The Bride of Devil's Acre

by Jennifer Kohout

  “Me? Look at you!” Jacqueline stepped back, spreading their joined arms and smiling. “You look beautiful!”

  Catherine had always been beautiful, and neither time nor motherhood had done anything to change that. Perhaps her waist was slightly thicker, and there were light shadows under her friend’s brown eyes, but the eyes themselves were bright with happiness, and Catherine’s smile practically split her face.

  “How are you?” Jacqueline asked, letting the tension from the morning go and settling in to enjoy an afternoon visit.

  “Wonderful! Exhausted…tired beyond belief.” Catherine laughed, rolling her eyes at herself.

  Jacqueline laughed. She couldn’t help it; her friend’s happiness was contagious. “Tell me everything.”

  “We named him Bentley, and he is the most beautiful baby in the world! Though, I suppose all mothers feel that way,” Catherine admitted, jumping right into her favorite topic.

  Right. Bentley, the baby, and the reason for Jacqueline’s visit. Though, she had hoped to hear about Catherine’s travels and her time on the Continent. Jacqueline had always wanted to travel, but her father preferred to stay in London. Their trips to the museum were the closest she’d ever come to visiting other lands.

  “Will I get to see him?” Jacqueline had never been around babies before and wasn’t sure what one did with them.

  “Of course,” Catherine said. “I asked Nanny to bring him down in a bit. But I thought to catch up first. Oh! I forgot tea.”

  Jacqueline watched as Catherine jumped up and hurried to give the bellpull a tug.

  “I apologize.” Catherine tucked a stray lock of sable hair behind her ear. “I find myself a bit scatterbrained these days. It’s all Bentley’s fault, of course.” Catherine’s smile took the accusation out of her words. “He’s quite the little piglet and is up every two hours wanting to nurse.”

  Jacqueline blinked. Nurse? “Don’t you have someone to do that for you?”

  “Oh, I know it’s dreadfully out of fashion, but I prefer to do it myself,” Catherine said, her eyes warming as she spoke of her son. “It’s our time together, just the two of us when the rest of the house is quiet.”

  “Sounds lovely,” Jacqueline said, surprised to find that it did. She pictured Catherine cradling her son to her breast, mother and child focused on one another to the exclusion of all else.

  “I never thought I would enjoy motherhood as much as I have,” Catherine admitted as tea was brought in and she proceeded to pour. “Well, you remember what I was like!”

  “What we were both like!” The two girls had come out together, their first season in London a whirlwind of dancing and parties and gentlemen. Catherine had met her husband, Lord Morgan, that year. The two had been married and the young bride whisked away to the Continent for an extended honeymoon. Shortly after her return to London, Catherine had announced she was increasing with the earl’s first child.

  “Yes, but you haven’t changed,” Catherine said, not unkindly. “You’re still so carefree.”

  Is that what she was? Jacqueline thought of her father and the scene at breakfast. Looking around the sunny sitting room, Catherine perched on the edge of her seat, Jacqueline felt as if her clock had stopped. She sat stagnant in the river of life, the world parting around her as time streamed past her.

  No, she wasn’t carefree. She was trapped.

  “Jacqueline?” Catherine asked softly. “Are you all right?”

  Jacqueline mentally shook herself. “Perfectly.”

  “Excuse me, my lady.”

  Jacqueline was saved from further comment by the timely arrival of the new baby.

  “Oh, here he is now!” Catherine said, reaching for her son. “How is my darling?”

  “His little lordship is due for his nap, my lady,” Nanny said, handing over the sleepy newborn.

  “Of course he is.” Catherine gazed down at her son. “That’s all you do, isn’t it? Eat and sleep. Thank you, Nanny. I’ll bring him up shortly.”

  Jacqueline watched Catherine rock her son gently. Afternoon sunlight bathed the two of them in warm light, the image reminiscent of the many paintings of mother and child found throughout history.

  “Lord Morgan must be thrilled.”

  Catherine looked up. “Hm?”

  “To have a son,” Jacqueline clarified. Wasn’t that what all men wanted? A son, someone to carry on their name. She wondered if things would have been different with her father had she been born male.

