came in an hour later the pressure was a steady throb at her back, the raw egg mixture gurgling in her stomach. “The doctor will be here this afternoon. He says it’s too soon to be concerned yet.”
Bettina captured his hand. “How kind of him. I am already concerned for one.”
“The husband should leave now,” Mrs. Gorneves said. “This ain’t a sight fit for a man, no matter how them doctors think they can do the job better.”
“No, no, please let him stay.” Bettina held tight to his hand and the old woman just shook her gray-wisped head. By noon the contractions worked their way from her spine and rippled across her belly. “If this is labor, it does not seem too bad.”
“You has a lot o’ time yet.” The midwife rubbed Bettina’s belly with a gnarled hand, her breath like dried herbs. “Could be in for a long spell. Pains will git harder, then you know the babe coming.”
The doctor poked in his head, looking Bettina over as if she were a prize heifer. “Upon my word, Mr. Camborne. She still has a considerable way to go. Send me a message later.”
“He did not even bother to remove his hat.” Bettina gripped the sheets in pain and disgust, the doctor’s action confirming his plans not to stick around. Everett wiped her perspiring forehead with a cool cloth. She burned inside one moment and shivered with cold the next.
“It be time for the husband to leave.” Mrs. Gorneves raised her faint brows, staring at Everett. “No fussin’ this time, sir.”
“Mais non.” Bettina clenched her muscles as a contraction hit. She moaned, her body arching up. Then she understood why men were excluded from the birthing room. No woman wanted her man to see her lose this much control over her body. She laid back, panting, and looked at the gathering staring back at her: Kerra—Maddie having returned to the inn, Everett’s mother, the ancient but efficient Mrs. Gorneves, and her very worried faux spouse.
“Go out into the hall with Frederick, dear,” Mrs. Camborne said to her son, her hands fluttering about like frenzied insects. They had asked Oleba to keep the boy occupied, but now they both waited outside the door. Their comments drifted into the room.
“I’ll be close by.” Everett stood, his eyes full of anxiety. He kissed Bettina on the forehead and left the room.
Mrs. Gorneves tied strips of cloth to the bedposts and gave Bettina a shot of brandy. “When the pain’s too much, sweetin’, pull on these.”
By six that evening Bettina groaned and clenched her teeth through each contraction, then collapsed back, gasping. Now she felt unsure of this creature inside her, who seemed about to explode and rip her to shreds.
“Is it a baby yet?” Frederick called through the door. “Isn’t this a lot of trouble to have a baby?” Oleba and Everett shushed him.
Mrs. Camborne opened the door. “Everett, go and find that doctor. Tell him it’s high time to be concerned. Take Frederick with you, it will give you men something useful to do.”
Bettina jerked on the cloth strips as a horrible spasm overtook her. Bathed in sweat, she thrashed miserably for another hour. Mrs. Gorneves placed the clean linen under her bottom and rubbed an oily substance between her legs—even that contact felt like barbs against her skin. When her body erupted, her muscles straining to bear down, she screeched and howled in a close imitation of Frederick’s evil spirit.
“Time is come.” The midwife washed her hands in the bowl. “Pull up your knees now. Far up and push!”
Bettina pushed, then shrieked at having to do it again. “I cannot do it anymore … I cannot.”
The old woman shoved back on her knees with surprising force. “Push another. Aye, now again, you nearly there.” The midwife reached down between Bettina’s legs. “Nay, wait, the cord, it be in the wrong place.”
“What does that mean?” Bettina gasped, her innards roiling like a river about to burst its dam.
Kerra rushed forward, her little face in a grimace. “Can you save it?”
Mrs. Gorneve’s fingers probed and pulled. Bettina cringed with the pain. She saw Mrs. Camborne’s eyes widen in fear. Bettina held her breath. Perhaps she wasn’t fated to have an illegitimate child. But did she want to lose it?
The old woman fiddled some more around Bettina’s lower lips.
“Please, what is happening?” she cried. The discomfort and the unknown were maddening.
“Think I have it … push again,” the old woman said.
Bettina pushed, screamed and felt something slide from her body. She sobbed with the agonizing effort and the searing pain, heaving in exhaustion.
