His Unsuitable Viscountess

by Michelle Styles

  Romeo came over and licked her hand, as if he knew something was wrong and was trying to wake her.

  ‘Leave off, Romeo,’ Ben growled. ‘Sit.’

  The dog looked at him quizzically, gave a sharp bark, but obeyed the command.

  Ben gathered Eleanor more firmly to him and the faintest whisper of a breath hit his cheek. She moaned softly.

  He whispered a silent prayer as relief rushed through him. There would be a second chance for him to get it right. History would not repeat itself.

  Her lashes fluttered slightly and her grey eyes stared up into his. She lifted a hand and touched his cheek.

  ‘Ben? What is wrong? You appear to have seen a ghost.’

  ‘Eleanor! What are you playing at?’ Concerned anger filled him. How dared she frighten him like that?

  She gave a wry smile. ‘Never pivot on an empty stomach. Particularly when your stays are tight.’

  Ben didn’t smile back. He refused to allow her to make light of what had just happened. Laughing it off was the wrong thing to do. Eleanor had to understand that as her husband he had a duty to protect her. The muscles in his neck eased. Duty and responsibility were far easier than examining why he felt this way. ‘When did you last eat?’

  A crease developed between her brows. ‘This morning. I had a little toast. Romeo had the rest.’ She ruffled Romeo’s fur. ‘Romeo loves toast.’

  Romeo looked up at her with adoring eyes. Ben pressed his lips together. He’d seen her do this before—particularly after Mr Swaddle’s accident. Seeking to deflect his concern by concentrating on other people—or the dog. It stopped now. If Eleanor couldn’t look after herself he’d do it for her. He was her husband.

  ‘Stop feeding the dog at the table. When did you last eat properly? Something beyond buttered toast?’

  She bit her lip. ‘Last night.’

  Even then she hadn’t eaten much, he recalled. He should have seen it before. She was sickening for something. Or, worse, she’d become worried about her figure. He’d had that with Alice and it wasn’t going to start with Eleanor. He wanted his woman healthy, not fashionable. His stomach clenched. She had become his responsibility whether he liked it or not. Whether he’d sworn it wouldn’t happen again after Alice or not. He had to look after her.

  ‘It is three o’clock in the afternoon. You drove the governess cart to Moles early this morning and worked straight through—all on a small meal last night and a square of toast this morning. You thought you could fence on that amount of food?’

  ‘I wasn’t hungry.’ She struggled against the bounds of his arms. ‘A momentary weakness. Stop making it into something else.’

  Ben didn’t even try to keep the sarcasm from his voice. ‘What are you trying to tell me? You are worried that your figure might not be fashionable?’

  ‘I gave up on following fashion a long time ago. I settle for fitting into my clothes.’ She screwed up her nose. ‘Not that it matters, but I’m gaining weight. My stays are a bit tighter recently. Mrs Nevin had to let the lacing out this morning.’

  ‘Are you given to suddenly collapsing, then?’

  ‘Hardly. Imagine if I gave way to vapours at the foundry. How could I command the men’s respect then?’ There was a proud tilt to her chin but her eyes slid away from his. ‘I pivoted too quickly. End of story.’

  ‘Were you going to tell me about this feeling unwell if you hadn’t collapsed?’

  ‘Why?’ She gave a maddening shrug of her shoulders. ‘You are making an enormous fuss over nothing, Ben. I locked my knees on an empty stomach. It won’t happen again. A unique combination of circumstances conspired against me. But I ended up in the right place. In your arms.’

  She wriggled so that she was more firmly planted in his lap. Ben’s body responded instantly to her nearness. He hated his lack of control where Eleanor was concerned. He should be thinking about her welfare rather than wanting to kiss her, taste her skin, or worse still sink deep within her and forget the blind panic that had accompanied the knowledge that he cared for her. It was precisely the wrong approach.

  He carefully removed her from his lap and fixed her with his gaze. ‘And what do you propose to do?’