  Catherine smiled. “William is thrilled, of course, but honestly I think he would have enjoyed having a daughter just the same. He’s already talking about wanting another one.”

  “So soon?” Jacqueline asked, surprised. Though she didn’t know the first thing about having babies, it seemed awfully sudden.

  “Well, not right away.” Catherine’s blush suggested that his lordship was already trying. “But we both want a big family.”

  Family. For Jacqueline, that meant her and her father.

  “Would you like to hold him?” Catherine asked, holding the infant out in her arms.

  “What? Oh…no…I couldn’t,” Jacqueline said, shaking her head vigorously.

  “Of course you can.”

  Jacqueline stiffened as Catherine settled the slight weight of the baby in her arms. Bentley grunted, his cupid’s-bow mouth puckering as he was jostled and his sleep disrupted.

  “Just hold his head here,” Catherine instructed, tucking the baby into the crook of Jacqueline’s elbow.

  Jacqueline froze.

  Catherine didn’t go far. Pressed close to Jacqueline’s side, she appeared ready to catch the baby should holding him prove too much for her.

  “He’s the image of his father, don’t you think?”

  Jacqueline didn’t think the baby resembled Catherine or her husband, not unless Lord Morgan had recently taken on resembling a pug.

  Staring down at the sleeping baby, Jacqueline traced his flat nose and chubby cheeks with her fingertip. “He’s so soft,” she muttered, awed.

  “You should smell his head,” Catherine murmured, her eyes on her son.

  Jacqueline jerked back. The baby was cute, but there was no need to get personal. “I think I’ll pass,” she said, handing Bentley back to his mother. “He really is beautiful,” she said, knowing the new mother was waiting for affirmation on the state of her young.

  “He is, isn’t he?” Catherine gazed down at her son, her face soft and radiant despite the lack of sleep. “I’m biased, I know, but I can’t help but think he is the most beautiful baby in all the world.”

  “Of course he is,” Lord Morgan said, strolling into the room. “He takes after his mother.”

  Jacqueline rose, offering Lord Morgan her hand.

  “Lady Edwards, how lovely to see you.”

  “Lord Morgan.” Jacqueline watched as Catherine’s husband bent down, pressing a kiss to his wife’s cheek and cupping his son’s head gently.

  “I ran into Nanny,” Lord Morgan said. “I wanted to check on you both before I stepped out for the day.”

  “Escaping to your club?” Catherine teased, smiling up at her husband.

  “Hardly.” William cupped his wife’s cheek, noting the circles under her eyes. “You should get some sleep while he naps.”

  Jacqueline sat silently, watching the small family. A pang in her chest told her this was a private moment, and it was time for her to go.

  “Your husband is right,” Jacqueline said, rising. “I should go and let you get some sleep.”

  “Oh no! So soon?” Catherine asked.

  Jacqueline nodded. “It was wonderful seeing you both.” Jacqueline glanced from Catherine to her son. She could still feel the ghost of the baby in her arms.

  “I’m so glad you came,” Catherine said, starting to rise. “I’ll see you out.”

  “No, don’t get up.” Jacqueline motioned the new mother back into her chair. “I can see myself out.”

  Catherine�
��s smile was full of appreciation. “I fear I was dreadfully boring, going on about the baby the way I did.”

  “Nonsense.” Jacqueline kissed Catherine’s cheek as she passed. “Congratulations, again.”

  “Thank you, Lady Edwards,” Lord Morgan said, tipping his head to his wife’s friend. “I hope you will call on my wife again soon.”

  “Of course.” Jacqueline’s response was noncommittal. There was very little reason for her to return. Catherine wasn’t the same girl Jacqueline had known during her coming-out. Neither was she, for that matter. The two of them had ended up in vastly different places, and the distance between them was a long way to travel.

  Outside, Jacqueline took a deep breath, and a moment to collect herself.

  Catherine was happy. Well and truly happy in a way Jacqueline had never witnessed before. The woman practically glowed with love for her husband and son.

  Jacqueline was embarrassed to realize she was envious. She didn’t begrudge Catherine a single moment of her happiness, but Jacqueline wanted something similar for herself, a husband, a child. Love.

  “Did you have a nice visit, my lady?” the footman asked, opening the carriage door and offering Jacqueline a hand up.