“Looks like … yes it be. You has a boy.” The midwife’s lips sunk into her mouth as she ministered to the baby. Kerra and Mrs. Camborne gripped hands and hovered nearby. The smell of blood and bodily fluids stank sharp in the room.
“Is he all right?” Bettina tried to sit up, but dizziness overtook her and she collapsed back on the moist mattress, sweaty hair sticking to her face. “Mon Dieu! Please, tell me!”
The old woman smacked the baby. A whimpering started. Bettina’s heart seemed to choke up into her throat. The midwife laid the baby down, and tied string around the umbilical cord, which throbbed like a bloody snake. She grabbed scissors, waited, then snipped it.
“Give me my baby!” Bettina thrust out her arms. “Is he breathing?”
A tiny wail emitted from the form the midwife wrapped in linen. She handed the baby to Mrs. Camborne. “He’s breathin’, thanks be to God. Now we ain’t done yet.” The old woman pushed down on Bettina’s belly.
She cried out. Then she felt a mass slip from between her legs, slimy against her thighs. The midwife inspected the placenta and nodded in approval. Bettina closed her eyes for an instant and quivered, feeling like an emptied sack.
“He’s a right proper lord o’ the manor.” Kerra smiled, but her eyes glistened with tears. “Can’t wait to tell Mads.”
“A boy, mon fils. I knew it was to be a boy.” Bettina stretched up her hands. “I want to hold him.”
“He’s so beautiful.” Mrs. Camborne, her features sagged with relief, laid the bundle in Bettina’s arms.
She touched his silky skin and cuddled the warm, squirming body to her throat. He cried out in protest, and she kissed his cheek, regretting she’d almost thought that losing him would be best. “I will never want to give you up,” she whispered.
Mrs. Camborne opened the bedchamber door.
Everett rushed in and sat on the bed, embracing her. “Thank God you’re safe. And a son.” He looked down and ran a finger over the baby’s red forehead. “You’re both so precious to me.”
Bettina sighed, languid with exhaustion, and snuggled to her two men. She longed to be safe, but felt like she tottered on a steep ledge.
Chapter Thirty-One
EXECUTION OF LOUIS XVI. KING OF THE FRENCH. Bettina’s mouth went dry as she stared at the headline in The Times. A heavy sadness washed over her. The National Convention had proclaimed King Louis
XVI a traitor, and marched him to the beheading machine recently invented in France. She read:
The Republican Tyrants of France have now carried their bloody purposes to the uttermost diabolical stretch of savage cruelty. They have murdered their King without even the shadow of justice, and of course they cannot expect friendship nor intercourse with any civilized part of the world. The vengeance of Europe will now rapidly fall on them.
“‘The name of Frenchmen will be considered as deadly as poison.’” She quoted through a thickening throat, then looked up at Everett. “I suspected after the murder of all those priests in September, France would commit more atrocities. But to execute a king? Affreux.”
“Frightening, indeed. France already fights with Austria and Prussia. This act could mean worse conflict with England.” Everett tossed more coal on the parlor fire to chase away the January chill. He walked back and pressed her shoulder. “I’m sorry to bring you this news, it is a shock. Affable King George is indulged by his subjects, even in his wavering mental state. The hostility is usually saved for Parliament, and waiting in dread for the day his dissolute son becomes king.”
“These events, it is so much to worry over.” Bettina set aside the paper, leaned over and picked up their five-month-old son. She kissed his cheek to soften her upset. They’d named him Christian Samson: Chretien in French—her father’s middle name, and Samson after Everett’s father. She stared into her baby’s eyes, so dark blue they looked black. “What kind of world will we leave our children?”
“We must try to make the world better. These people seized power with valid grievances. Then it went to their head, ending in brutality.” Everett sat beside her and caressed the infant’s head. Christian cooed and smiled at his father. “Did you know your king?”
“I was presented once, but of course it was very rehearsed, no chance to ‘know’ anyone. My father called the king well meaning but unprepared for his duties, though not where he might hear. The king had little respect at Court. Everyone found him awkward. But did he deserve death?” She held on to the belief that her father hadn’t deserved his fate. Would he have accepted these drastic changes? Now she’d never know that either.
Betrayed Countess (Books We Love Historical Romance) Page 32
