Those treacherous tears started to flow again and her thoughts began to race with ideas of how she could escape. She still had some money, but no form of transport. She felt trapped and panic began to rise.
“What have you promised them?” She demanded.
“Nothing. I wanted you to meet them before I promised anything. They know nothing about us, nothing about the baby. I swear. If you do not want this, we will leave first thing in the morning. We will find a more suitable couple.”
“Why, Christopher? Why did you think this would be acceptable?”
“I thought, since you planned to kill the foetus anyway, it wouldn’t matter so much.”
She jumped to her feet and slapped his face, hard, then turned and hurried up the narrow, rickety staircase to the bedchamber beneath the eaves. He could hear her sobs as they went with her.
That was mean. Why had he said that, when he knew she had planned to take the potion only out of desperation? He wanted to grab at the words while they still hovered in the air and shove them back into his treacherous mouth.
He followed her, every stair creaking with his footsteps so she would have fair warning of his approach. He was surprised to find the door unlocked, and the sight and sound of her sobbing as she lay on the bed made him thoroughly disgusted with himself.
He took a single step to reach her and sat beside her, pulled her up and into his arms. She was shaking so much, he could barely keep her in his embrace.
“I am sorry, Susan,” he said. “I should not have said any of those things. I didn’t mean them, really I didn’t.”
She tried to shake him off, but he tightened his grip and kissed the top of her head. She pulled away from him, fighting against his strength.
“Go away!” She screamed at him.
“Forgive me, please.”
“Why should I? You meant it, I know you did. I cannot imagine why you chose to marry me. Was it really to avoid a scandal, to protect the rest of the family, or to give you an excuse to insult me?”
“No, it really was to protect the family. I promise.”
“That is all the more reason for you to hate me, then. Is this what I am to expect throughout our marriage, that you will take every opportunity to remind me what a whore I am? If it is, you should have left me to swallow Polly’s potion. I would be better dead.”
He caught his breath. He tried desperately to put himself in her place, to share her feelings, but as a man, his imagination could never stretch that far.
“Please, Susan. It was a mean thing to say and a meaner thing to tell you. I have no real intention of giving the child to a mining family. In fact, Mrs Jones is herself with child.”
She pulled away from him again and this time he let her go.
“What do you mean? That was all a lie?”
“It was. I don’t know what devil made me tell you such a lie. The couple needed the money so gave up their cottage to us, just for a night or two until I can find somewhere more suitable.”
She could do nothing but stare at him. Why would he do that? He knew how much it would distress her, but still he made up a tale deliberately to make her miserable.
“I hate you,” she said. “And I know you must hate me. There is no other reason to do such a thing.”
“I don’t hate you, Susan, I swear it. But I am still angry with you. I didn’t think I was, but I was wrong and when you objected to a mining family, I could hear your mother talking. I’m sorry, really I am. And I promise I won’t bring this up, ever again.”
“I do not believe you.”
“And I don’t blame you.” He paused, then reached out a hand and stroked her face. “Tomorrow we will see about finding a better place to rent, but it cannot be anything too extravagant, or people will start to wonder about us.”
CHAPTER FOUR
The Birth
It was a week before Christopher found a larger and more isolated house for them to rent. The Jones family were grateful for the extra money and were happy enough to stay with their relatives until the Lewises moved on. Mrs Jones was also happy to come in and cook for them, returning to clear away, for which she was handsomely paid.
Now the carriage they had hired came to the end of its hour long journey, back in Shropshire and England, where the Welsh mountains were farther away and the slate mines with them. Susan looked out of the carriage window and felt her depression lift a little. The miner’s cottage was so cramped and tiny and so dark she thought she would scream if she had to stay there another moment. And she hadn’t trusted Christopher’s word to take her away from there, to find a new place and new parents for her child. For the first time in her life, she found she didn’t trust him at all.
“Sorry it has taken so long,” Christopher said. “I really didn’t want to have to stay in Wales. The language is difficult and I have heard the locals speak it deliberately, even though they know English. It is also very cold and I thought we would be better here.”
Susan made no reply. She had said little since their argument and he had tried very hard to make it up to her, but she didn’t seem to be listening. He could hardly blame her.
“What do you think?” He asked now, as he looked up at the small Elizabethan house he had rented for the next few months. “I have hired a local woman to come in every day and keep the place clean, as well as cook for us.”
That wicked little voice tried to make itself heard again with a thought about how it might suit a grand lady better than a miner’s cottage, but he forced it down. He really didn’t want to make her feel worse than she already did, but he was finding it difficult to suppress his anger with her. He had been forced into this marriage, not only for Susan and the family name, but for the good name of her sisters and his brother. How would they ever find suitable marriage partners when their eldest sister, who should be setting an example, had got herself in this condition?