  “Yes, of course, Lady Morgan—” Jacqueline stopped, head cocked to one side. “Did you hear that?”

  “My lady?” Carlson looked around, not sure what to expect. The Morgans’ townhouse was located in Hanover Square, a fashionable section of London with ample foot traffic and bustling streets.

  “That sound…” Jacqueline stepped back from the carriage. Like many others along the street, Catherine’s townhouse was lined with short shrubs, the rich greenery enhancing the brick building and the wrought iron fencing that separated them from their neighbors.

  The sound came again.

  “What is that?” Jacqueline eyed the brush critically. Something stirred the bushes. “There!”

  “Wait! My lady, you don’t know what might be in there!” Carlson reached out a restraining hand, but stopped short of actually touching his mistress.

  Jacqueline didn’t wait. Diving between the bushes, she pushed stiff branches aside, her eyes scanning the dirt. There, tucked beneath a soft bed of underbrush and dead leaves was a newborn kitten. Still damp with her birthing blood, the mother had managed to chew through the cord before she died.

  “Oh, you poor thing,” Jacqueline cooed. Unwrapping her shawl from her shoulders, she gently scooped up the tiny body and cradled it to her chest. The sting of tears blurred her vision. “New to the world and already alone.”

  “Shall I take it, my lady?” Carlson stepped forward, prepared to take up the small bundle.

  “No, I’ve got it.” Her melancholy momentarily forgotten, Jacqueline hurried up into her carriage. “William, take us home, and be quick about it.”

  “Yes, my lady.” William, the Edwards’ coachman, already had the reins in his hands.

  Jacqueline pulled back the makeshift blanket. The body in her arms was small and barely moving. “And Carlson?”

  “Yes, my lady?” Carlson paused, one hand on the carriage as he prepared to step up onto the footboard.

  “Please send someone to see to the mother,” Jacqueline said, softly. “She shouldn’t be left like that.”

  Jacqueline sighed as the last strains of music faded, and the dance came to an end. Rising from her curtsy, she rested her hand lightly on Lord Brigham’s arm as he led her off the dance floor and handed her back to her father.

  “A pleasure,” Lord Brigham said, bowing over Jacqueline’s hand before turning his attention to the rest of the assembled gentlemen.

  There were six of them surrounding Jacqueline and her father, all of them sitting members of the House of Lords. Lord Brigham was a longtime friend of her father’s. A widower thirty years Jacqueline’s senior, with an heir and a spare, Lord Brigham had absolutely no interest in marriage and was considered an appropriate dance partner.

  At least as far as Jacqueline’s father was concerned.

  “Harold, you recently reviewed the Queen’s proposed bill,” Lord Edwards said, tucking his daughter safely into his side and drawing the newcomer into the conversation. “What do you think of her restoration plans?”

  Jacqueline let the debate wash over her, scanning the room and admiring the crowd.

  Papered in gold and surrounded by intricately gilded wainscoting, the Hawthorns’ ballroom was a stunning example of excess. Silver candelabras sat atop Corinthian columns that separated the gold and marble dance floor from the rest of the room. Crystal chandeliers watched over men in tails as they escorted young ladies onto the dance floor, leading them in the steps of courtship as well as the waltz before returning them to tight-lipped chaperones.

  Lady Hawthorn was known for her banquets, and the scent of candle wax and perfume could not disguise the delicious smells wafting from the dining room. Jacqueline’s stomach rumbled. She had missed supper, spending the remainder of the afternoon with their cook, Mrs. Turner, tending to the newborn kitten before rushing upstairs to dress.

  Jacqueline shifted, wondering how long until dinner.

  “Stop fidgeting,” Lord Edwards hissed quietly, his smile never leaving his face.

  Jacqueline stiffened. Her father was cross, angry at her for spending her time in the kitchen rather than dining with him.

  “With all due respect,” Lord Brigham said, drawing Jacqueline’s attention back to the discussion at hand. “But you are being incredibly shortsighted.”

  “Nonsense,” Lord Murphy said, throwing back his shoulders and puffing up his considerable chest. “The aptly named Victoria Street is just what that area needs to get rid of the riffraff.”