  She stood up, swaying slightly as she reached for her sword. Her hair curled in damp tendrils about her face and there was a determined set to her jaw. ‘The match remains unfinished. I never quit the field first.’

  Ben plucked the sword from her hand and set it down on the ground. ‘The first thing you are going to do is eat properly. Never fence on an empty stomach again.’

  She made a face. ‘And if I am far from hungry?’

  ‘You lost the match,’ Ben reminded her. Next time he would be more cautious and remember that Eleanor disliked paying attention to her body’s demands. He refused to make the same mistake twice. He would be a better husband from now on. He refused to repeat his past mistakes. ‘It is up to the winner to decide what happens next. Our wager.’

  ‘The match was abandoned.’ She lifted her chin and gave a pale imitation of her usual bravado. ‘The wager no longer signifies.’

  ‘Due to your fainting—which you claim is because you failed to eat properly.’

  ‘Fine. I will eat.’ She crossed her arms and her face took on a mulish expression. ‘You are making far too much of it. It was quite simple—a pivot on an empty stomach and too much spinning about like some whirligig top. I feel much better now.’

  ‘After you eat we’ll see...’

  ‘See what?’

  ‘See how you are.’ He put his hand on her shoulder. He searched her face. He hated the nagging sense that something else was wrong—something more serious. He hated the sense that he was going to lose her and step back into the shadow world of grief. He’d chosen Eleanor because she was strong, but now she needed to be looked after as she refused to do it herself. ‘If you are no better you will go to bed.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘You are thinking of getting the doctor out over a little thing like this?’

  ‘What a tremendously good idea.’ Ben placed a kiss against her forehead. Her skin was cool, not feverish. A good sign. ‘We can have tea and toast while we wait.’

  She gave a weak smile and squeezed his hand in a most un-Eleanor-like manner before sinking down on to the chaise-longue. She clasped her hands about her middle. ‘That will be good. I’m feeling not quite the thing.’

  Something in the way she looked stirred a long-suppressed memory. Ben frowned. It was far too soon. He wasn’t ready for something like that. It had to be weeks before anything happened. It had taken Alice years to fall pregnant. Alice’s desire to become pregnant had gradually pervaded every corner of their relationship until Ben felt all the joy and sparkle had vanished.

  ‘How long since you last had your monthly visitor?’ he asked, using his mother’s expression. The number of times he’d seen her quiz Alice over it, and how upset Alice had been. Then, when she’d finally been able to tell for definite, she’d run out to greet his mother, telling her before she told him. It assaulted his memory. Silently he prayed he was wrong. ‘Does it come regularly?’

  Eleanor looked perplexed, and then her brow cleared. ‘Two weeks before we married. I’m usually very regular.’ She put her hand over her mouth. ‘But it’s been nearly three months since we married. With everything that was happening I forgot about it. It never occurred to me. Ben, you don’t think...?’

  Her face became an expression of delight as she put her hand to her stomach. When Alice had been pregnant it had been all about the child and what was going to happen once she had produced The Heir. It had become a sort of madness with her. Why did women desire babies so much? He wanted a wife more than he wanted to procreate.

  ‘It is a possibility. You do know how babies are made?’

  ‘I simply hadn’t thought about t
he possibility,’ she said, stuffing her hand in her mouth. ‘That sort of thing happens to other people, not me. I accepted that years ago, when all my friends married and had babies. I walked a different pathway. But, yes, it would be a pleasant occurrence. A very pleasant one.’

  ‘You do want children?’ he asked carefully.

  ‘What woman doesn’t?’ she answered far too quickly. ‘Your mother will be so pleased. When she gave me Romeo she mentioned how important it was that I produce an heir.’

  Ben silently cursed. His mother and her precious dynasty. All he could see was the shadow of a coffin behind Eleanor if she didn’t change her ways. She’d worked too hard and ignored her body’s demands. ‘I have warned you against listening to her. She is the one fixated on a dynasty. Not me.’

  ‘I do want children, Ben. It will be wonderful to pass my heritage along. I plan to be an excellent mother.’

  ‘I’m sure you will be.’