He no longer had the chance of a wife he could love, had lost all hope of that when he made the decision, outside that little stone cottage in the woods, to take this on himself. He didn’t have to make the offer; he could have allowed her to take the dangerous potion or he could have refused the marriage and allowed her to go to David in London. That was an option he could have helped her with, could have provided her with funds, but he hadn’t thought of it at the time. She had; she had told him of her plans, but he had decided he had the better plan.
Anyway, he couldn’t have risked the possibility of her going away alone and having someone discover her identity. And as he watched her figure expanding at a rapid rate, he could see that was what would have happened. Then they could well have found themselves at the mercy of some unscrupulous extortionist for the rest of their lives. Now he was regretting his hasty decision bitterly and he could not seem to keep those regrets to himself.
But he would have to, wouldn’t he? It was not Susan’s fault that he had been so impulsive, hardly her fault that she chose to accept the offer rather than take her chances either with the potion or with David. He was but a humble law student, after all, and not in a financially good position to do her much good. And it was hardly fair to burden him with this, just when he was taking his examinations and giving all his attention to passing them.
Now Christopher pushed the key into the lock and opened the heavy door. Inside was clean and cosy, if old fashioned, and a roaring fire greeted them as well as the aromatic and welcoming smell of a roast dinner.
“Well?” Christopher prompted.
She glanced up at him but did not smile.
“It is acceptable,” she replied.
“Acceptable? Is that it?” He said irritably. “I went to a lot of trouble to find a nice place to compensate for my tactlessness before. I think you might show a little enthusiasm.”
“Tactlessness, Christopher?” She said. “I would have thought ‘callousness’ to be the better word. As to enthusiasm, well…” She looked down at her ever growing figure, ran her palm gently over the bulge. “I h
ave little about which to be enthusiastic.”
Whose fault is that? That wicked little voice shouted in his mind, but he resisted the need to voice the accusation.
“It will soon be over,” he said gently. “It is February already. I will arrange for a midwife and a physician if necessary and everything will be made available for your lying in.”
She pulled off her bonnet and gloves and the long, wool coat he had bought her on their way here. It was two sizes too big, to accommodate the child within, and once again she could not equate this considerate act with his earlier, callous remarks, and his continuing resentment, which he failed to hide.
Sitting beside the fire, she held out her hands to the flames then looked up at him.
“Have you yet found a suitable family to adopt my child when it is born?” She asked.
“Not yet, but I will. And I promise you it will be a good family, an honest family who genuinely want a child. I will try to find someone of middle or upper class.”
To appease your sensitivities. Damn that wicked inner voice.
“I will make sure of that,” she said.
He shook his head.
“No,” he said. “You will not meet them. It will be better for all concerned if you leave everything in my hands.”
“You?” She said angrily, her voice rising. “You, who think any sort of home is better than the choice I would have made? No, I’ll not leave it to you.”
“I promised, didn’t I?”
“You think I trust your promises? When you offered me marriage, I was grateful. I was so frantic, I could be nothing else, but since then you have shown me at every turn how much you despise me. If I could have that chance again, I would refuse it.”
His eyes wandered over her. She was right; he was being selfish and his resentment was leading him where he had no wish to go. He drew close and knelt down at her feet, took her hands in his and kissed them. She made no move to pull away, but she was rigid. He could feel a hatred emanating from her, a feeling that was almost a physical blow.
“You are right and I can only repeat that I am sorry. But it would be better for you if you do not see where the child is going and it will be better for us both if no one can identify you as the mother. If one person should recognise you in the future as the woman who gave away her child, everything we have done to avoid a scandal and protect our siblings will have been for nothing.” He squeezed her hands, forced a gentle smile. “You do understand?”
She made no reply, only looked back at him with loathing in her eyes.
“We should eat, before the meal is ruined,” she said. “Then I shall retire to bed. I grow weary. I suppose this house has but one bedchamber?”
“No,” he answered. “There are two, but whether both are made up I couldn’t say. I’ll go and see.”
When he had disappeared up the stairs, she got to her feet and followed the tempting smell of roasting meat to the kitchen with its huge, black range.
She served the meal, filling two plates with meat and vegetables, and sat down. She did not wait for Christopher to return before she started to eat. She did not think he deserved such a courtesy.
***
A small garden surrounded the house and the brightly coloured spring flowers which poked their way through the earth reminded Susan that her time was almost here. She found it hard to move now, found she could no longer get down to floor level nor move quickly and now, as she stood and gazed from the window at the pretty gardens and the woods beyond, she felt helpless. She no longer trusted Christopher and she felt that her life and that of her baby was in his hands. What was to stop him from stealing the child away while she lay helpless from the birth? What if he found the task of finding adoptive parents to be too much trouble? He already regretted his impulsive offer of marriage, that was clear. Perhaps she would die in childbirth and put an end to his problems that way. Perhaps he would help her along. He was almost angry enough and she was aware that his temper knew few bounds.