  “I’m sure it will,” Lord Brigham sighed, and sent Jacqueline an apologetic smile. “But the question remains, where will they go?”

  “Who cares?” Lord Murphy snapped. “That’s not my problem.”

  “It will be if they decide to move into Hanover Square,” Jacqueline said. Lord Murphy owned a townhouse in Hanover Square.

  A hush descended over the gathered group of gentlemen.

  “My point exactly,” Lord Brigham said, tipping his head and acknowledging Jacqueline’s point. “Moving the scum out of the rookeries is all well and good, until you consider where they might relocate.”

  “Well,” Lord Edwards said, his narrow gaze on his daughter, “they certainly can’t afford the rent in Hanover Square.”

  Lord Murphy and the others laughed.

  Jacqueline met her father’s warning glare. “I dare say they won’t be able to afford the rents on Victoria Street, either.”

  Lord Edwards’ lips parted, and his grip on her arm tightened. But for the second time that day, Jacqueline was saved by the timely interruption of a new arrival.

  “Good evening, Lady Edwards.” Mr. Henry Gates bowed deep at the waist. “Lord Edwards.”

  “Mr. Gates,” Lord Edwards said.

  “Hello, Henry,” Jacqueline said. Pleasure at seeing her childhood friend warmed her smile and smoothed over her father’s chilly greeting.

  “I was wondering if you would honor me with a dance?” Henry asked, offering Jacqueline his arm. He was used to Lord Edwards’ response to his presence. He couldn’t fault the man for wanting to protect his daughter, even if Henry’s intentions were considered perfectly respectable.

  “I’d love to,” Jacqueline said. She refused to look at her father, and there was the slighest hesitation before he released her arm.

  “I shall return her shortly, my lord,” Henry said, bowing to Lord Edwards.

  “See that you do,” Lord Edwards said, watching through narrow eyes as his daughter was led away.

  “That’s Lord Gates’ oldest boy, isn’t it?” Lord Brigham asked. “Though with that brood of boys it’s hard to know which is which.”

  Lady Gates had honored her husband with not one, not two, but five sons. All of the boys possessed the same fair complexion with light brown hair
and brown eyes.

  “Henry is the oldest,” Lord Edwards confirmed, turning back to the group. “He and Jacqueline grew up together.”

  “A fine match,” Lord Murphy observed. “Your daughter would be a countess one day.”

  “My daughter is a countess in her own right,” Lord Edwards said, stiffly.

  “My apologies,” Lord Murphy offered. “I forgot that your daughter took her title from your late wife.”

  Lord Edwards nodded but didn’t say anything more on the subject. Catching sight of his daughter, he watched as Henry spun Jacqueline down the length of the dance floor.

  “I didn’t know you would be here tonight,” Jacqueline said, smiling up at Henry. His was a face she knew almost as well as her own.

  “I confess I came looking for you,” Henry said. “I was hoping we could pick up where we left off.”

  “Henry, don’t,” Jacqueline pleaded, the pleasure of the dance quickly fading.

  “Why won’t you let me speak with your father?” Henry asked, his voice gentle.

  “You know why,” Jacqueline whispered, looking around. It wouldn’t do to have their conversation overheard.

  “No, I don’t,” Henry insisted. “We get on well, and one day I will be an earl. I know my father’s estate is small compared to your father’s, but it’s supported the Gates through generations, even with my four brothers, and it will stand fast for us.”

  “You know that’s not it,” Jacqueline said. Why did they have to keep having this conversation? She adored Henry. They’d grown up together, and while she wasn’t in love with him, she could do worse than a marriage based on friendship.

  “I know your father is resistant to the idea of your marrying,” Henry said.

  “Resistant? Is that what you call it?”

  Henry smiled as the dance drew to an end. Lord Edwards could be intimidating, but Henry had grown up with the man, their families’ country estates not far from one another.

  “At least let me talk to him,” Henry insisted. Offering Jacqueline his arm, he steered her off the dance floor, away from her father, and into the crowd.

  Jacqueline felt the skin on the back of her neck prickle and knew her father was watching. Careful to keep a respectable distance between herself and Henry, she pasted a polite smile on her face. “I can’t let you do that.”