  Ben could easily picture a little girl with Eleanor’s eyes and the way she tilted her chin. But just as quickly he could also see that coffin, with Eleanor ghostly pale. A deep chill invaded his being.

  Ben pinched the bridge of his nose and banished the image. This time he wouldn’t take any chances. Eleanor needed to be kept safe. He was not going to make the same mistakes twice. He was not going to live with the guilt of having failed her as well. And he had seen that she refused to admit any weakness just now. This time he would cheat death.

  ‘Are you ready to go to bed? I think it is best if you use the rose bedroom,’ he said, naming the room his mother had used. It was supposed to have been Eleanor’s but she had not spent any time in it. Having her there rather than in his bed would make it easier for him to keep his distance.

  ‘I’m not sure it is necessary. We’re going to have tea and toast while we wait for the doctor.’

  She wrapped her arms about her legs, bringing her knees up to her chest. She peeked up at him from under her lashes and he saw a pale imitation of the woman who had been making his nights so enjoyable. His heart twisted. He should have noticed the changes before now.

  ‘Bed, Eleanor.’

  ‘If you are asking if I want to spend the afternoon in bed with you...’ She stretched slightly, highlighting the curve of her breasts. ‘I might be open to suggestions. But if the doctor is to be called he might think it odd that we are not here to greet him.’

  ‘That wasn’t a question, Eleanor.’ He smoothed the hair from her forehead, ignoring the sudden rush of blood throbbing through him. Eleanor never made suggestions like that. She normally allowed him to make a suggestion. A cold fear clawed at his insides. She wanted to distract him. ‘Fainting is not your usual way, and you remain pale.’

  She gave a weak smile. ‘If it will make you happy. But I feel so much better now that I know what it must be. Sometimes you know. It is bound to be a boy. A strong boy. We can teach him to fence and...’

  ‘I am thinking about it.’ He put a hand on her shoulder and her flesh quivered under his fingers. ‘You will need to take care of yourself, whatever happens. I refuse to have you fainting again. Let me carry you upstairs.’

  ‘I am hardly made of spun glass. I have a backbone of pure steel.’ She stood up, but immediately put her hands behind her back as if it pained her. A frown crossed her face but rapidly cleared. ‘I’ll give in gracefully this time, as you won the match. You may carry me upstairs if it will make you happy.’

  Ben picked her up. Her soft scent filled his nostrils as her breasts crushed into his chest. He struggled to dampen down his desire for her. Her face remained too pale and her eyes far too large.

  ‘We shall see what the doctor says.’ Ben pressed his lips against her hair and mounted the stairs with grim determination. This time he was not taking any chances. This time he would keep his wife safe.

  * * *

  Eleanor lay staring up at the white dimity bed curtains. She hated being in bed alone while the sun shone. The dull ache in her middle had become an insistent cramping. There would be no baby.

  The doctor moved about the rose bedroom, putting his various instruments back in his black bag. Ben hovered like an avenging angel, insisting that the doctor check everything from her heart to her lungs, peering into her eyes and ears.

  ‘There is no reason why you won’t have children, Lady Whittonstall...in time,’ the doctor said with

  infuriating cheeriness. ‘Despite losing this pregnancy you appear fit and well. A few days’ rest and then you may resume your regular activities. Many of my ladies suffer a miscarriage, particularly in the early days. In next to no time you will hear the patter of tiny feet.’

  Eleanor forced a sickly smile at the easy platitudes spilling out from Dr Fairchild’s lips. Her entire world had collapsed and the doctor was making it sound like an everyday occurrence—something that she’d forget once she had another child in her arms. The heartiness in his tone made her want to hit something. Hard.

  Didn’t he realise that this had been more than a pregnancy? Those few brief shining moments when she had thought herself pregnant she had known what it was. It had been all her hopes and dreams for the future, her legacy. The person whom she would love unconditionally until the day she died.

  ‘Listen to the doctor, Eleanor,’ Ben said from where he stood at the foot of the bed. She’d thought that Ben would leave the room when the doctor arrived, but he’d stayed, listening with his arms crossed and his face inscrutable.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, around the lump in her throat.