Christopher had always been a big part of her life. He was her friend when she felt her parents were being unfair, she stood by him when he had his problem with the law. He didn’t know it, but Susan was the one who persuaded her Uncle George to buy the dog at an exorbitant price. Christopher was going to keep him anyway, even if it did mean a charge of theft. She knew that even if no one else did.
Whenever she had a new dress, it was Christopher’s opinion she sought, not that of her sisters. Whenever she needed an escort to a ball, or even to the village fair, it was Christopher who provided such an escort.
Now, he was behaving like a perfect stranger, someone she didn’t even like. And she missed him, she missed her friend and ally and she felt sure she would never get him back.
The child moved, as though telling her it was anxious to reveal itself. At first the babe’s movements were just a strange little flutter but now she could look down and see the shape of a foot or an arm, making a bump in her flesh. This was no longer a strange quiver, but a living human being, growing inside her.
Her mind took her back to that encounter in the woods, where Christopher told her of his solution to her problem, and she wished she could turn back time, have the chance again to refuse him.
What she did not recall was the night of the conception. Christopher had still not asked who had fathered her child and for that she was thankful, because she had no answer to give him. She watched from the window as he bent to pick some flowers from the beds below and gather them into a bunch. He had draped his jacket over the wooden bench and wore his shirt open to the waist. Then he straightened up, gathered up his jacket and disappeared inside the house. She heard his steps in the kitchen.
He would be finding a vase and putting the flowers in water. He had been trying to make amends for his harsh words ever since he spoke them, but she still could not forgive him and the closer she drew to the time of the birth, the more she resented him.
It would not be long now and she wanted to hold on to this huge growth in her belly, despite the discomfort that came with it, because once the babe was born, it would be taken away and she would never see it again, or even know where it had gone. She had no idea she could love it so much and once it made an appearance, she would love it even more. She had to part with it; there was no other way and the knowledge was breaking her heart.
She heard the door open behind her, heard the creak of the floorboards as Christopher made his way towards her. He placed the vase full of yellow daffodils down on the table in front of her and peered over her shoulder at the gardens below.
She felt his hand resting on her shoulder, felt his cheek settle beside hers, felt the warmth of his breath on her face as he kissed her cheek. She wanted to pull away, wanted to scream at him to leave her alone, but that would only make things between them even more uncomfortable.
Impossible plans had recently begun to form in her mind, plans she wanted to push away, as she knew in her heart they could never be. Had Christopher left her alone, things would have been different, but now they were married and she had begun to think that changed everything. There was no longer a reason for her to give up the child, was there? They could make everyone believe this was her husband’s child. If he could not agree to that, why the hell had he married her in the first place? And now she resented him for doing that, for offering her marriage and building her hopes, only to snatch them away again.
But if it was a boy, people would expect him to be the heir. Another man’s son as the heir to Somersham? No, she could not ask that of him. That was too much, but should it be a daughter, that could change everything.
Her hopes soared and they depended entirely on the sex of this babe.
***
The birth was not difficult, not for a first child. Christopher wanted to make himself scarce, to leave the house where he could not hear the moans and cries from his cousin. He still thought of her as his cousin, could not quite feel that she was his wife. But she was and that meant
his place was here, waiting for news. Being conscious of appearances as he was, even though they were not Lord and Lady Hartleigh but only plain Mr and Mrs Lewis, he had to think of what it would look like if the father of the child left the mother to get on with it.
He settled in an armchair downstairs and tried to concentrate on a book he had found on the shelves, but the words meant nothing. He could have been reading a foreign language with a different alphabet for the all those words meant to him.
It was only last year that Princess Charlotte, heir to the English throne, had died in childbirth, along with her baby, after days in labour. For the first time since this charade began, Christopher was seriously worried. It hadn’t occurred to him until now that Susan might not survive. Death in childbirth was common, not as common as it had once been, when poor Queen Anne gave birth to some sixteen dead babies, but still too common to make him dismiss the idea as preposterous.
He heard a cry, a stifled scream. It came again, this time unstifled, this time piercing as though the human source of the scream were in agony. Christopher caught his breath, felt unexpected tears brim up in his eyes as his book dropped from his fingers and clattered onto the wooden floor. He was half out of his chair, wanting to go to her, to fold her into his arms, to take away the pain, but he sank back down, knowing he would not be welcome in the birthing chamber.
He had not been welcome anywhere near Susan of late, had he? He had offered her marriage to rescue her, to rescue them all from scandal, but he finally realised, sitting here, helplessly listening to her pain, that he had done so for himself alone. It was what he wanted and he began to wonder if he had wanted it only to make himself feel better.
He had loved Susan all his life, but since he discovered her mistake, her condition, since he married her, he had done everything in his power to push her away. Another scream brought him to his feet where he stood with his hands clenched into fists. He was angry again, angry that he had no idea who to blame for this, no way to find him and tear him limb from limb, and angry with himself for his helplessness, for his impotence. He wanted to help her, but there was nothing he could do.
A Match of Honour (The Hartleighs of Somersham Book 1) Page 5