  ‘I’m pleased you are taking this so well, Lady Whittonstall.’ The doctor gave another of his hearty smiles. Eleanor hated him for it. ‘Within a year I predict you will be holding a wee bairn in your arms and all this bother will be a distant memory.’

  ‘If you say so.’ Eleanor forced the words from her throat.

  She willed him to finish and go, taking all his wise sayings and ill-thought-out messages of hope with him. Her entire body felt like a limp dishrag, wrung out and sore, and he dared speak of future children and other trite things.

  ‘I do, indeed. The future may seem bleak today, Lady Whittonstall, but once you have a baby this will be no more than a minor hiccup. I’ve seen it happen more times than I would like to count.’

  ‘I will bear that in mind,’ she said, and tried to stop her body from shaking. But she couldn’t even do that. She bit her hand to stop the tears from falling. Today would be forever scarred on her conscience.

  ‘My wife needs her rest, Doctor. We will contact you if we need anything else.’ Ben’s tone allowed for no refusal.

  Eleanor gave Ben a grateful glance. She owed him so much. For what he’d done for her and how Moles was now safe. And yet she’d lost the one thing he wanted. She’d blithely assured him that all would be well, basically laughing in his face when he’d counselled caution and told her that she was working too hard. He’d been right all along.

  ‘You do that.’ The doctor gave her shoulder a perfunctory pat. ‘And drink that laudanum. It will help ease the pain.’

  The pain of her body. But her heart? Eleanor knew nothing could ever ease that. Her very soul seemed to be torn in pieces. She’d failed in something so basic and important. She had not even really considered the possibility until it was too late. And now she didn’t know what was worse—not knowing or knowing about her body’s failure to nurture this baby. She picked up the glass with the laudanum, tilted it and put it back down again. Untouched. ‘Later. The pain is manageable.’

  A great enveloping silence descended. Ben continued to stand there, looking at her with sombre eyes.

  ‘The doctor is right, Eleanor.’ He held out his hand. ‘Take your medicine and the pain won’t be so bad. You can stop being brave. Everything will be better tomorrow.’

  ‘You can’t promise something like that.’ Eleanor ignor
ed his outstretched fingers and turned her face towards the wall. ‘No one can. I don’t want to think about the future.’

  ‘You will soon. Trust me on this.’

  All she knew was that she couldn’t go through it again—the pretence that Ben desired her and wanted her when all he’d wanted was a child. And yet her arms ached to hold a baby. Was it wrong to want more when the wanting made her heart ache so?

  She glanced back over her shoulder. ‘Leave me now, Ben. My eyes grow tired.’

  He looked as if he were going to say something else. ‘Take your medicine first. It will help to ease the pain. Help you to sleep. You need to sleep. It cures most things.’

  ‘Sleep won’t cure this.’

  ‘Do it as a favour to me. Let me rest easier, knowing you have had the medicine.’

  ‘If it means you will leave me alone, I will.’

  ‘If that is your desire, I will let you rest after you’ve taken your medicine. It is your choice.’

  Defiantly she downed it in a single gulp. The medicine coursed hot and bitter down her throat. ‘Are you satisfied?’

  He took the glass from her fingers, being careful not to touch her. ‘For now.’

  She waited until his footsteps died away. She turned her head and even the bright sunshine mocked her. By rights it should be pouring down, or at least be misty.

  Everywhere people were going about their business, but she was in this dimity-hung bed in a lawn nightgown as her hopes and dreams flowed out of her. She felt far too numb to cry. She simply stared at her hands. The engagement ring and the wedding band stood out. Gold against the white of her hands.

  That was a mockery as well. Their marriage was not some great romance but an alliance. He’d ensured that Moles and its employees would survive, but she’d failed to provide him with the one thing he craved.

  The door creaked open and she instantly sat up, plastering a smile on her face and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Ben had returned. But a dark wet nose appeared at the side of bed.